Page 100 of Convenient Vows

He studies me for a moment, then laughs. Low and wicked.

“Your father won’t find you,” he says simply.

The words hang in the air like a noose.

“My father will burn this city to the ground to get me back,” I whisper.

Cristóbal tuts like I’m a child.

“Your father is dying. Slowly, and pathetically. He doesn’t have that kind of strength or time to spare. And this—” he gestures around the room—“this wasn’t a sloppy snatch job. There are no breadcrumbs,mi rosa.Nothing to trail you back to this house.”

The silence between us stretches.

He crosses the room and picks up a teacup from the cart in the corner, sips it leisurely like we’re discussing real estate instead of my abduction.

“But the ball is still in your court,” he says lightly.

I narrow my eyes. “What does that mean?”

He turns toward me again, this time with a smile that gleams like the edge of a blade.

“It means you have six more hours to make your decision whether you live or die,” he says. “Six hours to agree to marry me.”

“I WOULD NEVER MARRY YOU!” I scream. “The thought of you touching me makes my skin crawl.”

He looks at me with a cruel, yet amused smile on his face. “You think I want to touch you?” He bursts into an evil smile. “Maybe I did a long time ago, but knowing you have been fucked by a Russian swine makes you detestable to me. I could never fuckthe same cunt as a them. You are already too contaminated for my cock.”

His words punch me harder than any blow can: “You are not worthy to breathe the same air as Zasha.” I say in an icy tone.

He pins me to the wall and looks at me with fury in his eyes. “Don’t push me bitch.”

I swallow the retort in my head and will myself to stay silent.

He pauses, then adds, “If you dare push me again, I will do away with you and your little brat.”

The world tilts. Just slightly. Just enough for the blood to rush to my head. And my heart hammers in my chest, sharp and rhythmic like it’s trying to crack through my ribs.

Cristóbal sees the fear in my eyes and smiles, something cold and triumphant sparking behind his eyes.

“He’s been crying for you,” he says, like it pleases him. “Kept asking for his mamá like a good little bastard.”

The word pierces me like a knife, and my hand moves before I can feel the heat in my veins. The sound of my palm striking his cheek reverberates through the room. He doesn’t stumble, doesn’t even flinch. But his smile vanishes. And for a second, there’s only silence.

Then—he hits me. Hard.

The slap comes quickly and without mercy. His palm strikes my face with such force that I crash against the vanity behind me, my shoulder hitting the edge as my skull bounces off the wall. The impact robs the air from my lungs. Pain blossoms behind my eye, radiating outward in pulsing waves.

I slide to the floor. My cheek burns, and my vision pulses black. I raise my head slowly and look up at him from the floor. Cristóbal stands over me, his face cold and blank.

“You think you are here for a vacation?” he rages. Giving me a kick to the ribs. “I’m here to make you understand the position you’re in. You do not want to fuck with me.”

He crouches slightly, voice lowering into a threat wrapped in silk. “You are mine now, Mara. You can either become something useful and something obedient, or I can start pulling you apart piece by piece.”

I breathe through my nose, jaw trembling, but I don’t look away.

“And your brat?” he adds, straightening. “He’s only breathing because I’m feeling generous.”

I clench my fists at my sides, trying to force my breathing into something steady.

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