Lahat ng Kabanata ng SHATTERED VOWS : Kabanata 1 - Kabanata 7

I didn't sleep that night.The contract sat on my nightstand like a coiled snake, three pages of legal language that basically said I would belong to Dante Marchetti for the next three years. I must have read it twenty times, looking for the trap hidden in the words. But the terms were exactly what he'd said. Generous, even. Too generous.That's what scared me most.At four in the morning, I gave up on sleep and went downstairs to make coffee. The house was quiet in that heavy way that comes right before dawn, when everything feels weak and temporary. I sat at the kitchen table where my family used to eat breakfast together, back when Dad was still alive and Mom still smiled and Charlotte still believed our lives were magical.That felt like a different lifetime now.The coffee was still brewing when I heard footsteps on the stairs. Charlotte appeared in the doorway, wearing one of Dad's old college sweatshirts that hung past her knees. At nineteen, she still looked like a kid to me,

What I discovered first was that Dante Marchetti didn't eat supper like a normal human being.I entered the dining room at six fifty-five, not desiring to give him the satisfaction of having me arrive late. The room was as cold and Spartan as the rest of the house: a twenty-seat long mahogany table, crystal chandelier overhead, artwork on the walls that probably cost more money than most individuals earned in a lifetime.Dante was already seated at the head of the table, scrolling on his tablet. He didn't look up when I entered.I stood there, waiting for a quick greeting. But then nothing, not even a verbal response from him. Just the soft click of his fingers against the screen and the beat of my own breathing."Should I take a seat, or do you have to tell me where?" I asked finally.His eyes went up. Cold, calculating. "Wherever you'd like. Though most don't want to sit across from you as far away as possible as if they're afraid of you.""I am afraid of you."A fleeting expression

By the time the city woke, Isabelle had already lived a lifetime.New York looked unreal from the back seat of Dante’s car steel and glass rising into a pale morning sky, sharp and indifferent. The city hummed with life, unaware that she was riding into it like an offering wrapped in silk.She stared out the window, fingers curled tightly in her lap. Mrs. Chen had dressed her with quiet efficiency: a charcoal-gray dress that hugged her waist and skimmed her knees, elegant and restrained. Power dressing. Dante’s choice, no doubt.“You look appropriate,” he said beside her, eyes scanning her reflection in the tinted glass. “That’s important.”Appropriate.She didn’t answer.His hand rested on her thigh, not possessive deliberate. A reminder. The warmth of it burned through the thin fabric.“This is not a social event,” he continued calmly. “This is a test. Smile when I smile. Speak when spoken to. Do not improvise.”“I’m not your employee.”“No,” he agreed softly. “You’re more valuable