Vows of Darkness

Giorgia~

He shut the door behind us.

The room had been meticulously prepared for us—roses scattered across every surface, their scent thick in the air, candles flickering in the dim light, casting golden shadows against the walls. Everything in this space, from the silk-draped bed to the intoxicating fragrance of fresh blooms, was designed to set the mood for our wedding night.

But I was in the mood to puke.

I stood frozen, my eyes locked onto the bed as a suffocating pressure wrapped around my ribs, squeezing the air from my lungs. The knot in my throat tightened, making it hard to swallow. The air felt too thin, refusing to fill my lungs no matter how desperately I tried to breathe. I shut my eyes, trying to steady myself, but the darkness only made it worse—made me more aware of the tension coiling inside me, the weight of what was about to happen.

My palms were damp, my skin clammy, despite the icy blast of the AC humming in the background. It's fine. It's going to be fine. I forced the thought into my head like a mantra. I'll get used to it. I'll ask him to go easy on me. I'll endure it.

There was a faint touch at my back, just the barest graze, yet it sent a sharp jolt through me. Not fully pressed against me, but close enough that I could feel the warmth of his body seeping through the layers between us. A ghost of contact, deliberate and unhurried.

My eyes snapped open, my breath hitched, lodging in my chest, refusing to move.

His hands slid down my waist, slow and deliberate, fingers pressing just shy of sinful. A tremor wracked through me, my body surrendering to sensations I had no control over. Damn it—I was trembling, and there was no stopping it. No willing my body into indifference.

His breath fanned over my shoulder, hot and unrelenting, sending a fresh wave of goosebumps down my arms. Then, he dipped lower, his lips barely grazing the shell of my ear, a touch so light yet potent enough to make my stomach clench.

I squeezed my eyes shut, my pulse hammering. Every inch of me was too aware of him—his heat, his presence, the way he was standing so close, too close. And then, I felt it.

A hard, undeniable pressure against my lower back.

Oh God.

I swallowed, my nails digging into my palms. There was no mistaking what that was. He was solid—thick, heavy, pressing into me with an urgency that stole the breath from my lungs.

"The white sheets look boring," he murmured near my ear, his voice thick with lust, rough with promise. "Ready to paint them red, dear wife?"

A shudder ripped through me, my pulse thudding so loudly I swore he could hear it. My fingers twitched at my sides, desperate to grip onto something—anything—to steady myself. But there was nothing. Just him. Surrounding me. Consuming me.

Then he pressed in—fully this time. The heat of him seared into my lower back, hard and insistent, sending a mortifying flush up my neck. I could feel everything. Every inch of him.

My breath came in quick, uneven bursts. My stomach twisted violently. This was happening. This was real.

"I won't sleep with you."

The words spilled from my lips before I could think, sharp and unwavering. A reckless defiance I hadn't planned.

The moment the words left my lips, my stomach dropped. I hadn't meant to say them. But the panic clawing at my throat had taken over, pushing the words out before I could stop them.

Silence.

I swallowed hard, my body locking up as realization sank in. What the hell was I thinking? I shouldn't have said that. I couldn't have said that. Not to him. Not on our wedding night.

My pulse pounded against my skin, my breathing shallow. Maybe if I took it back—maybe if I softened it—

But it was too late.

His hands stilled at my waist. His entire body went rigid.

The air between us changed in an instant. Charged. Unpredictable.

In a swift, almost punishing motion, he grabbed my arm and spun me around, forcing me to face him. Air caught in my throat as I met his gaze—dark, unyielding, and terrifyingly calm.

His grip was ironclad, his fingers pressing into my skin just enough to remind me of his strength. Fear curled in my stomach, primal and sharp, but for the first time, I refused to look away. I refused to cower.

I was done.

Done being scared. Done being controlled.

Even if the fear still coiled in my veins, even if my knees felt weak beneath his scrutiny, I held my ground.

His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking in his cheek. "Do you realize what you're denying me?" His voice was low, dangerously even, but his forehead pulsed with restrained anger.

I swallowed but lifted my chin. "Yes. I know exactly what I'm denying you." My voice wavered, but I didn't stop. "And I won't sleep with you."

The silence that followed was smothering.

For a moment, I thought he would snap. His grip slackened, his expression shifting into something unreadable. The raw fury in his eyes dulled into something worse—cold, detached nothingness.

That terrified me more.

Without a word, he released my arm and stepped back.

Slowly, deliberately, he shrugged off his suit jacket, letting it fall to the floor. Then his fingers went to his shirt buttons, undoing them one by one, his movements calm. Unhurried.

The air in the room thickened. My heart pounded so violently, I thought it might escape my chest.

Blood surged through my veins, thick and hot, as I stood frozen in place. The dim light caught the sheen of sweat on his chest as he unbuttoned his shirt, stripping it off with practiced ease. His body was a masterpiece of raw power—broad shoulders, sculpted abs, muscles cut like stone. But what held my attention was the ink on his skin.

The massive Cartels tattoo stretched over the side of his neck, its centerpiece a broken skull with jagged edges, as if it had been shattered by force. Below it, words in Spanish curled like a dark promise. 'Mors tua, vita mea.' Your death, my life. A cruel reminder of the world he came from. The world I was trapped in.

