Aira Velyn, she's a surgeon with a shattered past, built of steel and scars.

Kade Thorne, He’s a ruthless king in a city of secrets—dark, dominant, and dangerously obsessed.

When their worlds collide, it’s not love. It’s war.

But beneath every cruel touch and venom-laced word, something deeper brews—

a hunger too dark to name, a bond too twisted to break.

He wants to own her.

She refuses to be claimed.

But in a game where pain feels like foreplay and jealousy tastes like wine,

falling in love might be the most dangerous vow of all.

Scarlet Vows — Where love is possession. And promises bleed.

Her Pov.,

They told me love was gentle.

That it smelled like roses and sounded like lullabies.

But the first time I met him,

Love tasted like blood.

And felt like fire licking my skin.

He didn't walk into my life.

He invaded it—

With eyes like midnight sins and a touch that burned through bone.

I should’ve run the moment his name touched my lips.

But curiosity is a dangerous addiction.

And I?

I was already too broken to care.

He didn't ask for my trust.

He demanded it.

He didn’t kiss me to feel.

He kissed me to own me.

And somewhere between his lies and my scars—

I forgot how to breathe without him.

This isn't a fairytale.

It's a twisted confession.

A blood-stained bond between a woman with a haunted past…

And a man whose demons were older than love itself.

He said he loved me.

But love should never come with a leash.

And yet, here I am—

On my knees.

Wrapped in Scarlet Vows.

You think you’re ready for this story?

You’re not.

Because when two broken souls collide,

Someone always bleeds.

There’s a strange kind of silence that lives in trauma.

Aira Velyn wore it like perfume.

She walked through the courthouse lobby like a ghost carved from steel—back straight, hair in a tight braid, black suit tailored like armor. Her heels were silent. Her face was colder than the winter outside. To the world, she was a decorated trauma surgeon testifying in a high-profile organized crime case.

To him?

She was a threat.

Or a challenge.

Or maybe something he couldn’t quite name—but wanted to own anyway.

Kade Thorne leaned back in the leather bench like it was his throne, fingers laced, tattoo ink curling up his neck, and an expression so unreadable it felt dangerous. Black suit. No tie. A single silver ring on his index finger.

The moment she entered the courtroom, his eyes locked on her. Not with the curiosity of a man watching. With the hunger of a man waiting.

Aira ignored him. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t react. She was used to being watched. After all, she'd spent most of her childhood being watched by monsters in her own home.

The only difference was—this monster wore his darkness with pride.

Her testimony was brutal. Clean. Precise.

She never stuttered.

Not when she described the injuries of the man who tried to kill a detective. Not when she outlined how her medical records were tampered with. Not even when they mentioned the Thorne Syndicate.

But Kade? He smiled once.

Just once.

When she said: “I don’t fear people who hide behind power.”

That night, Aira locked her apartment door three times instead of two.

And still—when she turned on the lights—he was there.

Sitting on her kitchen counter like he belonged there. Like it was his space.

"How did you get in?" she hissed, heart slamming against her ribs.

He tilted his head, that scar on his jaw catching the dim light.

"How many locks did you use?"

Her breath caught.

"You’re insane."

“No,” he said, voice low, magnetic, dangerous. “I’m in control. There's a difference.”

She grabbed the knife off the counter, but he didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch. Just watched her with those glacial eyes.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“And yet, here I am,” he murmured. “Watching over the woman who just declared war on me in court.”

“You think I’m scared?”

“I think you’ve been scared your whole life. And I think you’re tired of pretending otherwise.”

That’s when something cracked in her. Just a flicker. A tremor in her fingers.

He saw it.

Stood up.

Closed the distance.

"You hate me," he whispered, voice grazing her skin like fire. "Good. That means you'll think of me when you try to sleep. And you won’t sleep, Aira. Not until I say you can."

He reached out and gently tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

"You’re strong. But strength gets lonely, doesn’t it?"

She clenched her jaw. Didn’t say a word. He smirked.

Then he left.

But on her counter, he left something behind.

A small black box.

Inside: a necklace. Silver chain. A pendant shaped like a thorned rose. Sharp enough to draw blood.

And a note, handwritten in inky black.

