Vow Notebook Novels & Stories

insistent? I took a slow sip of my whiskey, the burn soothing the tension gnawing at my gut. Every interaction with her felt like a delicate balance between pushing her away and pulling her closer. The frustration was almost unbearable. I had her, but she wasn’t mine—not in the way I needed her to be. Yet, I could feel it—the way she was slowly unraveling. The walls she built so fiercely around herself were beginning to show cracks. I could see it in her eyes every time she looked at me. She hated me, but the heat between us, the undeniable pull that bound us together, was growing stronger with every passing day.

Nikolai Volkov The moment the envelope hit my desk, I knew it wasn't just another threat. It was too formal, too clean, too deliberate. The kind of envelope that meant war—not just in words, but in legacy. I didn’t open it right away. Instead, I stared at it for a moment, feeling the familiar sting of anticipation burning just behind my sternum. It bore no return address. No emblem. Just my name, scrawled in neat, deliberate handwriting.

Not long after I left Dawson Corporation, Shane Dawson sent me an address and a photo of our wedding venue: a Spanish castle named Castillo de Sol. The picture showed the castle’s facade consisting of ivory limestone walls and a blazing golden dome, luxury carved into every line. Right in the center of the shot stood Tania Collins, her curls tumbling over her shoulders, a crimson gown hugging her figure. My fingers hovered over her radiant smile for two long seconds. The absurdity sank in like ice.

Tatum’s POV Silence. Not the ordinary kind—the kind that lingers politely between casual conversations. No. This silence was heavy. Suffocating. It pressed against my chest, crawled under my skin, and settled deep in my bones like a living thing. Ten percent. Of the Voss Group.

Connor returned to the villa. Camille walked up to him with a smile–but froze when she saw the coldness in his eyes. "Connor, what's wrong? Did Sienna upset you again? "You're already divorced. Don't be angry with her anymore. Connor… when are we setting our wedding date? I couldn't sleep last night just thinking about finally becoming your wife." Connor's voice was cold. "Didn't you say you didn't care about a title? That as long as you were with me, it was enough?"

Three weeks later... "Come on, bella." I squeeze another ribbon of purée onto the lip of the pouch and lower it toward the floor. "You know nobody else would do this for you. You think Nico gets on his knees for anyone? Marco? He would have called Valeria three days ago and considered his conscience clean. This is me, Mina. Specifically me. You should be grateful." _*]:min-w-0 gap-3 !gap-3.5">

I add her name to the third notebook, under a new section I have been building since the registry began: people who are already doing the work. The list is longer than I expected when I started it. It gets longer every week.

She used to make me a hangover remedy to comfort me. I thought we'd always be happy together. … At the bar, I was surrounded by colleagues. Jane flitted around, easily mingling with everyone. The vice president of my company, Oscar Wright, raised his glass to toast me. "Cheers to your freedom from misery! I told you long ago Rhiannon wasn't right for you. She was always biased toward that pretty boy, but you wouldn't listen. We tried to warn you," Oscar said. "Let's not bring her up anymore," I said.