CRIMSON VOWS

Chapter 10

Aira’s heels clicked sharply against the marble floor of the bridal boutique. She walked ahead with her spine stiff, her gaze intentionally avoiding every full-length mirror lining the walls. She didn't want to see herself. Not in traditional bridal reds. Not in heavy gold. And certainly not beside him.

Behind her, Dominic moved like a shadow with a line of credit and an insatiable hunger. His dark eyes never left her—not for a single second.

"She’ll take that one," Dominic stated before the stylist could even open her mouth.

The saleswoman blinked, holding up the intricate garment. "But sir, the bride hasn't even tried—"

"She’ll take it," he repeated coldly. He stepped forward, trailing his fingers down the heavily embroidered crimson silk. "Because I want her wrapped in something that looks like sin caught on fire."

Aira flinched away from his reach. "I am not your dress-up doll."

"No," he murmured, stepping close enough behind her that his chest nearly brushed her back. "You’re my bride. My obsession. My living proof that even angels can be bought."

She turned on her heel to face him, keeping her voice dangerously low. "Do you enjoy humiliating me?"

"I enjoy owning you."

Her lips quivered with raw fury. "You don't own me."

Dominic let out a low, dark chuckle. Leaning in until his breath ghosted against the shell of her ear, he whispered, "Then why do you tremble every time I speak?"

Aira yanked the silk blouse from the counter, slapped it hard against his chest, and turned toward the fitting room.

Inside the private fitting area, the heavy velvet curtain fell shut behind her. She was halfway through unbuttoning her outfit when a quiet knock sounded on the wooden frame.

She froze. "I'm changing," she hissed through the fabric.

"That’s the point," his voice drifted back.

"Get out, Dominic."

She could hear the lazy smirk in his tone. "I won't step inside. Not unless you ask me to."

"Dominic—"

"Try the red one next. I picked it specifically," he said softly through the curtain. "It reminded me of the way you looked the night I kissed you."

Aira's breath caught in her throat.

Outside, his footsteps receded into the showroom.

The sun was dipping beneath the horizon, painting the sky in bruised purples and burnt oranges through the tinted car windows. Aira sat stiffly in the passenger seat with her arms crossed tightly, her eyes fixed on the passing city lights. Dominic drove one-handed, his other arm resting along the center console, dangerously close to her thigh.

"You didn't smile once today," he remarked casually.

"I'm not your wife yet," she spat without looking at him.

"You will be."

He pulled into her driveway and cut the engine. The street was quiet, save for the hum of distant traffic.

"I'll pick you up tomorrow for the mehendi," he said, turning to look at her.

"I'll be ready," Aira said, reaching for the door handle. "Just... don't come inside."

Dominic smiled coldly into the dark interior of the car. "I don't need an invitation to step into what's already mine."

Aira grabbed the boutique bags and rushed into the house without looking back.

By midnight, the house was submerged in complete silence.

Her parents were asleep upstairs. Unable to rest, Aira stepped out into the dark hallway to get a glass of water from the kitchen.

She turned into the living room—and froze mid-step.

A tall figure leaned against the window frame, silhouetted against the pale moonlight. Shadows wrapped around him like a tailored cloak.

Dominic.

Aira gasped, the glass slipping from her fingers and thudding against the thick carpet. "Wh-What are you doing here?!"

He stepped forward into the moonlight—slow, deliberate, terrifyingly calm—until she backed up against the wall.

"You think I can go a whole night without looking at you?" he murmured, locking her in place with his gaze. "You really think I can sleep without making sure you're still where I left you?"

Her voice trembled. "You're scaring me."

"Good."

"Dominic, please—"

Before she could finish, his hand locked around her waist from behind, pulling her flush against his chest in a vice-like hold. His arms were like bands of solid steel, trapping her arms to her sides as his warm breath hit her exposed neck.

She thrashed against him. "Let me go—"

He didn't budge. Instead, he buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply.

"Two more nights," he whispered into her skin, his voice thick and possessive. "And I'll have you. All of you. Your body, your breath, your name. Everything. You're a curse I can't break."

Tears slipped silently down Aira's cheeks. She hated him. She hated the control he wielded over her family, and she hated the way he touched her. But beneath the terror, her pulse raced with a wild, betraying heat she couldn't suppress.

"Stop this," she choked out, her voice breaking. "You're ruining me."

"I know," he whispered back, his lips brushing the curve of her shoulder through her shirt. "And I'm still not done."

A heavy sob escaped her chest.

And then—the grip on her waist vanished.

The room fell dead silent. By the time Aira opened her eyes and wiped her face, he was gone, leaving behind only the open window, the cool night draft, and a small handwritten note on the glass table:

Wear red at the wedding. The shade you bled when I kissed you.