TRAPPED IN HIS VOWS

"This is it."

Ethan Sinclair's gaze swept over the glittering city skyline, the very empire he had rebuilt from the ashes of his family's downfall. It should have been enough. The wealth. The power. The respect. But none of it mattered until the Lancasters paid for what they had done.

He exhaled slowly, fingers drumming against the polished mahogany desk. Every move he had made over the past decade had led to this moment. He had spent years ensuring his company overshadowed theirs, stripping away their influence piece by piece. But business alone wouldn't satisfy him. No-Jonathan Lancaster and his wife had destroyed his family, and now, he intended to destroy theirs.

And the key to his final move?

Aria Lancaster.

The golden daughter. The cherished princess of the Lancaster dynasty. The one weakness in their otherwise impenetrable armor. Unlike her ruthless parents, she was untouched by scandal, known for her warmth and kindness. But kindness wouldn't save her. Not from him.

A sharp knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.

"Come in," he said, his voice smooth but edged with authority.

The door swung open, and Nathan Cole, his most trusted advisor, stepped inside. "Everything is in place," Nathan said, handing him a file. "The engagement announcement will be made by the end of the month. She won't see it coming."

Ethan flipped the folder open, his gaze landing on a recent photograph of Aria. Sapphire-blue eyes, golden-blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, a soft smile gracing her lips. A picture of innocence.

He almost felt sorry for her.

Almost.

Closing the folder with a decisive snap, he leaned back in his chair. "Good. The Lancasters took everything from me. It's time I return the favor."

And Aria?

She would be his greatest weapon.

Margaret Sinclair stepped into the dimly lit office, her sharp eyes immediately landing on her son. Ethan didn't have to look up to know she had that familiar, knowing expression-the one that told him she had been watching him too closely for too long.

She took her time crossing the room, pausing by the floor-to-ceiling window to glance out at the city. "You've been brooding again," she mused, her voice light but laced with something deeper.

Ethan smirked but didn't respond. He had expected her visit. Margaret Sinclair wasn't a woman who let things go easily, especially when it came to him.

She finally turned to face him, her gaze flickering to the folder on his desk. "So, is this the part where you finally tell your mother what exactly you're planning?"

He leaned back, folding his hands together. "I'm going to marry Aria Lancaster."

Margaret's brows lifted in mild amusement. "Are you now?" She walked over and perched herself on the edge of his desk, picking up the folder without waiting for permission. She flipped through its contents, her expression unreadable as she studied Aria's picture.

After a beat of silence, she let out a soft chuckle. "She's beautiful. Sweet-looking. I imagine she has no idea what's coming."

Ethan didn't answer. He didn't need to.

Margaret set the file down and folded her arms. "Do you really have to do this, Puri?"

The childhood nickname-one she hadn't used in years-stirred something in his chest. But he shoved it down, keeping his expression unreadable.

"Yes." His voice was firm, unwavering.

She studied him for a long moment, as if searching for something beyond the cold determination in his eyes. Then, with a small sigh, she shook her head.

"Well," she said, rising from the desk, "I suppose there's no stopping you once your mind is set." She patted his cheek lightly, her touch brief but lingering just enough to remind him that she still saw him-the boy he used to be.

Before she left, she paused at the door. "Just be sure, Ethan." Her voice was quieter now, almost hesitant. "Be sure this is what you really want."

Ethan met her gaze, his jaw tightening.

"Trust me, Mom."

Ethan's phone buzzed, the name flashing across the screen making his jaw tighten. Camille Laurent.

With a sigh, he picked up. "What do you want, Camille?" His voice was clipped, already irritated.

"Relax, darling," Camille's sultry voice purred through the speaker. "You always sound so tense. I thought I'd do something nice for you. I have a little surprise planned-why don't you come out and see me?"

Ethan leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Not interested."

Camille chuckled. "Oh, Ethan. You and I both know you can't stay away forever. You love a good game, and I know you better than anyone."

Ethan smirked, but there was no warmth in it. "You think you know me, Camille," he said, his tone laced with cold amusement. "But you don't."

Julian Carter, seated casually across from him, raised an eyebrow as he listened in. When Ethan ended the call with a sharp, "I have more important things to do," Julian let out a low chuckle.

"You really have a way with women, Sinclair," Julian mused, shaking his head. "Ever considered writing a book? How to Lose a Clingy Ex in Ten Seconds or Less?"

Ethan shot him a dry look. "I'd rather write How to Get a Therapist Who Minds His Own Business."

Julian smirked. "Now where's the fun in that?"

Ethan ignored him and immediately dialed another number.

Within moments, a clipped, formal voice answered. "Jonathan Lancaster speaking."

Ethan leaned forward, his tone smooth and calculated. "Jonathan, I assume you've heard the latest news about your company's... unfortunate situation?"

A heavy pause. Then Jonathan's voice, careful but edged with tension. "I don't discuss business over the phone, Sinclair."

