Blood Bound Vows의 모든 챕터: 챕터 21 - 챕터 29

The first thing I felt was not warmth.It was him.Heat still clung to my skin, and leftover from the night we didn’t mean to have—but didn’t stop, either. The kind of heat that had nothing to do with blankets and everything to do with the hands that held me, the mouth that claimed me, the body that pushed against mine until I forgot fear existed.My thighs ached in a way that made me catch my breath. My lips were swollen.My pulse fluttered like it hadn’t figured out the night was already over.The room smelled like sex and rain and faint smoke from the memory of the explosion. The sheets were tangled around our legs. It twisted with the evidence of everything we crossed that couldn’t be uncrossed even if we tried.This time, when I woke up, I was not tucked against his chest like last time.I was on top of him.One of my legs was thrown over his waist, and my cheek rested against his bare shoulder. His hand was still possessively curved around my hip—as if he held me all night even

The night tasted like metal,sharp, and cold. It bit at my tongue as I crouched behind the hedges outside my father’s estate. I had done reckless things before. But this? Breaking into my childhood home. Dodging guards who used to greet me with warm smiles. Moving through shadows I used to chase butterflies in. This was something else entirely. The estate was alive with more security than I could remember. Two guards were at the front gate. One patrolled the east garden. A new set of cameras swept across the courtyard in slow, methodical arcs. He was hiding something. And I was going to find it. I pulled my hood lower, adjusted the strap of the small backpack slung across my shoulder, and waited for the camera on the near wall to turn away. Three… two… one. I moved. Silent steps. Breath held. Muscles tight with adrenaline as I slid across the lawn. I pressed my back to the stone exterior. My father always insisted on old-fashioned architecture—grand arches, vaulted windows,

“Shall we eat?” Matteo asked, as he settled back with the smug ease of a man who believed the room belonged to him.Silverware clinked hesitantly as servants began to bring out dishes. But no one at the table reached for food. Not yet. Not until they knew whether Dante or Matteo would strike first.Dante didn’t touch his fork.Didn’t blink.Didn’t breathe wrong.He sat perfectly still beside me, but I felt the storm in him. It tightly leashed and vibrated against my skin. Every shift of Matteo’s gaze only pulled the tension tighter.My father forced a brittle smile. “This is a dinner between families. Let’s maintain some—”“Politeness?” Matteo cut in. “Is that what we’re pretending tonight?”My father stiffened. The Romano men at the opposite end of the table exchanged quiet glances like they calculated, and waited like power that balanced on the edge of a knife.Matteo reached for a piece of bread like he hadn’t just walked in and lit the room on fire.“Aren’t you going to eat, Dante

I woke up to silence.Not the peaceful kind—the kind that pressed on your ribs, heavy as a hand over your mouth.The sunlight filtered through the penthouse windows like nothing happened last night. As if a man didn’t die beneath this roof. As if Dante didn’t pull a trigger with a steady hand while I stood there, shaking and stupidly rooted to the floor.I sat up slowly, my breath caught halfway. The sheets smelled like Dante’s cologne—dark, woodsy, expensive. It should be comforting. Today, it felt like a weight on my chest.I swung my legs off the bed.My knees almost buckled.The image hit me again—sharp, unwelcome, unavoidable:The flash.The sound.The way his body went still.One second alive.The next… gone.I gripped the edge of the mattress, as I tried to steady my breaths.In. Out.In. Out.It doesn’t work.The room felt too small, like the walls had moved closer during the night. I didn’t sleep much—just drifted in and out, every time I jolted awake with the phantom echo o

The city looked different at night when you’re alone on purpose.Not romantic. Not electric. Just sharp.I shouldn’t have left the penthouse. I knew that before I even stepped into the elevator. The weight of it pressed against my ribs as the doors slid shut, sealing me into motion. Dante hadn’t forbidden me—not outright—but the air between us had been tight all evening, threaded with unspoken warnings.I told myself I needed air. Distance. A reminder that I was still capable of making choices that didn’t revolve around danger.That was the lie.The truth was simpler and uglier: I hated feeling watched.So I walked.The street was busy enough at first—restaurants glowed, laughter spilled onto sidewalks, traffic hummed like a living thing. I blended in. A woman in a dark coat, hood pulled up, backpack slung behind, phone in hand. No destination. No plan.Just movement.It wasn’t until I turned onto a narrower street that the quiet began to feel wrong.Too sudden.The noise didn’t fade