Page 15 of Darkest Oblivion (Doomed Vows #1)

I flinched at the words, humiliation and fear mingling, but his movements were careful in execution, never faltering, his wolf ring glinting with each twist of the bandage.

There was no warmth, no mercy—only control, and a reminder that I was his.

He leaned back afterward, his gaze sweeping over the room. “You wanted to escape. You failed. Now you’re lucky you’re alive, Penelope. Lucky I didn’t decide your punishment starts with permanent reminders.”

His smirk was wicked, the corner of his mouth twitching as he adjusted his cufflinks, eyes still locked on mine.

“You were supposed to pretend you love me,” he continued, venom coating every word, “and I was supposed to pretend I don’t care about you.

So no one would see you as my weakness.” He traced the wolf ring, fingers slow, deliberate, his presence a storm barely contained.

“But you fucked it all up. Now they know, Penelope. They know what I am. And you’re the reason. ”

My breath caught, the reality of his control pressing down like iron.

He was merciless, cruel, yet in every motion—every bandaged scrape, every sharp word—he reminded me: he protects his own, on his terms.

My body shivered, the weight of my actions—my outburst, my defiance—crushing me.

My chest tightened, the familiar burn of asthma creeping in. “I’m... sorry,” I rasped.

“Not only did you disrespect me publicly, you watered down my image,” he said, standing, his towering frame casting a shadow, smirk cruel.

“And now my rivals will come for you, to get to me.” His voice dropped to a low growl.

“You’re wearing my ring, Penelope. My wife.

The one who will carry my heir. It’s my duty to protect you—and to make you suffer for your crimes. .. and your family’s sins.”

His words sent my heart racing, my chest constricting further.

I fumbled for my inhaler, my lifeline, but his hand shot out, snatching it away. Our fingers brushed; the chill of his grip pierced me.

“What...” I gasped, my lungs seizing, vision swimming. “I can’t... breathe.”

“Gasp for me, Penelope,” he said, eyes gleaming with twisted satisfaction. “I want to see you fight for life.”

He stepped closer.

“Maybe death will make you mine the way I want. Maybe then you’ll understand—there’s no leaving me, no running, no disrespecting me.” His words landed like blows.

I collapsed to my knees, hands clutching his leg, tears streaking my face, chest heaving uselessly.

“Please... I can’t...” I whispered, tears blinding me, fingers clawing at his waist.

My lungs burned, black spots danced, my body trembling, injured legs screaming with pain.

He dangled the inhaler before me, mist swirling tantalizingly close, and said, “No,” cold and merciless, his smirk sharp as a knife.

He crouched slightly, his face level with mine. “You think pleading will save you?” His voice was steel. “I decide when you breathe, Penelope. When you suffer. When you understand your place.”

His hand hovered, then brushed my cheek, teasing, sending shivers down my spine.

“You’re... insane,” I rasped, lungs screaming, vision flickering. “Why... why do this?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Because you belong to me,” he said, deliberate. “Not your family. Not your past. Not anyone else. Disobey me, defy me—and you pay.’”

He moved behind me, crouching so close I could feel his breath at the nape of my neck.

One gloved hand pressed against my shoulder, holding me steady; the other placed the inhaler just out of reach. “Struggle,” he murmured, “fight. Cry. Beg. I want to see it all. Because this is the world you live in now, Penelope. My world. My rules.”

The pain in my lungs burned hotter, my body trembling, yet a spark of defiance flared. “I... I’m not... yours,” I gasped, each word ragged.”

His grip tightened, lifting me slightly by the shoulders, forcing my gaze to meet his icy blue eyes.

“Wrong,” he said, voice lethal. “You already are. And every time you forget, I remind you. Every act of defiance... every breath you take that isn’t mine... will be punished. Understand?”

At that moment, I knew I had only seconds left. Every breath was a struggle, tears streaked my face, and desperation clawed at me. I whispered, “Yes,” weak but alive, the tremor in my voice betraying both fear and stubborn defiance.

“Good,” he said, letting the inhaler hover before me again, just out of reach. “Remember this feeling—the panic, the weakness, the heat of your blood on my floors. Let it sink in. You will never forget who controls you. Who owns you. Who protects you... and who can destroy you.”

I gasped, every inhale a knife in my lungs. “Please... just... give me...” My chest heaved, my hands clawing at the air, trembling as I forced myself to suck in shallow breaths, every gasp a desperate fight against death. “I’m... dying... I can’t... breathe...”

He finally stepped back, letting me collapse slightly, catching my weight only enough to keep me from falling entirely.

My vision blurred, darkness creeping at the edges, but still I fought—forcing my lungs to expand, forcing oxygen into my burning chest. My body shook violently, but I clung to life, even as my strength faltered.

My body slumped against the marble, the cold biting through my cheek.

He bent swiftly, shoving the inhaler under my nose, his hands rough but precise.

I sucked in the mist, desperate, but it came too late—strength draining, limbs numb. I inhaled again, weakly, eyes locked on him, his face a blur—perhaps the last I’d see.

“Stay fucking alive,” he growled, raw, his hands tapping my cheeks with sharp, almost frantic precision. “Do not fucking die, Penelope. I’m not done with you.”

I tried to speak, to plead, but no sound came.

My eyes fluttered shut, consciousness hanging by a thread.

“Fuck!” he cursed, standing abruptly, voice sharp as he grabbed his phone. “Come to my house now! If anything happens to her before you get here, you’ll die too.”

He knelt again, hands trembling as he lifted me bridal-style, arms strong yet shaking.

He carried me to the bed, laying me gently on the silk sheets, voice a low growl. “Don’t you fucking give up, Penelope. You’re mine—to live and die for.”

His words were both command and plea, laced with something raw—obsession, not love—a twisted need to keep me alive.

He crouched beside me, scanning the gauze on my legs with sharp, meticulous movements, running his fingers over the bandages as if reading the state of my injuries by touch alone.

Then he placed a hand lightly on my sternum, feeling the tremor in my breath, listening for the wheeze that might betray a failing lung.

“Stay with me.” He ordered, low and clipped, his voice a knife-edge of command.

He was on the phone again, voice sharp, issuing orders. “Let him in. Straight to my room.” His hand found mine, thumb brushing my knuckles—a possessive, chilling gesture that sent shivers through me.

The door opened, footsteps heavy.

Voices blurred—Dmitri’s, another’s, urgent but distant.

A needle pierced my arm, pain faint, body numb.

Was this how I’d die? Trapped in Dmitri’s cage, his ring burning against my skin, my family a distant, unreachable dream?

Darkness closed in, relentless, and I surrendered, my last thought his face—demon, savior, captor.