The Witch’s Vow

The following morning, Elira woke to the scent of fresh coffee and something far more unsettling—the realization that she was no longer free.

She was Elira Rothwell now.

A billionaire's wife.

A woman expected to smile at charity events, to wear expensive jewelry, to play the devoted partner of a man who had no idea who he had truly married.

She sat up in bed, running her fingers over the golden ring that still felt foreign on her hand.

It was strange. The weight of it.

Like a shackle wrapped in gold.

A soft knock sounded at the door before Meredith stepped inside. As always, the woman carried herself with quiet precision, her eyes sharp yet unreadable.

"Good morning, Mrs. Rothwell," she said, placing a tray on the bedside table. "Mr. Rothwell is already in his study. He asked that you join him once you're awake."

Elira arched a brow. "Am I already needed for business?"

Meredith didn't react. "He simply wishes to speak with you."

Elira hummed, glancing at the breakfast spread—fresh fruit, poached eggs, smoked salmon, pastries that had probably been flown in from another country.

This life was luxurious. Decadent.

And yet, she did not trust it.

Or the man who had placed her here.

The StudyWhen Elira stepped into Damien's study, she found him seated behind his desk, sleeves rolled up, focus intent on the documents before him.

Sunlight streamed through the windows, highlighting the sharp angles of his face—the jawline that had graced business magazines, the piercing gaze that had intimidated Wall Street's elite.

A man of control. Of precision.

And now, her husband.

He looked up when she entered, his expression unreadable. "You're finally awake."

She smirked. "You sound disappointed."

His lips twitched, but he didn't rise. "Sit."

Elira arched a brow but obeyed, settling into the chair across from him.

He studied her for a moment before setting down his pen. "I have meetings all day, but before I leave, I wanted to go over something with you."

She tilted her head. "Go over what?"

Damien leaned back slightly. "Your role as my wife."

Elira stilled. "My role?"

His expression remained calm, but there was an undeniable authority in his voice. "This marriage isn't just personal, Elira. It's public. People are watching. My competitors, the media, the investors who put money into Rothwell Industries."

"And?" she asked, fingers drumming lightly against the armrest.

"And I need you to play the part well."

She let out a soft, amused breath. "You think I don't know how to be a wife?"

His gaze darkened slightly, though not in anger. In curiosity.

"I think you're different from what I expected," he admitted.

That intrigued her. "And what did you expect?"

His lips curled at the corner. "Someone softer. More… moldable."

Elira laughed, shaking her head. "Then you've made a mistake."

"Perhaps." Damien leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk. "But it's too late to change that now."

Their eyes locked, and something unspoken passed between them.

A battle of wills. A silent challenge.

Elira did not lose battles.

She would play the devoted wife. She would smile at the cameras, stand beside him at events, let the world believe she was the perfect woman for him.

But she would decide how the game was played.

A WarningThat evening, Elira prepared for their first official appearance as husband and wife.

It was a private event—an exclusive gathering of billionaires, investors, and high-society elites. The kind of place where alliances were made, where power shifted with a single handshake.

She slipped into a sleek black gown, the fabric hugging her curves in all the right places. As she fastened a diamond bracelet around her wrist, she caught her reflection in the mirror.

The woman staring back at her looked like she belonged in this world.

But beneath the glamour, beneath the expensive dress and polished exterior, the truth remained.

She was still a witch.

A woman born of something ancient, something feared.

And no matter how much Damien controlled the world around him, he could not control her.

As she turned from the mirror, she felt it—a shift in the air.

A presence.

She did not startle when she saw Meredith standing in the doorway.

"You move quietly," Elira noted.

The older woman's expression remained unreadable. "It's a skill."

Elira studied her for a moment, then turned back to the vanity, adjusting her earring. "Something you need?"

Meredith hesitated. Just for a second. Then she stepped inside, closing the door behind her.

"If you are smart, Mrs. Rothwell," she said carefully, "you will be cautious."

Elira met her gaze through the mirror. "Cautious of what?"

Meredith did not blink. "Your husband."

Silence stretched between them.

Elira slowly turned to face her. "And why would I need to be cautious?"

Meredith's voice remained calm, but there was something almost knowing in her eyes.

"Because Damien Rothwell is not a man who tolerates betrayal."

A slow smile spread across Elira's lips.

"Neither am I."