I stilled as he reached for the knife strapped to his holster. A brutal, wicked-looking thing—small, but sharp enough to tear flesh like paper. My pulse roared, a tightness creeping up my throat. He stepped toward me, blade in hand, and I shut my eyes. This is it. Maybe he wasn't just going to force me—maybe he'd punish me first. Cut into my skin, make me regret the words I'd thrown at him.

But the sting never came.

Instead, the cold tip of the knife ghosted over my cheek, tracing the path of a single loose strand of hair. And then, with delicate precision, he tucked it behind my ear. My eyes flew open, colliding with his scorching gaze.

"You're denying me now, cariño, but trust me…" His gaze dragged over my face, dipping to my lips, my throat, lingering at the swell of my breasts. "One day, you'll be begging me to never stop."

I clenched my fists. "The only way I'll ever sleep with you is if you rape me." The words left my mouth like steel, adamant. I meant every syllable.

Something flickered in his eyes, something menacing and shrouded. "We'll see about that."

Then, as if completely unbothered, he turned away.

I stood there, breathless, as he headed toward the bathroom, his massive, sculpted back flexing as he moved. Every step radiated raw dominance—predatory, unshakable.

That was it? He wasn't going to force me? He was actually letting me go? The thought was almost absurd. I hadn't expected this at all. Not even for a second did I think that Javier sparing me would be a possibility. Maybe he was in a good mood? Maybe he enjoyed watching me squirm? But I wasn't foolish enough to mistake this for mercy. This was restraint and restraint never lasted forever.

I waited.

Waited for the sound of the shower to stop. Waited for the moment his patience would run out. But most of all, I waited for my hands to stop trembling.

They didn't.

The room was too silent except for the distant hum of the shower, the water running in steady streams behind the closed bathroom door. The air was still thick with his presence, like the echo of a storm that had passed but left destruction in its wake. My dress felt oppressive—layers of silk and lace clinging to my skin, reminding me that I was still trapped.

I turned my back to the mirror, reaching behind me, trying to undo the intricate buttons of my wedding gown. My fingers fumbled, useless against the tiny, delicate loops that held the fabric together. Damn it. I twisted my arm, stretching, yanking—nothing. The dress refused to budge, as if it too was part of this cruel trap.

A low sigh escaped my lips. I needed to get out of this thing. Before he came out.

I turned sharply, scanning the room for something—anything—that could help. But before I could take another step, the sound of the shower cut off.

My stomach dropped.

I went still, heart pounding, as the bathroom door swung open.

And there he was.

Javier stepped out, steam curling around him, trailing after him like ghostly fingers reluctant to let go. His skin gleamed under the dim lights, water droplets sliding down the sculpted planes of his chest, following the hard ridges of his abs before disappearing beneath the towel hanging dangerously low on his hips.

Oh God.

Heat pooled in my cheeks, my throat seized as the scent of his shower gel—spiced cedar and something darkly intoxicating—filled the air, invading my lungs. He smelled…dangerous. Like temptation wrapped in sin.

His gaze landed on me instantly.

For a second, he said nothing. Just stood there, head slightly tilted, those green eyes dragging over my form with slow, heavy deliberation. I felt exposed, even though I was still clothed.

"What are you doing?" His voice was rough, laced with lingering heat from the shower.

I swallowed, stiffening. "Trying to get out of this dress."

His lips twitched, amusement flickering in his expression. "Struggling, are you?"

I clenched my jaw. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of an answer.

He exhaled through his nose, stepping closer. Each movement was deliberate, slow, a predator toying with its prey. He stopped just inches away, the warmth of his freshly showered skin radiating toward me.

"Turn around."

I hesitated.

He lifted a brow. "Unless you'd rather sleep in it?"

I glared at him but obeyed, turning my back to him. The moment I did, I felt him move closer. The heat of him pressed against my back—not quite touching, but near enough that I could feel every inch of the space between us. My breath hitched when his fingers skimmed over the buttons at the nape of my neck, teasingly slow.

His touch was gentle at first. Then, without warning, there was a sharp snick.

I gasped.

The cool edge of his knife traced down my spine, severing the delicate buttons in one clean motion.

I went rigid, my breath catching in my throat as he continued, slicing through the fabric with practiced ease. Each movement was precise, controlled—yet there was something almost reverent about the way the knife moved, the way his fingers grazed my bare skin in its wake.

The dress loosened, the silk slipping from my shoulders, sliding down my body until it pooled at my feet.

Silence.

I didn't dare move.

The air between us crackled, thick with something unspoken, something dangerous. I was standing before him in nothing but lace—delicate black lingerie that left little to the imagination.

His breath was uneven now. I could feel the shift in his energy, the raw hunger in the way his gaze burned into me.

A muscle ticked in his jaw.

I hugged my arms around myself instinctively, trying to shield whatever I could, but it only seemed to amuse him. His lips curved into something dark, something knowing.

"No need to act shy now, cariño," he murmured, voice thick with something sinful. "I already own you."

