Twisted vows

Chapter One: The Price of Blood

The letter was waiting for her on the kitchen table, folded twice and marked with a seal so black it looked like it bled darkness. Isla didn't have to open it to know who it was from. Only one man could afford to send a letter instead of a text in this city. Only one man made offers like these-offers soaked in blood and power.

Her name on the front was handwritten in perfect cursive: Isla Vance.

Her hands trembled as she broke the seal.

"One life for another.

You want to save your brother?

Marry me.

One week. My estate.

No phones. No lawyers.

Say yes, and you walk away with your brother's cure.

Say no... and he dies." - L. Ward.

She sat down slowly, her knees giving out before her will did. The ink bled into the paper, curling like smoke-Lucien Ward's signature as sharp and elegant as the devil's handwriting.

She stared at the words long enough for them to blur into each other. Her pulse beat a chaotic rhythm in her ears. It felt like a cruel prank. Like some twisted game he still enjoyed playing, even after all this time.

Her first instinct was to burn the letter. Her second was to scream. But instead, she walked to the cabinet, pulled out the bottle of wine her sister had given her on her last birthday-dusty and unopened-and drank straight from it.

Lucien Ward.

The name was poison on her tongue. He was her sister's ex-lover. A man so dangerous and untouchable that even whispers about him carried consequences. The media dubbed him "The Phantom Billionaire" after the trial-though there had never been a trial, only a mysterious silence following her sister Ava's death. No one saw Lucien for months after the funeral. Some said he vanished overseas. Others said he was under investigation. But Isla had always known he'd be back.

And now he had returned-with a marriage proposal that tasted like a threat.

Marry me.

It wasn't love. It wasn't a plea. It was a demand.

But it came with a price she couldn't afford to ignore.

Noah. Her younger brother. Seventeen and dying. The rare genetic disorder he'd been diagnosed with had no cure. But there was a trial-experimental, expensive, and nearly impossible to qualify for. Lucien Ward didn't need to bribe hospitals. He didn't pull strings-he owned them. He could admit Noah into the program with a phone call. A signature.

And he was offering it-for a week of Isla's life.

She should've said no. Should've spat on the paper, screamed at the wind, cursed every god that allowed this man to crawl back into her world.

Instead, she stared at the clock.

And started packing.

Three Days Later

The estate rose like a shadow from the cliffs, monstrous and elegant. Gated, walled, and surrounded by a forest that whispered secrets to the wind, it looked like something torn from a Gothic novel. As her taxi crawled up the long driveway, the black iron gates creaked open by themselves. No guards. No cameras.

As if they'd been expecting her fear.

She stepped out into the misty evening, the gravel crunching under her boots. The suitcase in her hand felt heavier than it should. Maybe it was the weight of everything she didn't say goodbye to.

Noah didn't know the real reason she was leaving. He thought she was flying to Chicago for a work assignment. She couldn't bear to tell him the truth. That she was trading herself to a man she despised. That she was selling her soul.

The main door of the estate opened.

And then he was there-at the top of the marble steps, dressed in black, the rain painting him like a ghost.

Lucien Ward.

It had been a year since she last saw him at Ava's funeral. A year since his presence turned her family's grief into a silent warzone. He looked no different now-sharp jaw, cold eyes, and a presence that made the air feel thinner.

His tailored coat clung to his tall frame, and his hair was slicked back, the same jet-black shade Ava used to run her fingers through. The memory made bile rise in Isla's throat.

He didn't speak. Just watched her, as if drinking in the sight of her pain.

She squared her shoulders. "I'm here. Let's get this over with."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Always so eager to sign your soul away, Isla."

She moved up the steps, passing him without another word. The air between them crackled. She could feel him behind her-too close, too silent.

The inside of the estate was colder than the outside. Marble floors. Tall windows. Dim lighting. It smelled like leather, rain, and something darker.

Lucien followed her in and closed the door with a soft click. The sound echoed like a cell door slamming shut.

"I assume you've read the terms," he said.

"I assume you know I'm only doing this for my brother."

He turned, studying her. "That's the difference between you and Ava. She loved bargains. You only trade when you're desperate."

She froze. "Don't talk about her."

Lucien tilted his head. "She lived in this house once. Stood where you're standing now. Said she'd never leave."

"Yet she did," Isla snapped, meeting his gaze. "In a body bag."

Silence.

A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips. "Careful, Isla. This house remembers pain. It feeds on it."

She clenched her fists. "Are we done posturing? Or do you want to remind me how powerful you are some more?"

"You haven't seen powerful yet." He stepped closer. "You'll know it when you beg me to end this week early."

"I won't beg."

"We'll see."

He handed her a velvet box. Inside was a ring-black diamond, antique setting, beautiful and cold.

"No ceremony. No witnesses. Just you, me, and the contract." He held out a pen. "Sign."

She took the pen, her hand trembling slightly. As she scribbled her name beside his, something inside her shifted. A quiet breaking.

She was no longer Isla Vance.

She was Isla Ward.

Later That Night

Her bedroom was on the third floor. It was beautiful-dark wood floors, a canopy bed, silk sheets. But it felt like a cage.

A note on the bedside table read:

"The week begins at sunrise. Sleep well, Mrs. Ward."

Isla stared at the note until her eyes blurred. Her thoughts spun wildly.

What had she just agreed to?

Lucien hadn't laid a hand on her. He hadn't threatened her physically. Not yet. But the danger was in the silence. In the smile he wore like armor. In the way the walls of this estate seemed to breathe when no one else was around.

She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the rain-soaked window. Lightning flashed in the distance, illuminating the cliff the estate stood on. One misstep, and the whole house could tumble into the sea.

She wondered if that was why Lucien built it here.

To remind everyone just how close death always was.

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