Lahat ng Kabanata ng Bound by His Ruthless Vow: Kabanata 1 - Kabanata 10

The rain beat a relentless, rhythmic tattoo against the tinted windows of the black Maybach limousine. Inside, the silence was a living, breathing entity, suffocating and charged with an electric tension that made the hairs on Elena’s arms stand on end.Elena pressed herself as far against the passenger door as the spacious leather seats allowed. She stared out at the passing blur of Manhattan’s neon lights, refusing to look at the man sitting mere inches away from her. The torn hem of her wedding dress felt like a cold, damp weight around her legs, a constant reminder of the physical and metaphorical violence that had just shattered her life.On her finger, the black diamond ring felt impossibly heavy. It caught the faint light of the streetlamps, gleaming with a dark, sinister beauty.Adrian Vance sat with absolute, terrifying composure. He had removed his leather gloves, revealing large, elegant hands with long fingers that now casually tapped against his knee. He was looking at a

The flashing lights of the paparazzi were a physical assault.The moment the chauffeur opened the door of the black Maybach outside L’Étoile—Manhattan’s most exclusive Michelin-starred restaurant—the world dissolved into a blinding sea of white. Shouts and questions from dozens of reporters erupted like gunfire behind the velvet ropes of the barricades."Mr. Vance! Is it true you married Elena Ross in secret?" "Elena! Did you abandon Marcus Sterling at the altar for Adrian Vance?" "Mr. Vance, is this a hostile takeover of Ross Enterprises disguised as a marriage?"Elena felt her breath catch in her throat, her chest tightening with a sudden panic. She had grown up in high society, but she had never faced a media frenzy of this scale. The questions were sharp, designed to bleed her dry.Just as she felt herself begin to sway under the pressure, a large, warm hand settled firmly against the small of her back. The heat of Adrian’s palm burned through the thin emerald silk of her dress, a

The metallic taste of fear flooded Elena’s mouth as the rough, calloused hand clamped harder over her lips.She couldn’t breathe. The scent of cheap tobacco, stale sweat, and fresh, coppery blood filled her senses, suffocating her. The man holding her was a wall of muscle, dragging her backward toward the dark concrete stairs."Don't squirm, pretty girl," the raspy voice whispered against her ear, sending cold dread down her spine. "Adrian's kept you locked up like a prized doll, but Uncle Victor wants his plaything back. You're our ticket to ending the Vance empire."No. Not like this.The realization that she was nothing but a pawn to be broken and discarded snapped something inside Elena. The terror that had paralyzed her moments ago transformed into a hot, feral surge of adrenaline. She was a Ross. She might have been sold, but she refused to be stolen.As the mercenary dragged her down the first step, Elena suddenly went limp, throwing off his center of gravity."What the—" the m

"ELENA!"The roar that ripped from Adrian Vance’s throat was not the sound of a polished billionaire. It was the primal, guttural cry of a wounded lion whose mate had just been torn from his side.In the pitch-black void of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, panic had turned the grand hall into a chaotic nightmare. Hundreds of masked aristocrats screamed, crashing into towering floral displays and knocking over crystal champagne fountains in their desperate stampede toward the exits.Adrian surged forward through the dark, his broad chest smashing through the panicked crowd like a battering ram. He ignored the excruciating spike of agony in his left shoulder, where his fresh stitches groaned and tore under the sheer violence of his movements. Warm, sticky blood immediately soaked back through his crisp white tuxedo shirt, but he felt nothing.Only rage. Pure, blinding, lethal rage.He reached the spot where Elena had been standing mere seconds ago. His large hand swept through the empty

The dawn over New York was a dull, bruised purple.In the private medical wing of Adrian Vance’s Tribeca tower, the scent of antiseptic was heavy in the air. Sunlight bled through the automated blinds, illuminating the sleek chrome fixtures and the white marble floor.Elena sat on a leather armchair beside the medical bed, her emerald eyes fixed on Adrian.He was sitting upright, shirtless, his muscular chest and broad shoulders illuminated by the morning light. A fresh, thick white bandage covered his shoulder, re-stitched by his elite private surgeon hours ago. His jaw was dark with a day’s worth of stubble, his messy dark hair falling over his forehead, and his silver eyes—usually so cold and impenetrable—were fixed entirely on her."You should be resting," Elena said softly, her hands folded in her lap. She was wearing a simple, oversized gray cashmere sweater that belonged to Adrian, the long sleeves covering her hands."I don't need rest, Elena," Adrian replied, his voice a low,