Page 45 of Vow to Claim You

Ayanna is still watching, and I see exactly what this is costing her.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Ayanna

Istand in the doorway, unable to move.

I should. Anyone else would. But my body refuses, as if stepping fully into the room would make this any more real than it is.

Chiara is pressed against Aric’s chest, her hands twisted in his shirt like it’s the only solid thing left in her world. Her shoulders still tremble, probably the aftershocks of grief running through her in uneven waves. Aric just stands there, unmoving and solid, letting her break against him without breaking himself.

And something in my chest tightens.

It can’t be jealousy.

I refuse to call it that.

Because jealousy would imply I feel something. And I don’t. I don’t because I chose nothing about this man. Neither of us wanted anything to do with this marriage. He didn’t choose me. I didn’t choose him. Signatures and vows bound us, words recited like a sentence rather than a promise.

Yet… this is the same man who didn’t hesitate to step in front of a bullet for me.

The same man who promised to save the one person who I’m sure he’d want dead only because I asked. And I know he didn’t have to make that promise. I know he could simply refuse, and I’d have to accept it for what it is.

The same man who now stands here, absorbing the grief of the woman he once loved, whose life shattered the moment our marriage became inevitable.

I steady my breathing. I am not angry. I can’t be.

This marriage didn’t just ruin my life. It tore through his. Through Chiara’s. Through Luca’s. Through every fragile illusion any of us were still clinging to. We are all collateral in a war that started long before we knew of each other’s existence.

And I know Aric by now. He’s a man of few words but rigid principles. A man who keeps his vows because he said he would. Because once spoken, they become law. Not because of love. Not because of tenderness. But because his word is the one thing no one is allowed to question.

Including me.

Chiara stirs, pulling back slightly, her hands loosening their grip on him as her gaze shifts.

And then she sees me.

Her watery eyes widen, the realization hitting her all at once. Her breath hitches, sharp and shallow, like the room has suddenly tilted beneath her feet.

“So this is your wife?” Her voice trembles as she looks at me. Scrutinizes me.

I don’t say anything. I don’t even know what to say.

Seeing her like this feels… strange. Chiara is no longer a past tense tucked between silences and half answers. She’s standing right there, made of caramel golden waves and amber eyes, of shaking hands and a grief I can see without trying. A woman he once planned a future with. A woman who existed long before me. It’s different when she’s flesh and breath instead of an idea—when she’s no longer a story told but a presence I have to acknowledge.

I wonder if this is how Aric felt when he saw Luca. If reality hit him the same way it hits me now?

My throat feels too tight, my tongue too heavy. Anything I say would sound like an intrusion. Like salt in an open wound. So I stay still, my silence deliberate, my face carefully neutral.

Aric’s hand falls away from Chiara, and then his gaze meets mine.

It locks there, unflinching, unwavering, holding me in place the way his presence always does.

“Yes.” He pauses just long enough to draw a line in the air. “This is my wife.”

The words hit me like a gunshot.

Not Mrs. Vold.