Page 83 of Vow of Vengeance

I stand before the mirror,wearing precisely what he’s instructed me to. Two articles of clothing. They amount to almost nothing.

The underwire bra is made of pale lace, except where the full cups should be, there are only quarter-cups, my nipples on full display, a blue elasticized band running from the middle of my shoulders down to the inside corner of the wire on both sides.

And I wear black lace high-rise panties. Only these are like no other underwear I’ve ever seen, much less worn. Where the interior cotton gusset should be, there’s nothing. There is no crotch in these panties. Instead, the lacy fabric runs along my outer labia.

I’m barefoot and pretty much nude.

My hair is pulled up into a high ponytail. I’ve been told I might get sweaty.

My punishment for touching my own body.

Submission. Control. Dominance.

The words echo in my mind as I stare at my obedient reflection. Why do I always let him have this control over me? Why don't I tell him no? Demand a car and go home? He's not here to stop me.

But the truth is, I don't want to leave. I want to be with him, to give myself entirely to him. When he first demanded marriage, he needed something from me and wasn’t willing to take no for an answer.

But now, he’saskingme to marry him.

Why didn't I do the sensible thing and say not just no for now, but no, never?

The answer comes to my heart before it can form in my mind. Even then, when he first stormed my bedroom, there was a part of me that wanted this connection with him, a piece of me that craved his touch and his dominance over me.

This began as a forced marriage. I didn't have a choice. Now, he's asking me for more—to be his wife in every sense of the word. And deep down, despite all the doubts, fears, and uncertainties that plague me, I want that, too.

I don't want to go home. I want him here with me.

A pinging sound comes from the video screen.

“You mustn’t keep Mr. Dom waiting,” I murmur encouragingly, putting one foot in front of the other as I walk over the thick carpet to the remote on the desk. “You can get through this, whatever it is.”

My hands tremble as I approach the remote, and my heart races with a mix of fear and anticipation. I have no idea what he hasplanned for me, and the unknown is almost as terrifying as the thought of his punishment.

With each step, my doubts and nerves multiply, making me question if I should even go through with this. But I know I must face him; no matter how much it scares me, I won’t back down.

As my fingers clumsily press the button with the white square, a loud whirring sound interrupts the silence around me. My eyes dart up toward the ceiling, where an intricate tray design catches my attention.

The squares within the tray are painted a calming blue, contrasting with the stark white molding. And then I see it—a video screen slowly descending from its hidden spot along the molding.

My heart sinks as I realize this was all part of his plan—using technology to control and punish me from afar. It feels cold to be alone with this screen. I want him. And I’m mad that he would do all this to prove a point, that he’s in charge even when he’s not here. A wave of conflicting emotions washes over me—anger at his manipulative tactics, fear of what's to come, and a strange sense of longing for his presence despite everything.

As I stare at the screen, I can't help but wonder what he has in store for me this time.

His voice comes through as the screen continues to lower into place. “A coffered ceiling,” he says, “to improve the room’s acoustics.”

“How did you pull this off?” My words are whispers, but he manages to hear them from wherever he is.

The screen locks into place, still dark as his voice fills the room, asking me, “Was there a handyman at the castle today?”

“Yes. Callum,” I say, picturing the massive man with the blond beard and stepladder slung over his shoulder. “But he looked more like a Viking than a handyman.”

Haze says, “He’s a friend of mine. He did me a few favors and made a few—enhancements—to this bedroom.”

“Wait—he was in this room?” My skin prickles. I glance around me, feeling like I’m being watched.

“Yes, baby. And now you’ll see what additions I’ve made for you.”

The screen goes bright white, and then Haze appears. He has dark hair, dark eyes, and a dark soul. His look is pure lust—more for control than for me. His gaze lowers as he takes in this barely there outfit he’s made me wear.

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