Page 4 of Of Vows and Betrayal

“Will do!” I shout back, though I’m uncertain if the tightening grip of my father’s security will allow it.

I step into the alley and pause by the metal tubes filled with water, pondering the bouquet I’ll lay on my mother’s grave. My contemplation is shattered by a commotion. Before I can react, I’m pinned against a solid body, and my heart plummets as the cold, sharp end of a knife presses against my neck.

“The Bergotti heir…” a voice hisses in my ear, the warm breath reeking of decay. The words, delivered in a chilling tone, make my stomach churn. “Your old man has only himself to blame for this.”

The knife digs deeper, the sting of broken skin sending a shock of fear through me. I let out a stifled whimper.

Today is the day I’m going to die—just as my father feared. This world, he warned, was too dangerous.

Goodbye, world,I think, feeling the knife press farther into my flesh.

Chapter 2

Ophelia

Nothing happens. No, that’s not right—everything happens… simultaneously too fast to grasp and yet unbearably slow. It’s a surreal blur of motion and time.

The grip on my shoulder tightens, and just as I brace for the worst, a shadow lunges from the darkness. The man behind me is yanked away with such force that the air shifts, leaving me momentarily weightless before I stumble backward, only to be caught by strong arms.

Blinking upward, I find myself staring into the eyes of the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. His dark eyebrows knit together in concern, his gaze sweeping over my face with an intensity that makes my heart race.

“Resplendent,” I whisper, despite the shock pulsing through me. It’s absurd to focus on his features now, but I can’t help but take in his tanned skin, hazel eyes, full lips, and high cheekbones.

“What?” he asks, his hold tightening around me. His voice is deep, and I feel its rumble as his facehovers close to mine.

I look at him silently, somehow subdued by his long, thick lashes.

“Are you alright?” He shifts his gaze to my neck, and upon seeing the mark left by the knife, he mutters a curse under his breath. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out what appears to be a handkerchief and presses it against the side of my neck.

I try to shift my position and wince. He curses under his breath again and presses down harder on the wound on my neck, almost to the point of discomfort.

“These men, my guards,” I begin, attempting to turn my head toward them, only to wince again.

“Don’t move,” he commands, his tone allowing no argument, making me halt midmovement. “Your guards are unconscious but alive.” His lips curl downward in disdain. “My friend has called the police. Let’s get you to the hospital. Keep your hand on the wound, please.”

“No, I?—”

With a surprising gentleness that belies his sturdy frame, he lifts me, his arms secure and steady, and as he does, I catch a glimpse of Enrico and the attacker, a ski-masked figure sprawled on top of him. My gaze drifts to the bloody knife, and my breathing quickens—my blood on the blade.

“Hey, look at me, not them. What’s your name?” he insists.

“Ophelia… James,” I reply instinctively, using the name I carried for sixteen years, the name that still feels like my true self, not Bergotti.

He stares down at me a moment too long, as if seeingthrough my half-truth, then shakes his head and strides toward a black SUV.

I blink up at him after he settles me on the back seat, lost in the haze of pain and shock. He probably asked me something, given his expectant look.

He sighs and grabs my bag. “Is there anyone I can call?” He reaches for my phone and holds it in front of me to unlock it.

“My father,” I say, wincing both from the pain in my neck and the dread of informing my father about this incident.

He nods, closes the door after helping me in, and takes the seat behind the wheel. “We’ll be at the hospital soon,” he says, his voice a calming force in the middle of chaos.

His voice fades as he calls my father, and I retreat into my thoughts, the reality of my narrow escape enveloping me in a cold dread. I am confronting a terrible truth that’s hard to admit even to myself: for a brief moment, as I believed death was imminent in that alley, I felt an overwhelming sense of… relief. And that scares me more than I’m ready to face.

From there, events blur into motion. As his car screeches to a halt at the hospital, the car door bursts open, the sharp scent of antiseptic rushing in as hands gently guide me onto the waiting stretcher.

“I’m fine,” I say weakly as someone pries my hand from the wound.

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