" You’ll wear this. Not because I asked. But because you like being claimed—even if you’d rather die than admit it"

—K.T.

He knew what fear looked like. She didn’t wear it. She wore defiance like perfume. And he? He craved it like sin.

 ---

Kade Thorne didn’t sit in the courtroom that day to be civil.

He sat there because someone dared to say his name in public.

Her.

She didn’t stutter.

Didn’t glance at him once.

Didn’t cower when the word Thorne Syndicate cracked through the air like a gunshot.

And that?

That was the moment she became interesting.

Back at the Syndicate’s private estate—buried beneath concrete and blood—Kade’s presence wasn’t quiet.

The walls felt it. The men felt it.

And silence—dangerous silence—hung thick like smoke when he walked in post-court.

“Boss,” one of his captains started. “We can handle the witness.”

Kade didn’t look up from the glass of bourbon in his hand.

“I said,” the captain tried again, “she’s just a doctor. She doesn't know what she’s stepped into.”

Crack.

The glass shattered against the far wall, amber bleeding down like spilled truth.

“You think I don’t know what she is?” Kade’s voice was velvet with razors. “She walked into that courtroom like death in heels.”

He stood, slow. Controlled.

Always controlled.

“She didn’t step into anything,” he said. “She carved her way in.”

And that’s what unnerved him.

That woman—Aira Velyn—wasn’t just a pawn dragged into war.

She was a variable.

And Kade Thorne hated variables.

But he wanted her.

Not in the way men want women.

He wanted to possess her chaos. Dissect it. Break it open and see what she bled.

Not yet, though. No.

For now, he’d watch her rattle the cage from the inside.

 ---

Aira’s apartment, 2:47 AM

She didn’t sleep. She never really did. Sleep required safety. And she hadn’t known that since she was twelve.

The necklace still sat on the counter.

Untouched.

Unacknowledged.

But its presence?

Like a whisper against the walls. A dare in silver.

She wrapped her fingers around her coffee mug, ignoring the way her pulse spiked without warning.

She wasn’t used to being rattled.

She was the rattle.

 ---

The next morning at the hospital, she was fire in scrubs. Sharp tongue. Precision hands. Not a damn soul saw the war sitting in her chest like lead.

And then she felt it.

That chill.

That presence.

She turned the corner—

And there he was.

Standing by the vending machine like he had a right to breathe her air. Black shirt, sleeves rolled to reveal inked forearms, and a smirk like sin kissed his mouth before birth.

“You can’t be here,” she said flatly.

He inserted a coin into the machine. Pressed B7.

Out popped black coffee.

“Your shift ends in fifteen. You don’t sleep. You don’t eat. Figured I’d fix one.”

She stepped closer. “You think I owe you gratitude?”

He handed her the coffee.

“I don’t need you to owe me,” Kade said, voice low. “I just need you to keep thinking about me.”

She took the cup.

Didn’t drink it.

Didn’t throw it, either.

He leaned against the wall beside her, eyes on the hallway.

“I read your file,” he murmured.

Her fingers tightened.

“You had no right.”

He glanced at her then—slow and deliberate.

“You’re not a puzzle, Aira,” he said. “You’re a blueprint of scars and silence. But I’m very good at building things from the broken.”

She faced him fully now.

Head tilted. Calm.

Dangerously calm.

“You think you’ve figured me out?” she asked.

He smiled. “No. That would be boring.”

She took a step closer. Her voice dropped like ice.

“Then let me be very clear, Mr. Thorne—I don’t scare, I don’t beg, and I sure as hell don’t belong to men who lurk in the shadows.”

A beat of silence.

He let it settle.

Then: “Not yet.”

She brushed past him.

Didn’t look back.

But the corner of her mouth curved upward—just enough to unnerve him.

Control. That was his game.

And yet...

For the first time in years—he wasn’t entirely sure who was playing who.

 ---

Back at the Syndicate estate, Kade sat in his private study, a glass untouched at his side.

On the mahogany desk, the velvet tray now lay empty—the necklace no longer nestled inside.

He hadn’t needed cameras.

Didn’t need confirmation.

He knew she’d taken it.

Because the moment she touched that silver—

She stepped into the game.

And that was all he ever needed.