CRIMSON VOWS

Chapter 15

The wedding ceremony was a blurred nightmare of lights, whispers, and suffocating tension.

Aira stood at the altar, her head bowed, unable to meet the eyes of the hundreds of guests watching from the pews. To the world, it was the social event of the year. To her, every second felt like a heavy iron cage snapping shut. All she could hear, echoing over the priest's voice, was Dominic's promise from the night before:

You belong to me.

No one can save you.

His presence beside her was overwhelming, a dark magnetic force radiating through the cold air. Every time his sleeve brushed against her embroidered arm, a jolt of helpless adrenaline shot through her veins. His eyes never left her face for a single second.

When the priest finally turned to her, asking if she took Dominic Moretti as her lawfully wedded husband, Aira’s lips parted—but no sound came out. Her throat closed up. She couldn't say it. She couldn't give him the satisfaction of her surrender.

The silence stretched too long, turning the room tense.

Then, Dominic leaned down. His lips brushed the shell of her ear, his voice sliding into her mind, low, velvety, and lethal.

"You will say yes," he whispered. "Or I will make sure your mother is the one standing up here explaining why your family disappeared before midnight. Do you want that?"

Aira’s chest collapsed under the weight of his threat. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. She couldn't let them suffer for her defiance.

"I do," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the crowd.

The reception was a sea of clinking crystal, loud laughter, and endless toasts.

While guests twirled across the marble floor, Dominic and Aira stood in the shadowed corner of the grand ballroom, isolated in their own silent war. Aira’s face was pale beneath her bridal makeup, her eyes raw from holding back tears.

Dominic leaned down, his breath warm against her temple. "I knew you'd cave," he murmured. "You always do when it comes to the people you love."

She swallowed hard, staring straight ahead at the crowd. "I hate you."

A dark, slow smile touched his lips. "And yet... here you are."

He reached out, his long fingers cupping her chin, forcing her head up until her eyes were locked onto his.

"Mine," he repeated softly, the word wrapping around her neck like a silk velvet shackle.

The drive to his private estate was conducted in total silence.

Aira sat pressed against the passenger door of the limousine, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. The gold band on her ring finger felt heavy—less like jewelry and more like a permanent chain linking her to a monster.

Dominic sat across from her, his dark eyes fixed on her profile in the dim interior light.

"You should be happy," he said after a long silence, breaking the hum of the engine. "You're safe now. You're mine. You'll never have to run again."

Aira turned her head slowly, staring out at the passing city lights. "I'll never stop trying to escape."

Dominic leaned back into the leather seat, his smirk widening in the dark. "Good. Makes the game so much more interesting."

The heavy mahogany doors of his estate's master suite shut behind them with a solid, definitive click.

Aira stood frozen near the entrance, her heavy skirts pooling around her bare feet. The room was massive, lit only by the low glow of candlelight and the faint sound of soft jazz drifting from hidden speakers. White silk sheets covered the king-sized bed. Everything was designed to look romantic—yet it felt like a trap.

She didn't move. She clutched the fabric of her lehenga, refusing to turn around.

Behind her, Dominic casually unbuttoned his suit jacket, tossing it onto a nearby velvet chair. His tie came next. Every movement he made was deliberate, controlled, and intensely predatory.

He closed the distance between them, stopping just behind her shoulder.

"Why so quiet, Mrs. Moretti?"

Aira flinched at the title, her jaw tightening. "Don't call me that."

He chuckled, stepping close enough that his warm chest brushed against her shoulder blades. "But that's what you are now, mia amore. Legally. Spiritually. Physically, soon enough."

Her spine went rigid. "Don't touch me."

Dominic didn't. He didn't need to.

"Not tonight," he murmured, circling her slowly like a lion evaluating its prey. "Not until you're ready. But you'll beg me to eventually, Aira. You'll dream about it."

She spun around to face him, raw fury flashing in her eyes. "I will never want you."

Dominic tilted his head, his gaze dragging slowly down her flushed cheeks to her trembling lips. "Your lips are lying," he whispered, his voice dropping an octave. "You're trembling right now. Not from fear—but because you hate how much I make you feel."

Crack.

Her hand struck his cheek hard, the sound echoing through the quiet room.

Dominic's head turned slightly with the impact, but he didn't stumble. Slowly, he turned back to her, his jaw tense, a dark, dangerous smile spreading across his face.

"There she is," he whispered, his eyes gleaming in the candlelight. "My fierce little bride."

Long after Dominic left the room to give her space, Aira sat on the edge of the vast silk bed, still wrapped in her wedding gown. Her eyes burned, and her chest felt hollowed out.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to tear off the silk, break the glass, and burn the room to the ground.

Instead, she stood up slowly.

She shed the heavy wedding dress, changed into a simple nightgown, and walked to the double doors. She turned the heavy brass key in the lock, hearing the bolt slide into place.

She was trapped, but she wasn't broken.

She would survive this man. Somehow.