Lahat ng Kabanata ng SHADOW OF VOW'S: Kabanata 31 - Kabanata 40

Alessia Volkov The applause faded into the clinking of crystal flutes and the soft hum of a string quartet. The ceremony was over. The vows had been said. The trap had been set. Now came the performance. The reception was held in the same estate, only this time, the gardens had been transformed into a dreamscape of lights and flowers. Twinkling chandeliers hung from towering trees, casting golden reflections across white roses and marble statues. It was beautiful—disgustingly so. I stood at the edge of it all, glass of champagne in hand, veil removed, heels sinking slightly into the manicured lawn. Guests mingled and laughed, wine flowed like water, and everyone pretended like this was a celebration. But I knew better. "Smile," Nikolai murmured beside me, not looking at me but at the crowd. "They’re watching." I forced my lips into something resembling joy. "Don’t worry. I wouldn’t want to embarrass you in front of your criminal board of directors." His mouth twitched at the

Alessia Volkov The air felt heavier than usual. Like something thick and unspoken had settled over the city, clinging to the windows and walls of the penthouse. I stood at the edge of the balcony, wrapped in a robe, hair twisted into a loose bun, fingers curled around a cold glass of water I hadn’t touched in ten minutes.Behind me, the doorbell echoed faintly. Once. Twice.I didn’t move. Didn’t turn.I knew who it was.Nikolai had stepped out earlier for meetings—of what nature, I didn’t care to ask—but his absence made it easier for my father to come slithering back in. Roman had called to let me know Dante was downstairs, waiting.I should have said no.I didn’t.When the door opened, I didn’t need to look to feel him enter. The presence of Dante Russo always came with the scent of expensive cologne, finely tailored disappointment, and shadows.“You look thin,” he said casually. “Is he feeding you?”“Not now, Papa.”I turned to face him slowly. He looked older. Or maybe just more

Dante MorettPower isn’t something you inherit. It’s something you seize. Something you bleed for. People like to romanticize legacy, talk about bloodlines and destiny, but all of that is noise. Pretty distractions. I’ve built my empire in silence, in calculated moves, in sacrifices most men wouldn’t stomach.Including my daughter.Yes, I gave Alessia to Nikolai Volkov. A contract wrapped in lace and signed in blood. Not because I wanted to. Because I had to. Family always comes first. Even when it destroys you.I sit behind the desk in my study, the city’s lights flickering like dying stars beyond the window. The glass in my hand is half-empty, like everything else in my life. Half full of victories. Half full of regret.Alessia thinks I betrayed her. Maybe I did. Maybe the moment I agreed to the terms with Volkov, I sold off the last piece of my soul that could still call itself a father. But that girl—she doesn’t see the battlefield. She only sees the wounds.And Luca… my son. My b

Alessia Volkov The day had been a rare kind of perfect. The kind that felt borrowed from another life. The kind of day I used to have before the name Volkov was stitched onto mine.Stassie had dragged me out of the penthouse at an ungodly hour, practically vibrating with excitement about our plans. “One last day of freedom before you’re officially a college graduate,” she’d said, tossing me a coffee and pulling me into the passenger seat of her car. It was the kind of energy only she had—the ability to cut through the storm clouds in my life and remind me of who I used to be.We started the morning with breakfast at The Ivy, where she made me laugh so hard I nearly spit out my mimosa. She recounted stories about her latest situationship, complete with dramatics and impressions, and I forgot for a moment that there was a shadow over my life. She kept saying I needed to “bask in my pre-graduation glow,” as if a ceremony and a gown could erase the scars beneath my designer clothes.Afte

Alessia Volkov The first thing I felt was cold.It seeped into my bones, clinging to my skin like a wet second layer. The air was damp, thick with mildew and rot. My head throbbed, every heartbeat pounding like a drum behind my temples. I groaned, trying to move, but my arms felt like lead.I was lying on concrete. Hard. Wet. My cheek pressed against it, and I could feel tiny stones biting into my skin. My wrists ached. Something dug into them—plastic? Zip ties. Panic fluttered in my chest, not full-blown yet, but creeping in around the edges.Where am I?Why can’t I move?And then it hit me—everything. The long day with Stassie. The drive home. The headlights in my mirror. The panic. The crash.And then—nothing.Until now.My eyes fluttered open, but I saw almost nothing. Darkness. Deep, suffocating darkness. The only light was a faint glimmer far off, like a single dying candle in the shadows. My entire body screamed for answers.A sound.Footsteps.Steady, calm, unhurried.My brea