Page 35 of The Billionaire's Vow

She did mind.Except… she really didn’t.

Because, of course, Dimitri De Luca didn’t ask—he dictated.He had single-handedly reshaped her career, her office, and now her wardrobe, and somehow, all she could do was stand there like an idiot, letting it happen.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, her tone stubborn, but her fingers betrayed her as they brushed over the fine wool of her dress.

She shouldn’t love this dress.Shouldn’t let herself be seduced by the feel of high-quality fabric against her skin.But it was soft.Luxurious.It fit her perfectly.

And it was all hers.

No one else had worn it before.It wasn’t something she’d chosen off a thrift store rack pretending she didn’t care that someone else had owned it first.

“You will,” he agreed and, for some reason, that declaration made her swell with pride.“I’ll leave you to unpack and get settled.”

The moment she was alone again, she turned back to the single, sad little box sitting on her desk.It was just a box.Just a handful of things she had carried from one job to the next, nothing special.And yet, it suddenly felt like something far more damning.

She had lived her entire life waiting.

Waiting for the next crisis.The next guilt trip.The next demand from her family, the next moment she would have to scrape together her savings to bail her father out of jail after yet another bar fight, or pay off another of his overdue bar tabs.Waiting for the inevitable call that her brother was locked up again, or had overdosed again, or needed money.

And all this time, she had convinced herself that living small was the solution.Because if she made herself smaller, maybe they would need less.If she lived under the radar, if she kept her head down, if she didn’t dare try for more, then maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t have to give so much of herself away.

But Dimitri had seen through all of it, and that terrified her.Because now, she couldn’t unsee it either.

Chapter 15

Assoonasshestepped into her apartment that evening, Giselle knew something was wrong.The air felt different—thick, charged, like the remnants of something unsettled.A stillness lingered, unnatural and heavy, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

Standing in the doorway, she tightened her grip on her keys, sliding one between her fingers like a makeshift weapon.A self-defense trick she’d seen in a video, something that had seemed like a good idea at the time.Now, it felt pathetically inadequate.

The first thing she noticed was the dark corner of her living room.The lamp at the end of the sofa—the quirky lamp she’d found at a thrift store—was off.That wasn’t right.She had it plugged into a timer, a small comfort against the upcoming darkness of winter.It should have been glowing softly, a welcoming beacon after a long day.But now, it was dark.

Her stomach twisted.

The second thing she noticed was the obstruction behind the door.Something was blocking it—something solid.A chair?A pile of something?Her first instinct was to peer around the door, to check what it was, but her gut told her not to.Don’t turn your back on the open space.Don’t be stupid.

She stood perfectly still, listening.

Silence.

But it wasn’t the peaceful kind of silence.This was different.She felt like she wasn’t alone.

Her fingers trembled as she reached for the light switch.There was a fifty-fifty chance the overhead light would actually work.The wiring in this building was unreliable at best, dangerous at worst.But safety wasn’t something the people in this building could afford.Everyone here was barely scraping by, too busy working multiple jobs to fight the property management company over failing electricity or broken locks.

The switch clicked, and the overhead light flickered to life.Relief flooded her for exactly one second.Then she saw it.Her apartment had been destroyed.

The couch cushions were slashed, foam spilling out like entrails.The end tables were shattered, their splintered legs jutting out at odd angles.The floor was littered with debris—papers, books, the remains of her thrift store decorations.

In the kitchen, every cabinet door stood open, gaping and empty.Her dishes lay in jagged pieces spread across the cracked linoleum.Even the cheap, plastic food containers she used to meal prep were crushed.

Giselle’s breath came in sharp, shallow bursts, her pulse pounding so hard it echoed in her ears.Her fingers clenched around her purse strap, gripping it like a lifeline as she tried to process what she was seeing—her home, torn apart, every personal belonging upturned, broken, violated.

This wasn’t random.This wasn’t just a thief looking for valuables.This was rage.A message.

“What…?”she gasped, barely able to get the word out.The air in her lungs felt too thick, too tight, like she was suffocating in her own fear.

“Ms.Carrington?”

The sudden male voice behind her made her jump, her heart pounding against her ribs painfully.She spun around so fast she nearly lost her balance, her pulse skyrocketing.