The Billionaire's Blood-oath Bride

The ride back to the Vane penthouse was suffocatingly silent. Silas sat on the opposite side of the leather bench in the limousine, his gaze fixed on the passing city lights, his profile as sharp and cold as a jagged diamond.

Verina kept her hands folded in her lap, her mind racing with Julian's words. Clara. Silas had a sister who died, and he blamed the Vances for it. Every time Silas touched her, every time he defended her, was it all just a sick game of cat and mouse before the final slaughter?

"You've been quiet since the balcony," Silas said, his voice cutting through the hum of the car's engine. He didn't turn to look at her. "The silence doesn't suit you, Verina. It makes you look like you're plotting."

"I'm just tired, Silas," she lied, her voice small. "The gala was... a lot."

Silas finally turned, his dark eyes narrowing as they searched her face. The interior of the car was dim, lit only by the blue ambient glow of the dashboard, making him look like a phantom. "I told you to stay away from the shadows. Who did you see out there?"

"I told you, no one," Verina snapped, her fear momentarily replaced by a flash of the Vance fire. "Why are you so obsessed with who I talk to? You already have my signature. You already have my life. Isn't that enough?"

In a move so fast she barely saw it coming, Silas leaned across the seat. He gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him. His touch was electric, a searing heat that made her heart betray her by skipping a beat.

"It will never be enough," he whispered, his face inches from hers. "I want every thought in that head of yours. I want to know what makes you tremble and what makes you lie to me. If I find out you're listening to ghosts, Verina, the punishment will be far worse than a contract."

He let go of her jaw, but the heat stayed on her skin. The car pulled into the private garage of the penthouse, the heavy steel doors clanking shut behind them.

As they stepped into the elevator, the tension between them stretched until it felt ready to snap. They reached the penthouse, and Silas began unbuttoning his tuxedo jacket as he walked toward the bar.

"Go to your room," he commanded without looking back. "We have an early start tomorrow. You'll be accompanying me to the office."

Verina didn't move. She stood in the center of the vast, cold living room. "Why do you hate my father so much? It's more than the money, isn't it?"

Silas froze, his hand hovering over a crystal decanter of scotch. The air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. He turned slowly, his eyes burning with a decade of suppressed agony.

"Your father took something from me that three hundred million dollars could never replace," he said, his voice a low, terrifying vibrate.

"Julian told me about Clara," Verina whispered, the name hanging in the air like a curse.

Silas smashed the decanter onto the marble floor.

The sound of shattering glass made Verina scream, her hands flying to her ears. Silas was across the room in three strides, his hands slamming into the wall on either side of her head, pinning her in place. He smelled of scotch and fury.

"Never say her name again," he hissed, his face contorted in a mask of pain. "Julian is a snake who wants to see you dead just to spite me. If you listen to him again, I will throw you out of this penthouse and let the debt-collectors have their way with your father. Do you understand me?"

Verina looked into his eyes and saw a flash of something she didn't expect. Not just hate, but a soul-crushing grief. She reached out, her hand hovering near his chest, wanting to pull away but feeling a strange, magnetic pull toward his brokenness.

"I didn't know, Silas," she gasped. "I was only a child ten years ago."

"Ignorance isn't an innocence," Silas said, his voice cracking. He leaned down, his forehead dropping onto her shoulder, his heavy breathing the only sound in the room.

For a heartbeat, the monster was gone. There was only a man drowning in a past he couldn't change. But then, he stiffened. He pulled away, his face turning back into a wall of stone.

"Get out," he said, turning his back on her. "Before I forget why I brought you here in the first place."

Verina fled to her room, the sound of her own sobbing muffled by the silk pillows. She realized then that Julian was right about one thing: Silas didn't want a bride. He wanted a sacrifice. But as she thought about the way he had leaned on her for that one second, she realized Silas Vane was just as much a prisoner of this debt as she was.