Chapter 1 The Vows

• The bells of St. Aramond tolled across the valley, their mournful chime swallowed by the mist that curled along the stone steps. Elena Moretti’s fingers trembled as she clutched her bouquet of white roses, their petals too fragile, too pure, for what awaited her inside the grand cathedral.
• Outside, the courtyard swarmed with carriages and whispers, every noble eye waiting to see if the rumors about the marriage of Damian Blackwood—the ruthless heir of the Blackwood fortune were true.
• They were. And Elena was the proof.
• Her father had clasped her hands tightly that morning, his words cutting as much as they pleaded: “Elena, this is the only way. Damian Blackwood has agreed to the marriage. If you refuse, your brother’s debtors will kill him. I…I can’t save him. Only you can.”
• “This marriage secures us,your family. You will not fail me, Elena.”
• Now, as she stepped into the aisle, Elena felt less like a bride and more like a pawn moved across a chessboard.
• Damian stood at the altar, tall, unreadable, dressed in a dark suit that reflected no light. His jawline was sharp, his eyes colder than winter glass. He was everything the rumors claimed—merciless, handsome, dangerous.
• But Elena felt no warmth in his gaze as it swept over her. He didn’t see her. He was measuring her.
• When her father placed her hand in his, Damian’s grip was cold and impersonal. A handshake at best.
• The priest’s voice droned on, speaking of vows, of love and devotion. Elena’s throat constricted. Each word felt like mockery.
• “Do you, Damian Alexander Blackwood, take this woman, Elena Moretti, to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
• His answer came without hesitation, firm and clipped. “I do.”
• “Do you, Elena Moretti, take this man…”
• Her lips trembled. She closed her eyes, thought of her brother,Adrian’s life hanging in the balance, and whispered, “I do.”
• Applause rippled half-heartedly through the cathedral. Some guests smirked, others sneered. Damian slid a ring onto her finger with mechanical precision. No kisses. Not even a glance.
• Then Elena caught the smirk from the woman seated near the front row;a very sophisticated lady vision in emerald silk dress, her beauty cutting
• , Astrid Nightshade,Damian’s former fiancée.
• The sight of her struck Elena like a slap. Selena leaned back with perfect poise, lips curved in amusement, as though mocking the vows Elena had just made. Whispers rippled among the guests. “Why her?” “Why Elena, when Damian was once engaged to Selena?” “Why the change of heart?”
• Elena’s stomach knotted. She inhaled briefly most of the time. She did not belong here, and everyone knew it.
• ***
• The reception glittered with chandeliers, champagne, and quiet cruelty. Elena sat beside Damian at the head table, trying to ignore the sideways glances, the muffled laughter. Every toast in her honor sounded hollow.
• Selena moved through the room like a queen, every man’s gaze following her, every woman whispering behind a fan. She stopped at their side of the table, bold as a storm.
• “Damian,” she purred, her eyes ignoring Elena entirely. “How strange it feels to see you wed another. And so quickly. I can’t help but wonder if this little bride knows the things you whispered to me once?”
• Gasps stirred from nearby tables.
• Elena’s cheeks burned. Her fork slipped against her plate, clattering loudly. Damian’s hand tightened over his wine glass, but he didn’t silence Astrid. He simply stared, calm and dangerous.
• Astrid leaned closer, her perfume overwhelming. “Enjoy the title, Elena. But remember,it was meant to be mine,”she said menacingly.
• Her words were daggers slipped between Elena’s ribs.
• ***
• Later, when the dancing began, Elena excused herself to the corridor. Her lungs needed air, her heart needed to stop pounding. She pressed her hands to the cold marble wall, trying to collect herself. If not for the makeup,she would have watched her face to feel more relieved.
• The echo of footsteps followed. She turned sharply.
• Selena.
• The ex-fiancée’s smile was sharp as glass. “Running already? Marriage doesn’t suit you.”
• Elena stiffened. “What do you want?”
• Astrid tilted her head, her emerald earrings glittering. “What I want? To remind you that Damian Blackwood does not love you. He chose you for convenience. A business move, nothing more.”
• “I know that,” Elena said, her voice steadier than she felt.
• Astrid’s laughter was low and mocking. “Do you? Then let me share a secret. Damian isn’t merely cold. He’s dangerous. Evelyn,his first wife,didn’t simply die. She vanished. And no one dares ask why.”
• The words drained the blood from Elena’s face. Evelyn. She had heard the name whispered, but never with weight.
• Selena leaned close, her lips brushing Elena’s ear. “Be careful, little bride. You might disappear too.”
• Then she was gone, gliding back to the music with a venomous laughter, leaving Elena frozen in the shadows.
• ***
• When Elena returned to the ballroom, Damian was waiting at the edge of the dance floor. His eyes locked on her instantly. He offered his hand, a gesture too smooth and too rehearsed.
• “Dance with me.”
• It wasn't a request.
• Her pulse quickened. She placed her hand in his, and he drew her into the waltz, his grip firm and possessive. Around them, guests smiled and gossiped, but Elena felt only the steel of his arm and the silence of his gaze.
• “You were gone too long,” he murmured, guiding her effortlessly through the steps.
• “I needed air.”
• His lips curved faintly. “From me? Or from Astrid?”
• Elena faltered in her step. His grip tightened, forcing her back into rhythm. “She speaks freely,” Damian continued softly. “Dangerously free. You would do well not to listen.”
• Her throat tightened. “She said something about Evelyn—”
• He stopped mid-turn, holding her in place. His eyes, dark as storms, bore into hers.
• “Do not ever speak her name,” he said, interrupting her. Not loud, but final. The music swelled around them, but Elena could barely breathe.
• He spun her once, twice, then pulled her close, his lips near her ear. “Evelyn’s fate is none of your concern. Do not ask. Do not seek. If you are wise, you will forget she ever existed.”
• And with that, he released her at the edge of the floor, bowing politely for the crowd as if nothing had passed between them. Elena stood alone, her heart racing, the warning heavy in her chest.
• ***
• When the guests finally departed, when the laughter and music died, Elena followed Damian to the Blackwood Manor,her new home. The car ride was silent. Elena tried to summon courage, tried to remind herself she was strong enough to endure this. But every second in his presence pressed down like a well. She dared not speak.
• The manor loomed out of the mist, vast and cold, its spires piercing the moonlight. The air smelled of stone and roses long dead.
• “I’ll make this clear,” he said, his voice low and sharp as a blade. “Don’t expect me to ever touch you. Don’t expect affection, or love, or even kindness. You’re here for one reason only—because your family owes me, and I always collect my debts.”
• Her breath caught. His words carved into her like knives, stripping away the last fragile thread of hope she had clung to.
• Damian’s gaze swept over her with disdain, as though she were nothing more than an inconvenience. “From this day forward, Elena, you are my wife in name only. Do not mistake this arrangement for anything more.”
• Her fingers curled into fists, nails digging into her palms. Humiliation burned hot in her chest, but beneath it, a flicker of something else stirred—anger.
• The cruel husband she had been forced to marry had just declared war.
• And then Elena realized she had entered not a marriage… but a prison.
• Her new beginning had begun not with love, but with warning, with humiliation, with secrets buried in the walls of the Blackwood estate.
• And deep in her chest, Elena knew: Astrid's words were not idle. Evelyn’s shadow still lingered here.