Page 28 of Vow to Claim You

He wasn’t born this way. He was made this way. By a father who treated him as property and a mother who decided he wasn’t worth the risk of saving.

“I can’t imagine what Aric must be thinking,” I whisper.

Ingrid lets out a quiet breath. “He doesn’t want to talk or hear of his mother.”

A strange ache blooms in my chest. Because beneath all that discipline, all that distance, was a little boy who learned far too early that love wasn’t something he could count on. The thought of him as a boy, believing his mother had abandoned him, never understanding why… It shouldn’t hurt this much. But it does.

Now I wonder what else it cost him to become the man he is today—what wounds he buried so deep even he pretends they don’t exist.

“What was she like?” I ask. “Do you remember?”

“Ah…after all these years, my memory is hazy.” Ingrid nervously fidgets with her fingers. “I was very young when I began working here. But she was…sophisticated. Beautiful. She had luminous big eyes and long, wavy hair. Whenever she entered a room, people noticed.” Her gaze lingers on me, thoughtful. “You remind me of her.”

“Do I?”

“Perhaps not in appearance, but in the aura. The presence. Something…similar.”

I’m not sure how I feel about that. Being compared to the woman who abandoned the little boy my husband once was isn’t exactly flattering.

“And Eero’s mother?” I can’t help my curiosity. “He’s Aric’s half brother.”

“Oh, she still sees Eero.” Ingrid’s body visibly relaxes. “Though she was never married to Mr. Vidar. He never remarried after Mrs. Angelique left. Eero’s mother, Siv, lived here for a few years after giving birth. But she moved out when Eero grew older.”

“Eero didn’t want to go with her?”

Ingrid shakes her head. “No, kjære. He always looked up to his brother. He never wanted to leave this house…or Aric.”

“And you were like a mother to them both,” I state the obvious.

Her eyes warm. “I do care for them as if they were my own sons.”

She leans forward and pats my knee. “You should rest, Mrs. Vold. Your body has been through a shock.”

“I will,” I say, standing carefully so I don’t disturb Elske. “But first, I’d like to get some fresh air. The garden looked peaceful.”

“Of course. Only a few minutes, yes? It is late.”

I nod, pulling the sweater tighter around me as I walk toward the glass doors leading to the back garden.

“Let me bring you your coat,” Ingrid calls after me, and before I know it, she’s draping one of my coats over my shoulders. “Winters around here aren’t as warm and cozy as back in your home country. And this year, it’s been surprisingly harsh. Not like any other.”

I almost scoff.

Surprisingly harsh. Of course.

I knew it the moment I stepped off that jet—the way the cold sliced through me like a warning, and the way the sky hung low and heavy as if it had something to say. This country took one look at me and bared its teeth, daring me to prove I belonged.

The night air slices across my cheeks as I step out to the garden. It’s nothing like Monsera’s warmth, that soft golden heat that clings to your skin like a second heartbeat. Back home, even winter glows. The sun doesn’t just shine—it settles on your shoulders, seeps into your bones, slips beneath your ribs, and reminds you you’re alive.

Ingrid warned me it’d be freezing, and she was right. This country breathes ice—especially to a body raised on Monserian heat. My blood was made for desert warmth, for sun-soaked afternoons and warm coastal winds. I’ve never known cold like this, so perhaps it hits differently. Harder. Deeper.

Or perhaps I’m just being dramatic.

No. I’m definitely not. My bones are screaming.

“Beautiful night.” A familiar voice snaps me out of my thoughts, sending chills down my spine.

My breath stills as I turn.