All Chapters of The Devil's Vow #1: Crimson Promises: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

The moment the plane landed in Moscow, I knew I didn’t belong here. The sky was gray, the air sharp with cold, a stark contrast to the warmth of Italy. Even inside the private car that awaited us, I could feel the chill seep into my bones. I pulled my coat tighter around me, trying to suppress the shiver that ran through my body—not just from the cold, but from the dread tightening my chest. I had never been to Russia before, and honestly, I had never wanted to. Yet, here I was, forced into an engagement I despised, traveling to a foreign place that felt nothing like home. Damian sat beside me in the car, silent as ever, his posture rigid and unreadable. He hadn’t spoken a word to me since we left Italy, and I wasn’t exactly eager to start a conversation. The tension between us had only grown in the days leading up to this trip. I hated how unaffected he seemed by everything. As if our upcoming marriage was nothing more than a business deal—and to him, maybe it was. The drive to t

The hum of the car engine filled the silence as I stared out the window. The Italian countryside blurred past, but I barely noticed. My mind was elsewhere, tangled in frustration and exhaustion. The past few weeks had been a whirlwind of wedding preparations, negotiations, and tense conversations with Damian. No matter what I said or did, he remained as cold and unreadable as ever. The only time I had seen anything other than indifference from him was when we argued—which was often. Now, we were on our way back to Italy, accompanied by a convoy of Damian’s men and a few of my father’s guards. It was meant to be a show of strength, proof that our families were united. But the truth was, I felt more like a prisoner than a bride-to-be. I glanced at Damian, who sat across from me in the sleek black SUV. He was focused on his phone, his jaw tight, his expression unreadable. Even in a setting like this, he carried himself with an air of control, as if he was untouchable. I hated

The sound of my heels clicking against the marble floors echoed through the long hallway. I hadn’t slept much since the attack, but it wasn’t fear that kept me awake. It was the realization that, for all my hatred of this arrangement, I was still here. And I was still alive—because of Damian. I found him in the study, standing near the window with his arms crossed, staring at the darkened skyline. His suit jacket was draped over a chair, the sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled up to his elbows. He looked just as untouchable as ever. I hovered near the doorway, reluctant to step inside. He didn’t turn around, but I knew he had noticed me. He always did. "Couldn’t sleep?" he asked, his voice even. I exhaled slowly and leaned against the frame. "No." Neither of us spoke for a long moment. The silence was heavy, but not as suffocating as it used to be. I shifted on my feet before finally saying, "I know we don’t like each other." Damian let out a short, humorless laug

The discovery of the photograph refused to leave my mind. No matter how much I told myself to let it go, the image of the woman—her soft smile, the way her eyes mirrored Damian’s—kept surfacing in my thoughts. I found myself watching him more closely. His every movement, his every sharp remark, the way his hands sometimes clenched into fists when he thought no one was looking. It was like piecing together a puzzle, one that he never wanted anyone to solve. And yet, I couldn’t stop. --- The evening air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and smoke from the fireplaces burning in the Volkov estate. I sat by the window in my room, staring out at the vast property. Everything here was so different from Italy—so controlled, so suffocating. I had been lost in my thoughts when I heard the sound of footsteps outside my door. They were heavy but deliberate, as if the person wasn’t sure if they should knock or walk away. A second later, a soft knock followed. I hesitated be

I stormed into Damian’s office without knocking. I didn’t care if I was interrupting him. The weight of my frustration had been simmering for too long, and I wasn’t about to let it fester any longer. “We need to talk,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended. Damian didn’t even glance up from the document he was reading. His usual cold indifference only fueled my anger. “Isabella,” he said flatly, still focused on his paperwork. “I’m busy.” I marched forward, slamming my hands onto his desk. “I don’t care.” That got his attention. His head lifted, eyes locking onto mine, dark and unreadable. A warning flickered in his gaze, but I ignored it. I was tired of the games, the silent treatments, the walls he kept building between us. “What is it this time?” he asked, leaning back in his chair. “Another complaint about how you hate being here? Or how much you despise me?” I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms. “You think this is about me hating you? Fine. You’re impossibl