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Chapter 48
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2025-12-22 00:03:00I didn’t know how long I had been hiding under the stairs.
Time had lost its shape. It wasn’t measured in hours anymore; it was measured in the throb of my burned hand and the cold seep of the stone floor into my hips.I sat in the dark, my knees pulled to my chest, my arms wrapped around my shins.I reached up to touch my hair.My hand met air where the weight used to be. My fingers grazed the jagged, bristly ends just below my ears.It was gone. The curtain. The shield. The only thing my mother had left me.I didn’t cry. I had cried in the bathroom. I had cried until my throat felt like it was bleeding. Now, there was nothing left but a dry, hollow ache in the center of my chest.I wasn’t a princess. I wasn’t a bride. I wasn’t even a girl.I was a gray thing. A ghost haunting the crawlspace.Clack. Clack. Clack.Footsteps.I pressed myself deeper into the shadows, making myself small
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The Silence Of His Vows Chapter 48
I didn’t know how long I had been hiding under the stairs.Time had lost its shape. It wasn’t measured in hours anymore; it was measured in the throb of my burned hand and the cold seep of the stone floor into my hips.I sat in the dark, my knees pulled to my chest, my arms wrapped around my shins.I reached up to touch my hair.My hand met air where the weight used to be. My fingers grazed the jagged, bristly ends just below my ears.It was gone. The curtain. The shield. The only thing my mother had left me.I didn’t cry. I had cried in the bathroom. I had cried until my throat felt like it was bleeding. Now, there was nothing left but a dry, hollow ache in the center of my chest.I wasn’t a princess. I wasn’t a bride. I wasn’t even a girl.I was a gray thing. A ghost haunting the crawlspace.Clack. Clack. Clack.Footsteps.I pressed myself deeper into the shadows, making myself small
The Silence Of His Vows Chapter 47
Morning arrived with a boot to the ribs.It wasn’t a kick meant to break a bone. It was a nudge. A reminder of my status.“Up,” Killian ordered.I uncurled from the rug. My body was stiff, my joints locking up from the cold floor and the damp draft that swept under the door.I sat up, pushing hair out of my face.Killian stood over me. He was fully dressed in a charcoal suit, looking like he owned the city. He held a cup of coffee. The steam rose in the air, smelling of heaven.He didn’t offer me any.He watched me brush the hair from my eyes. His gaze narrowed.I had thick, dark hair. Even after Carmina had hacked a chunk off in the linen closet, there was still enough of it to fall forward, to create a curtain, to hide my face when I wanted to disappear.Killian took a sip of his coffee.“You are hiding,” he stated.I froze. I kept my head down, letting the hair shield me.“
The Silence Of His Vows Chapter 46
The numbness was a shield.It was heavy, like a lead vest, and it made moving difficult, but it stopped the arrows.I sat on the mattress in the windowless room, staring at the gray wall. My hands were folded in my lap. My burned hand was re-wrapped in fresh gauze… not by a doctor, but by me, using supplies I had stolen from the bathroom trash when Carmina wasn’t looking.It throbbed. Of course it throbbed. But the pain felt like it was happening to someone else. Like I was watching a movie of a girl in pain, and I was just the audience.Knock.It wasn’t a knock. It was a kick.The door swung open.Marco stood there. He looked tired. He looked at me with a strange expression—not pity, not hate. Just… unease.“Up,” he said. “The Don is eating. He requires service.”I stood up.I didn’t tremble. I didn’t scramble. I rose slowly, unfolding my limbs like a rusted machine.I smoothed the front of my gray dress. I checked my apron.I walked to the door.Marco stepped back, giving me a wide
The Silence Of His Vows Chapter 45
Third person pov:The study was dark, illuminated only by the blue-white glow of the monitor and the ember of a cigarette burning in the ashtray.Killian Alatorre sat in the high-backed leather chair, a glass of amber whiskey untouched on the desk. His hand rested on the mouse, his index finger hovering over the button.Click.The video rewound.Play.On the screen, Luna’s face filled the frame.It was the moment before she cried. The split second where her composure fractured, where the “spoiled princess” mask dissolved, and something else peered out from beneath the grime and the fake bruise.Killian leaned forward, his eyes narrowing.He watched the way her throat worked as she swallowed a sob. He watched the way her pupils dilated, swallowing the hazel iris until her eyes were black pools of terror. He watched the tremor in her bottom lip—a microscopic, involuntary spasm that no amount of acting classes could teach.He froze the frame.He stared at her eyes.He was looking for the
The Silence Of His Vows Chapter 44
The silence in the servant’s corridor was different now.Before, it had been the silence of invisibility. I was a ghost haunting the edges of the house, ignored and erased.Now, it was the silence of a held breath.Every time I passed a guard, the conversation stopped. Eyes followed me. Heavy. Greasy. They didn’t look at my bucket or my scrub brush anymore. They looked at my legs beneath the gray hem. They looked at my mouth.Inspecting the goods.Killian’s words hung in the air like a thick, poisonous fog. He had branded me in the foyer. He had told them I was his to play with, and now, every man in the house wondered what that play looked like.I kept my head down, hugging the wall as I carried a stack of linens to the laundry chute.My burned hand throbbed—a dull, wet ache under the dirty bandage. My stomach was a hollow pit, gnawing at itself.But it was the shame that made me stumble.I wasn’t a pr
The Silence Of His Vows Chapter 43
The IV bag was empty.I lay on the bed, watching the last drop of clear fluid hesitate at the plastic nozzle before slipping down the tube and vanishing into my vein.The silence in the room was heavy, broken only by the distant, rhythmic thud of boots patrolling the hallway.I felt… alive.It wasn’t a good feeling. It was a sharp, stinging awareness. The sugar and fluids had done their job. The fog in my brain had cleared, leaving behind a high-definition picture of my nightmare.My hand—the burned one—throbbed in time with my heart. My ankle, chafed by the leather cuff, burned.The door opened.Killian walked in.He brought the cold air with him. He was wearing a black shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing the thick veins of his forearms. He looked powerful. Rested. Lethal.He didn’t look at my face. He looked at the empty bag.“Refueled,” he stated.He walked to
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