Crimson vow

Chapter 3: Kiss before betrayal

POV: Alessia and Damien

Alessia – The Trap Beneath the Silk

I woke up disoriented, the faint scent of sandalwood and smoke clinging to the air like a warning. The sheets were cool beside me, but the memory of his warmth still lingered.

Damien Vescari. Even his name tasted like danger.

This room was a sanctuary built to deceive. Soft lighting filtered through the gauzy curtains, illuminating the elegant furniture and gilded moldings. But the opulence was just a veil. I was still a prisoner. Still his pawn. No matter how soft the bed, the door was locked from the outside.

I sat up slowly, pressing my fingers into my temples. Sleep had come in waves, broken by restless dreams filled with whispering shadows and the echo of Damien’s voice.

Your brother didn’t just steal from me. He’s the reason your father is dead.

That voice, that certainty, had wormed its way into my soul. And it was unraveling everything I thought I knew.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood, the cold wood floor biting at my bare feet. My black silk slip clung to my skin, a silent reminder that I had nothing left of my own. No control. No freedom. Not even my favorite pajamas—just the things he gave me.

I moved to the vanity, studying the reflection in the mirror. The woman staring back wasn’t the Alessia I remembered. Her eyes—green and glassy—held shadows where light used to live. My skin, once kissed with the sun from afternoons in my gallery, now looked paler, like the blood had receded in fear. I traced the curve of my jaw with tentative fingers.

My features were the same—full lips my mother used to say were made for heartbreak, lashes so long they brushed my cheeks, and that cascade of black hair like ink. But the woman in the mirror had changed.

She was sharper.

Harder.

Ready to break something.

The knock came too softly for the man who brought chaos wherever he walked. And yet, it was him.

He didn’t wait for permission. Damien stepped in with all the arrogance of a king in his own kingdom.

Tailored in a charcoal suit that looked like it was stitched by devils, his silver cufflinks caught the morning light. He was magnetic, but not in a way that begged for attention. He demanded it. Dark eyes. Cold expression. Something far more dangerous hidden beneath.

“You’re awake,” he said simply.

“You locked me in,” I replied.

He shrugged. “And you slept. We both won.”

“You think this is funny?”

“No.” He stepped closer. “I think it’s necessary.”

I folded my arms, trying not to let him see the tremble in my hands. “Why are you here?”

“Because you’re coming with me today.”

My breath caught. “Where?”

“One of your galleries. The one on Bellrose Avenue.”

He let the silence hang like a noose.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“You are.”

He dropped a garment bag onto the chaise lounge. “Put this on. We leave in twenty minutes. If you want to keep pretending Luca still has a future, then start acting like you want to save him.”

He walked out without another word.

I stared at the closed door.

Then at the dress.

Blood red.

Like a warning.

Like a vow.

---

Damien – The Mask of Power

I watched her on the monitors as she unzipped the dress.

Alessia Moretti was poetry in motion, even in her anger. Especially in her anger. I shouldn’t have been watching, but I had to know what she’d do. If she’d run. If she’d break. But no—she stood there in front of the mirror like a queen preparing for war.

She didn’t know it yet, but she was perfect for this world.

I lit a cigarette and exhaled through the window of my study. Downstairs, the car was already waiting. Viktor stood by the passenger door, silent and ready, as always. The plan was simple: show the world that Alessia Moretti was no longer a bystander. She was part of the Vescari fold now.

My enemies needed to see it.

Luca needed to believe it.

And Alessia… she needed to start choosing me.

Even if she didn’t want to.

---

Alessia – The Gallery

The car ride was silent.

Damien sat beside me, legs crossed, one hand casually draped over the back of the leather seat. He didn’t touch me, but his presence pressed into me like a weight. The scent of his cologne—spice and smoke—wrapped around me until I could barely breathe.

When we pulled up to the gallery, my breath hitched.

Bellrose Avenue. My gallery. My dream.

And now I was walking in on Damien Vescari’s arm like his possession.

Cameras flashed. Reporters outside took pictures, shouting questions about our relationship. Was I his latest mistress? Had the Vescari family bought into the arts? My stomach turned.

But I smiled.

I smiled like a woman in love.

Inside, the staff rushed to welcome us. My assistant, Marina, blinked in confusion. “Alessia, we weren’t expecting—”

“It’s a surprise,” I said smoothly. “Mr. Vescari wanted to see the new exhibit.”

Her eyes flicked between us. “Of course.”

We walked through the main exhibit—brushstrokes of red and black streaked across canvas, abstract depictions of chaos and identity. My heart clenched. These were my pieces. My soul.

Damien leaned close. “These are darker than I expected.”

“Maybe you bring that out in me.”

He grinned.

---

Damien – A Show of Power

She played her part perfectly. Her fingers brushed mine just enough to suggest intimacy. Her voice was soft when she introduced me to patrons, every glance calculated.

She was an actress.

But even actors forget their lines.

We stepped into a corner of the exhibit where the press couldn’t see us. Behind a velvet curtain, the music dimmed and the walls whispered secrets.

I pressed her against the marble.

She gasped. “What are you—”

I cut her off with a kiss.

It wasn’t soft.

It was a claim.

Her lips opened against mine, shocked at first, then angry. But she didn’t pull away. Her hands fisted in my jacket. Her breath hitched. Her body pressed against mine.

It lasted too long.

When I pulled back, her lips were flushed, eyes wide.

“That’s the last time you’ll get to use me like that,” she said.

I leaned in again, close enough for her to feel every word.

“That’s where you’re wrong. That was the beginning.”

---

Alessia – The Storm Beneath the Surface

I felt like I was sinking.

The moment his lips touched mine, something inside me cracked. I hated him. I hated everything he stood for. But the heat that roared through me wasn’t hatred.

It was desire.

Dangerous. Consuming.

And it terrified me.

I broke away the moment we returned to the main floor. I smiled for the cameras. I shook hands with donors. But I couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss. About the promise in it.

Because it didn’t feel like a performance.

It felt like a beginning.

And I wasn’t ready for what came next.

---

Damien – Aftermath

Later that night, back at the estate, she refused dinner.

She locked herself in her room.

Good. Let her stew. Let her burn.

Because the truth was, I wasn’t playing a part either. That kiss wasn’t a tactic.

It was a warning.

A vow.

She was mine now.

One way or another.

To be continued...