Bound by sins

Prologue

The heavy iron gates of House Vortigern closed with a groan, shutting out the world and trapping Caelum within the grand yet suffocating walls of his marriage. The moon bathed the ancient estate in pale silver, but no light could pierce the shadows that lurked within.

He stood silently in the duchess dowager’s hall, robes disheveled, his lip bleeding from where her jeweled cane had struck him. She sat above him, imperious and cold, her eyes filled with disdain.

“An omega like you,” she sneered, “dares to think himself worthy of my son? You’re nothing but a burden. Pray you do not embarrass this house further.”

Caelum lowered his gaze, his body trembling not from fear, but from restraint. He wanted to scream, to unleash the aura he hid deep within himself, but he swallowed it down. For he loved Alaric—the man who had never once looked at him with warmth.

His marriage had been forced, but Caelum had embraced it as salvation. For the first time, he thought, perhaps he could have a family. A place to belong. A man to love, and who would love him in return. That foolish dream had carried him through the endless nights.

But Alaric never smiled at him.

The Duke of Vortigern, Sword Master, genius of the empire, and terror on the battlefield—looked at Caelum as if he were air, something neither hated nor cherished. The only time he touched him was during Caelum’s heat, and even then, it was reluctant, forced.

And when the Duchess Dowager raised her hand against him, when Sylas—Alaric’s precious second spouse—spat venom in his face, Alaric turned away.

The night Caelum conceived, he had used his pheromones, desperate to feel loved even for a fleeting moment. The child in his womb had been his hope, his anchor. A child that would love him unconditionally, a child that would make this cold house feel alive.

But Sylas was cunning, and hatred thrived where love was absent. It was Sylas’s hand that orchestrated the fall that stole Caelum’s child. His cries echoed through the silent halls, unanswered, as his unborn baby slipped away.

That was the night something inside him broke.

He looked at Alaric across the chamber days later, his body pale from blood loss, his heart hollow. Alaric did not ask about the child. Did not touch him. Did not see him.

And so Caelum stopped speaking.

He stopped hoping.

The dream of family turned to ash, and the love he had once clung to curdled into hatred. Quietly, with what dignity remained, he planned his escape. And when he finally left the duchy, no one came after him.

Years later, Caelum would find love in the arms of another—an Alpha who was gentle where Alaric had been cold, warm where Alaric had been unyielding. He built a family, raised children, and carved a life from the ruins of his past.

But his heart never forgave.

When fate placed Alaric once more in his path—broken, wounded, and filled with belated regret—Caelum looked into the man’s eyes and saw nothing but a stranger.

And that was when destiny shifted.

That was when sin, regret, and obsession began to weave a tale neither of them could escape.