CRIMSON VOWS

Chapter 9 : Fitting the Chains

The next day unfolded like a dream Aira couldn't wake from—a dream stitched in silk and gold, and one she had never asked for.

She had hoped he might let her breathe after yesterday.

He didn't.

By noon, his car was idling at her gate: black, silent, and imposing. The message on her screen was short and absolute:

You need a dress, shoes, jewelry. I want you perfect. Come out.

Aira wanted to scream, to fling her phone against the wall. But when she stepped into the hallway, her mother stood quietly by the door, holding out her handbag with defeated eyes. Even her father refused to meet her gaze, staring quietly at the floor.

Outside, the driver held the door open without a word.

The boutique sat in the city's most exclusive district, but the moment Aira stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted. The staff stiffened instantly—not at her, but at the weight of the name that preceded her.

Then he walked in.

Dominic Moretti wore a tailored black suit with no tie, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. His eyes locked onto hers the second he crossed the threshold, a lazy smirk pulling at his lips.

"You're late," he said smoothly.

"I didn't want to come," Aira replied, crossing her arms over her chest.

He chuckled, brushing past her toward the velvet racks of couture dresses. "I'm still glad you did."

Before she could object, three attendants ushered her into a private fitting room. They moved like silent ghosts around her, draping heavy silks, measuring her waist, and adjusting fabric against her skin. Aira burned with every passing second, painfully aware of Dominic waiting just outside the door.

"I can feel your eyes," she called out coldly over the rustle of fabric.

"And I can hear your heartbeat," his voice drifted back, low and unbothered. "Faster than before."

"From rage."

"From me."

When the attendants finally pulled back the fitting curtain, Aira was wearing a sleeveless, heavily embroidered white lehenga.

Outside, Dominic went utterly still.

The taunting look vanished from his face. For several seconds, he just stared, his eyes tracking the line of her throat down to the hem of the hand-stitched silk.

"f**k," he muttered under his breath, stepping forward. "You're going to wreck me in this."

Aira flinched at the unvarnished honesty in his tone. "I hate it."

"Good," he said, stopping just inches away, his voice dropping an octave. "You'll wear it just for me."

He stepped behind her, looking at her reflection in the full-length mirror over her shoulder. His head leaned in, his lips nearly brushing the shell of her ear. "You don't even need jewelry. You're already—"

"Don't finish that sentence," she snapped, staring at his reflection with raw heat in her eyes.

"Why not?" he murmured, his eyes meeting hers in the glass. "You know you'll replay it later."

She yanked herself away from him, her cheeks burning as she pulled the curtain shut.

From the dress shop, they moved to a private shoe showroom, completely cleared of other customers.

Dominic strolled down the aisles himself, ignoring the attentive manager, until his fingers rested on a pair of sleek, pearled heels. He held them out to her.

"You'll be taller in these," he noted.

Aira didn't take them. "So I can look down on you?"

He smirked, placing them on the display ottoman beside her. "So I don't have to bend down when I kiss you."

Aira froze, the air leaving her lungs. There was no mockery in his voice this time—only a calm, dark promise.

She turned her face away, her jaw tight. "We're done."

"We're not," Dominic said quietly, looking down at her. "One more place."

The private screening room in the back of the theater was dark, save for the flickering light of the projector screen. Aira sat as far to the edge of her seat as possible, staring straight ahead, though none of the movie registered.

Dominic sat beside her like a storm contained in fine wool—still, quiet, and thrumming with raw tension. His hand rested on the armrest between them, close, but not touching.

She shifted uncomfortably, pulling her coat tighter around herself.

"You're acting like this space between us is going to protect you," he said into the darkness, his voice low and amused.

"I'm pretending you're not here," she said through her teeth.

"Your body knows I am," he murmured. "You're tense. You burn every time I lean closer."

She turned sharply to face him. "You're delusional."

Dominic leaned in, closing the distance until his breath brushed her cheek. "No," he whispered, his eyes dark in the ambient light. "I'm obsessed."

Before she could pull back, his hand reached up, cupping the back of her neck, and he pressed his lips to hers.

Aira went rigid.

The kiss wasn't rough or aggressive—it was deliberate, possessive, and slow. A quiet claim laid directly over her mouth.

Her heart thrashed against her ribs.

Crack.

The sound of her palm striking his cheek echoed sharp and clear off the walls of the empty room.

Dominic didn't flinch. His head turned slightly with the blow, his jaw clenching as the skin flared red. Slowly, he turned his face back to her, a dark smile curling the edge of his mouth.

"You hit like a queen," he said softly, his voice thick as velvet.

"I told you not to touch me!" Aira hissed, standing up instantly. Her whole body trembled with adrenaline, her lips still stinging from the contact.

Dominic casually licked the inside of his cheek where her hand had hit, rising from his seat to his full height. He towered over her in the dim light.

"And I told you," he said, stepping into her space until her back hit the wall of the private box, "I'll do it whenever I want to remind you who you belong to."

"I don't belong to you!"

"Not yet."

He leaned down, his voice dropping to a harsh growl against her ear. "Marry me, and hate me every night if you want. Curse me. Fight me. But you'll wear my name on your finger. And soon enough—my mark everywhere else."

Tears of helpless rage pricked at the corners of Aira's eyes. "You're disgusting."

Dominic tilted his head, watching her face with cold fascination. "No, Aira," he whispered. "I'm the man who walked through your front door while the coward you were engaged to ran away."

"You are not my fate," she whispered through clenched teeth.

"We'll see."

He stepped back, adjusting his cuffs, and motioned silently toward the door. "We're done for tonight. But you'll carry that slap the same way I carry your kiss."

He walked out first, leaving her alone in the dim room, fighting for air against the suffocating heat he left behind.

The car pulled up to her family's front gate an hour later. The engine idled quietly in the dark street.

Aira reached for the door handle immediately, but Dominic's voice cut through the silence before she could pull it.

"You'll come with me again tomorrow."

"I won't."

"You will," he said, staring straight ahead at the dark house. "Because if you don't... your family might start receiving much more expensive packages. Starting with coffins."

Aira turned to him, her eyes burning with wet fury in the dashboard lights. "You think this is love?"

Dominic turned his head slowly, his dark eyes fixing on hers without a shred of remorse.

"No," he said. "This is ownership."

She slammed the car door behind her and ran up the driveway. But as she reached the porch, she could still feel his eyes on her back—watching her from the shadows like a predator counting her steps.