Ethan smirked. "Then let's discuss it in person. I have a proposal-one that might just be the solution to your little financial predicament."

Another pause, longer this time.

Finally, Jonathan exhaled sharply. "Fine. Come to the estate tomorrow at noon."

Ethan's grin was sharp as he ended the call.

Game on.

After a sunny day at work it finally got colder as he drove home

The rain pounded against the mansion's glass windows, a steady rhythm that filled the hollow silence of Ethan Sinclair's world. The storm outside mirrored the storm within him-restless, relentless, unyielding.

He shrugged off his damp coat as he stepped into his room, running a hand through his long blonde hair. His phone buzzed in his hand, but before he could answer, a sultry voice interrupted him.

"Put the phone down."

Ethan turned slowly, his gaze landing on the woman sprawled across his bed-Lily.

Draped in nothing but lace and sin, she watched him with hooded eyes, her lips curling into a knowing smirk. She moved like silk, rising to her feet with feline grace. Her fingers traced the edge of his suit jacket before sliding beneath it, pushing the expensive fabric off his shoulders.

"You work too much," she murmured, pressing a teasing kiss along his jawline. "You need to unwind."

Ethan exhaled through his nose, his free hand settling on her waist, feeling the warmth of her bare skin beneath his fingertips. His phone was still in his grip, but she was undeterred, her lips moving down the column of his throat, her body molding against his like a perfect fit.

His voice was low, edged with amusement. "Who let you in?"

Lily smirked against his skin, her fingers slipping lower, playing with the buttons of his dress shirt. "Your maid. She knows how much I take care of you."

That made him chuckle-dark, amused, cruel.

In a swift movement, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her flush against him. A soft gasp left her lips, followed by a breathy moan as his grip tightened.

She loved it when he handled her like this-rough, dominant, completely in control.

He lowered his head, his lips brushing the sensitive shell of her ear. His warm breath sent a shiver down her spine.

"Now you can get the fuck out."

Lily stilled, her pleasure-dazed expression shifting into one of disbelief. "What?"

Ethan released her just as quickly as he had grabbed her, his green eyes indifferent as he pulled away. He adjusted the cuffs of his shirt as if she were nothing more than a fleeting distraction.

"Ethan..." she tried again, her voice softer now, desperate.

He didn't respond. Didn't even look at her as he checked his phone.

Her jaw clenched, anger overtaking her disappointment. "You'll come back to me," she hissed, yanking her dress off the floor. "You always do."

Ethan merely smirked, the ghost of amusement playing on his lips.

Lily waited, expecting a reaction, a flicker of something-but she got nothing.

With a frustrated scoff, she stormed out, the door slamming behind her.

Ethan rolled his shoulders, exhaling slowly. His room was empty again. Just the way he liked it.

No distractions.

Ethan sprawled across his king-sized bed, the cool silk sheets barely covering his body. His sculpted muscles stretched under the dim glow of the bedside lamp, his broad chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths. His thick, firm ass was barely hidden beneath the fabric, and the heat of the night clung to his skin, making the room feel suffocating despite the storm raging outside.

Sleep refused to come. It never did.

He ran a hand through his tousled blonde hair, frustration simmering in his veins. His body was tense, restless, aching for something to take the edge off, but tonight, nothing seemed to satisfy him.

Reaching for his phone, he scrolled through his contacts-past meaningless names, past women who would eagerly crawl into his bed if he so much as hinted at it.

But none of them felt right.

His thumb hovered before he typed out a short, cryptic message.

"A cold night."

He sent it before he could second-guess himself.

The moment the message was delivered, he frowned. What the fuck was that? It wasn't like him to reach out for... what? Comfort? Company? He exhaled sharply, rolling onto his back, abs flexing as he adjusted his position.

Minutes passed, the silence pressing in.

Then, his phone buzzed.

Camille: If you're cold, I can think of better ways to keep you warm.

A smirk tugged at his lips. Predictable. Camille always knew how to play the game-always ready to crawl back under him, to take whatever he gave and beg for more.

And yet, something about it felt... empty.

With a low exhale, he tossed the phone aside.

His body was still burning, his blood thick with unspent desire, but he ignored it. He needed a distraction, not another meaningless fuck.

Dragging himself out of bed, his muscles flexed as he moved, the heat of his own skin making him crave something cold. He strode into the living room, grabbed a bottle of whiskey, and settled onto the couch, flipping through channels until he found what he was looking for.

National Geographic Wild.

Predators hunting. Power shifts. The brutal, primal nature of survival.

Ethan leaned back, sipping his drink, watching as lions stalked their prey. He knew the feeling-knew the hunger, the patience, the cold calculation of waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

His phone buzzed again.

Another message.

Another woman, another offer to chase away the night.

He didn't even look at it this time.

Instead, he let the whiskey burn down his throat, the images on the screen lulling him into a restless, haunted sleep by the time the sun began to rise.