Semua Bab The Devil's Vow #1: Crimson Promises: Bab 21 - Bab 30

For the past few days, something about Damian had changed. It wasn’t something obvious—his voice was still sharp, his posture rigid, his orders just as unyielding. But there were moments, brief flickers in time, where his mask seemed to slip. A hesitation before speaking, an unusual silence when I challenged him, a momentary softness in his eyes that disappeared as quickly as it came. I noticed it late at night, when the house was quiet. I had gotten used to the silence of the Volkov estate, the eerie stillness that settled over the halls after dark. But tonight, there was a shift in the air, something restless and uncertain. As I passed the study, I saw the faint glow of light seeping through the door. Damian was inside, sitting at his desk, staring at a glass of whiskey he had yet to drink. His face was unreadable, but there was something in the way he sat—shoulders tense, jaw clenched—that made me pause. I could have walked away. I should have. But something held me in place.

Damian hasn’t spoken to me in days. After our last fight, he shut down completely. He wasn’t just cold—he was absent. At first, I told myself that it didn’t matter. I had no reason to care. He had made it clear that his past was off-limits, and I had no right to pry. Maybe I should have listened. Maybe I should have just walked away. But I couldn’t. Not after what I had read in Nadia’s journal. Not after seeing the way Damian had looked at me when I confronted him about Petrov. There was something there—something deeper than the ruthless man he pretended to be. And whether he wanted me to or not, I had seen it. And now, I couldn’t unsee it. For the next few days, the mansion was eerily quiet. Damian kept his distance, and the staff, sensing the tension, barely spoke in his presence. At meals, he ignored me completely, eating in silence before disappearing into his office. I tried not to let it bother me, but it did. I hated that I had become so affected by him. That I care

I told myself it didn’t mean anything. It was a mistake—just a fleeting moment, a lapse in judgment. But every time I closed my eyes, I could still feel the way his lips crushed against mine, the heat of his body pressing into me, the way the air had vanished between us as if the world had stopped turning. And yet, Damian was pretending it never happened. It started with an argument. Of course, it did. I had spent the entire day trying to shake off the memory of what happened in the car after the business meeting. Something had shifted between us, something neither of us had acknowledged, and I hated the way it made me feel—off-balance, uncertain. Damian, on the other hand, seemed determined to act as if nothing had changed. He had barely spoken to me since we got back. If anything, he had been avoiding me. And that irritated me more than it should have. So when I found him in his office that evening, pouring himself a drink, I didn’t hesitate. “You’ve been ignoring me,” I a

The bruises on my wrists had started to fade, but the feeling of helplessness still clung to me like a second skin. I stood in front of the mirror in my room, staring at the faint purple marks left by the ropes that had bound me. My kidnappers had underestimated me, but I knew the truth—I had been lucky. Lucky that I managed to free myself. Lucky that Damian had found me in time. Lucky that I was still breathing. But luck wouldn’t always be on my side. For days after my kidnapping, I felt the shift in how people looked at me. The whispers, the wary glances from the staff, even Nikolai’s careful tone when he spoke to me—it all pointed to one thing. I wasn’t just Isabella anymore. I was Isabella Volkov. I had no choice in the matter. The moment I was dragged into Damian’s world, my name became more than just a name—it became a target. And if I wanted to survive, I had to stop relying on luck. I had to learn how to fight back. I found Damian in his office, sitting behind his m

I never thought the truth could be so cruel. Nadia wasn’t just dead—she was murdered. Brutally. The weight of that knowledge sat heavy in my chest, pressing down like an unseen force. I had spent weeks trying to peel back the layers of Damian’s past, desperate to understand him, to see him. And now that I did, I wished I hadn’t. Because now, I could never unsee the pain that haunted his every move. Damian blamed himself for her death. That much was obvious. I saw it in the way his jaw clenched when her name was mentioned, in the way his usually sharp gaze clouded over with something deeper—something darker. I finally understood why he kept people at a distance, why he refused to let anyone close. Because the last time he did… it got her killed. I wanted to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, that he wasn’t to blame. But how could I? I wasn’t there. I didn’t know the full story. And even if I did, would my words really matter? Damian didn’t need empty reassurances. He neede