Page 22 of Vow to Claim You

Hyun-seok bows his head respectfully, his smile warm and genuine. He’s the first I’ve met tonight that doesn’t feel like a trap waiting to spring.

Thank God. A nice one. Finally.

But the relief doesn’t last long.

Aric guides me toward a pair standing at the far end of the room, and I notice how everyone seems to keep a wide berth. Not out of courtesy. Out of instinct. Like the air itself knows better than to get too close.

I recognize the man. The society’s leader. The one who performed my so-called initiation (or as I prefer to think of it, my blood-drinking hazing ritual dressed up in ceremonial nonsense). Nikos Romano is massive. Dark suit, darker eyes, the kind of authority that doesn’t demand attention so much as swallow it whole. He’s younger than I initially expected for someone who leads an empire of criminals, but carries himself like a man who’s already lived several lifetimes and found them all tedious.

But his wife steals the air from the room.

Her presence strikes differently than the others. Where the men carry power like weapons, she carries hers like a quiet crown. Long black hair spilling over slender shoulders, tattoos peeking like whispered secrets over elegant skin. Nikolaos inked in Greek at her collarbone. Divine written vertically along her neck.

The ink suits her. Power suits her. And the way Nikos looks at her—like she’s the only thing in this room worth protecting—tells me everything I need to know about who really rules this empire.

I try to smile, but she doesn’t return it. She tilts her chin, eyes sweeping over me with a glacial calm that feels less like observation and more like judgment. As a matter of fact, they both watch me with expressions I can’t immediately place—somewhere between curiosity and verdict.

“Serena,” Aric greets her. “Nikos.”

Serena’s gaze drops to my hand—the one still faintly smudged from the ritual—then rises to meet my eyes.

“So…the new wife,” she says, voice smooth but cold. “Welcome.” The word comes out clipped, forced through teeth that clearly wanted to say something else.

Lovely. Already making friends.

Aric’s fingers press lightly against my waist, a silent cue more than a touch. “We won’t keep you.”

Nikos gives a single nod. “Enjoy the evening.”

Aric steers me away, his hand still firm on my back. He lowers to my ear, close enough that the warmth of his breath skims my neck. “Serena is Chiara’s cousin.”

Ah. That explains the ice. The sharpness and silent judgment. She’s not just assessing me—she’s sentencing me on behalf of the woman I replaced.

“Serena is going through the initiation,” he adds as we walk toward a table with refreshments. “The full initiation. To become a fully initiated Goddess.”

“And that makes her…hate me?” My brow rises as I glance at him.

“It makes her different,” he states, as if that’s an answer. “Initiation changes people. Shapes them. Breaks them.” He gives me a fleeting look. “And then rebuilds them.”

I’m not convinced that’s the real reason.

Not when I catch Serena’s eyes flicking over me again like she’s calculating whether I’m worthy of the oxygen I’m breathing. Not when she loops her arm through Nikos’s with deliberate elegance and leans to whisper something in his ear. He smirks, and heat crawls up my neck. Whatever she said, it was about me. I’m certain of it.

Aric’s hand slides from my back to my waist, fingers tightening in a way that feels less like comfort and more like a message. As though the gesture says “mine.” A warning—or a reminder—aimed at everyone watching.

But before I can process the whole situation—the gesture—someone laughs softly. A warm, rich sound cuts through the tension.

I turn and see a stunning woman with shoulder-length brunette hair, sun-kissed skin, and a red dress that clings like it was made to obey her. Gold jewelry catches the light against her collarbone, and her honey-brown, catlike eyes glitter with amusement. She’s petite—must be a head shorter than me—yet her presence expands far beyond the space her body occupies.

“Camila Reyes de la Vega,” Aric speaks, tone steady with a respect he rarely uses. “Mexican cartel queen.”

Camila offers me a dazzling smile, warm but edged with mischief.

“So you’re the new little princesa they’ve tied to our Viking,” she says. “Relax, muñeca.” She chuckles. “If he hasn’t scared you off yet, you’re doing better than most.”

I huff out a laugh, and some of the tightness in my chest loosens.

The positive thing? For a moment, surrounded by them, something strange creeps into my chest. Almost…relief. Back in Monsera, everyone treated me like a walking crown, a porcelain princess to bow to, protect, or gossip about.