Page 49 of Dangerous Vows

She swallowed, staring at the ceiling. “And what if all I want is my freedom?”

I tilt my head, considering her words. “There is no absolute freedom. There is comfort and, if you’re lucky, love. You’re lucky if you have one of those. But I can give you both.”

She lets that sink in as her fingers twist the edge of the sheet. “You can’t promise that.”

“I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

She exhales, a soft, shaky breath—and for just a moment, I see it. Her defenses falter. Not gone, but cracking. Just enough to let me in.

I hesitate before asking the next question, but I need to know. “Who hurt you?”

She flinches, just barely, but I catch it.

Bits and pieces trickled out like water slipping through cracks. “Not all girls are treated like Princesses,” she murmurs. “And not all mothers protect their daughters.”

My jaw clenches as fury curls in my chest. She didn’t say the words, but I didn’t need her to.

I knew.

I reach for her hand and squeeze it gently.

“You’re safe now.”

She looks at me, and in her eyes, something shatters.

“For how long?” she whispers.

I don’t have the answer she needs. Not the kind she deserves. But I know one thing—I won’t let anything touch her. Not while I’m still breathing.

Because she’s mine.

“For as long as it takes.”

She’s mine to protect. Mine to keep.

And I’m damn sure her father, and Petrovic—know it too.

AMARA

THE LIE BETWEEN US

Ican’t believe he ordered dinner. Knowing I’d be hungry, he thought to feed me, and that makes my heart swell with gratitude.

Sure, it’s more than that. Every time I pull away, he pulls me back. It’s like doing yoga with a partner—your partner gently pulls you into a deeper stretch, and you do the same for them.

It’s comforting being with Pietro. We’ve built a routine, and it’s nice. Incredible, actually. It’s more than just hooking up. And as much as it scares me, we’re in an unspoken relationship— it pleases me and terrifies me all at once.

Home.

The way he said it last night, he implied that we’re a couple, and this penthouse isours. But nothing could be further from the truth.

I’m his current obsession, and my father’s words—he’ll toss you aside—can’t be forgotten.

Yes, the penthouse feels like home. A home I would love to have. But it’s not mine, and it never will be. My time here is running out.

It’s the quiet before the storm. Even I know sleeping giants eventually wake up—and when they do, it’s a nightmare. I’ve had my share of those.

And I know another one is coming.

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