My stomach twisted. My pulse roared in my ears.

Javier took another step closer, his chest nearly brushing my back, his hands lingering at his sides.

Then, just as quickly as the moment had come, he stepped away.

I bolted for the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind me. My hands trembled as I pressed my palms against the cool marble countertop, gripping the edge as if it could anchor me. My heart was still racing, the imprint of his touch lingering on my skin. My wedding dress lay in a discarded heap in the bedroom, torn apart by his blade, and I stood here in nothing but lace and nerves, trying to catch my breath.

I hated this. Hated the way he affected me. Hated the way my body betrayed me in his presence, responding to his nearness despite the sharp edges of fear and resentment twisting inside me.

My eyes burned. I clenched them shut, willing the tears away. This wasn't the time to break. Not yet.

I turned to the massive glass shower and stepped inside, twisting the knob until scalding hot water rained down on me. The heat bit into my skin, but I welcomed the sting. I scrubbed my arms, my shoulders, trying to erase the feeling of his gaze, his hands, the way his breath had ghosted over my spine. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't wash away the memory.

Minutes passed, maybe longer. By the time I turned off the water, steam had thickened the air, clinging to the mirrors like a fog of everything I wished I could forget.

I stepped out, grabbing a towel, only to freeze when my eyes landed on the clothing folded neatly on the vanity.

White. Delicate. Lingerie.

A soft satin slip, sheer lace details, barely covering enough to be considered clothing. It was meant for this night—for him. There were no other options. No oversized t-shirts, no modest nightgowns. Just this.

My throat tightened. They had planned everything. Right down to what I would wear in his bed.

Humiliation rolled through me, but there was nothing I could do. Wrapping the towel tighter around myself, I hesitated for only a moment before reluctantly pulling the lingerie over my head. The fabric was soft, whisper-thin, clinging to my damp skin like a second layer of vulnerability.

I took a deep breath, gripping the door handle. The moment I stepped out, I felt his eyes on me.

Javier was already lying on the bed, one arm resting behind his head, his dark eyes fixed on the ceiling. But the second I entered the room, his gaze shifted—slow, conscious, dragging over me in a way that made my stomach twist into knots.

I halted in place under his scrutiny, my fingers curling into fists at my sides. My body burned, not just from embarrassment but from the sheer intensity of his stare. He didn't speak. Didn't smirk. Just watched.

I forced my legs to move, slipping under the covers as quickly as possible, putting as much distance between us as I could. My heart pounded so loudly I was sure he could hear it. The bed was massive, yet it still felt too small, his presence looming beside me like a ghost haunting my steps.

He exhaled, the sound heavy in the silence. Then, without a word, he reached over and switched off the lamp.

Darkness swallowed the room.

I turned onto my side, facing away from him, curling into myself. My head pressed into the pillow, but sleep was impossible. My mind was a storm, memories flooding in before I could stop them.

Martina.

Her voice, her laughter, the way she would throw her arms around me, her warmth, her fire. A lump formed in my throat as an ache so deep it felt like drowning swallowed me whole. I missed her. God, I missed her. Would she ever forgive me for this? For standing at that altar, for saying vows I never meant, for letting this nightmare become my reality?

Tears welled in my eyes, slipping silently onto the pillow. I bit my lip, willing them to stop, but they kept coming, hot and relentless.

Then another thought crept in, cold and terrifying.

Tomorrow, we were leaving for Miami. To his home. To the place where Javier ruled.

Dread settled deep in my stomach, twisting like a knife. There would be no escape there. No Wilma. No Antonio watching over me. Just him.

I pressed my face deeper into the pillow, stifling a quiet sob. I didn't want to be here. I didn't want this.

But there was no way out now.

my real prison awaited tomorrow.

A harsh click echoed in the silence, and suddenly, the light flickered back on. I gasped, blinking against the brightness before I turned, meeting Javier's sharp, irritated stare.

"What the fuck are you crying for?" His voice was rough, edged with exhaustion. He pushed himself up on one elbow, his gaze dark and incessant. "I didn't even fucking touch you. Don't make me give you a real reason to cry."

I swallowed hard, my body going rigid. His words stung, sharp as a blade, cutting through the fragile wall I had tried to build around myself.

Javier ran a hand through his hair, exhaling heavily. "I'm not going to do anything tonight, I promise that. Okay? Now go to sleep."

How kind of him.

I pressed my lips together, swallowing down the sharp retort that burned my tongue. Even when he was trying to reassure me, he sounded like a threat. Rude, arrogant, insufferable. As if my fear was some kind of inconvenience to him.

But still… his words settled something inside me. A small fraction of the tension in my chest loosened.

Men like him didn't make empty promises. If Javier said he wasn't going to do anything tonight, then he wouldn't.

The mattress shifted slightly as he turned away, and then, just as abruptly as before, he flicked the light off. Darkness returned, stretching between us, but this time, it didn't feel as suffocating.

I exhaled slowly, my body sinking deeper into the pillows. It wasn't relief, not entirely, but for the first time since stepping into this room, I wasn't drowning in panic.

This was just the first night.

I had to get used to this.