Filthy Vows: My Guardian’s Obsession

The rain wouldn’t quit. It just kept battering the car as it climbed that final, miserable hill.

Ivy watched the water streak sideways across the tinted glass. It looked like the window was crying for her, which was fine, because she didn't have anything left in her. She was just a hollow shell sitting in the backseat of a car she didn't own, headed toward a man she didn't know.

The gate was overkill. Huge, black iron bars tipped with spikes. It opened without a sound, sliding back like a throat opening up to swallow them whole. The driveway was perfect. Too perfect. Clean white gravel that looked like it had never been insulted by a muddy footprint.

She didn't remember the actual crash. She just remembered the silence afterward. The way the air smelled like burnt rubber and old pennies. Then came the vultures. Lawyers in cheap suits. Bankers with cold eyes. And finally, the name they whispered like a threat.

Victor Maddox.

The man who hadn't bothered to show up at the funeral. The man who didn't send a card. He just signed a stack of papers and suddenly, he owned her life.

She was nineteen. On paper, she was an adult. But when your parents die without a will and your bank account is a joke, the law doesn't care about your age. You’re just a package to be delivered.

The car stopped.

“Miss Moore?” the driver whispered.

Ivy didn’t look at him. She looked at the house. It wasn’t a home; it was a fortress. All sharp glass and black stone, looking like it had been carved out of a nightmare.

She got out. The air was freezing, smelling of wet pine and sharp stone. No one was there to meet her. No staff, no "welcome home," just a heavy silence. She climbed the steps, her wet coat heavy on her shoulders. Before her hand could even reach the handle, the door clicked. It just... gave way.

“Hello?”

Her voice sounded small in the massive, two story entryway. The floors were gray and polished to a mirror shine. It was minimalist. Cold. It felt like a place where emotions went to die.

She followed a flickering light down a long hallway. The rooms she passed were like stage sets. A library with books no one touched. A dining room for people who didn't eat.

Then, she found him.

He was in a study, back turned, swirling a drink that smelled like expensive wood and fire. He didn't move when she walked in.

“You’re late,” he said. His voice was deep, like a vibration in the floor.

Ivy’s grief suddenly sharpened into a jagged edge of anger. “I didn’t realize I was on a timer.”

He turned.

Victor was a wall of a man. Broad shoulders, dark gray shirt rolled up to show forearms that looked like they were made of corded rope. He didn't look like a businessman. He looked like a predator. His eyes were the worst part—icy, bottomless gray. They didn't just look at her; they weighed her.

“Six o’clock was the expectation,” he said.

“It’s a storm out there, in case you didn't notice.”

He just gave a tiny, dismissive nod. “The house is voice activated. You’ll be added to the system tomorrow.”

“I didn’t know I needed a password to exist here.”

“You’ll find you need a lot of things you haven't even thought of yet.”

There was something in the way he said it that made her skin crawl. Not in a bad way—not entirely. It was a shiver she couldn't control.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he added. It sounded like he was reading from a manual. No heart. Just words.

“You didn’t come,” she said, her voice shaking just a little. “To the funeral.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I don’t do performances, Ivy.”

She felt like he’d slapped her. “It wasn't a performance. They were my parents.”

“It was a tragedy,” he said, setting his glass down with a heavy thud. “And it’s over. Follow me.”

He led her through a maze of hallways. She saw doors with heavy locks and mirrors that caught her reflection at angles that made her feel like she was being watched by a dozen different versions of herself.

They stopped at a door with a keypad. He punched in a code, and the lock let out a heavy, metallic thunk.

The room was a cell. A beautiful, king-sized cell with black sheets and no windows.

“It’s soundproof,” he said. “And it locks from the outside.”

Ivy’s heart hammered against her ribs. “Why would you need to lock me in?”

He didn't blink. “In case you try to run before you've learned your place.”

Then he was gone, and the door clicked shut.

The Surveillance Room

Ivy sat on that bed until she felt like she was disappearing into the black fabric. She couldn't breathe in there. She got up, tested the door, and found it open.

She moved through the house like a ghost. Barefoot. Shivering. She found a hallway she hadn't seen before, tucked away in the back. It was colder here. At the end, a red light was glowing.

She didn't think. She just typed in a sequence. Pure luck, or maybe instinct. The door slid open.

Monitors. Dozens of them.

Every inch of the house was on those screens. The driveway, the kitchen, the hallways. And there, in the center, was her room. She saw the bed she had just been sitting on. She saw the dent her body had made in the sheets.

Her stomach did a slow, sick flip. She touched the screen, swiping back.

A month ago. Her dorm room. She was folding a sweater, laughing at something on her phone.

A year ago. Her birthday. Her dad was lighting candles on a cake.

Two years ago. A dance. She was wearing a dress that was too short, her hair a mess.

“I told you not to wander.”

Ivy nearly jumped out of her skin. Victor was in the doorway. He wasn't yelling. He was just standing there, filling up the space.

“You’ve been watching me,” she choked out. “This whole time. You’re a stalker.”

“I’ve had eyes on you for your own protection,” he said, his voice terrifyingly calm.

“That’s a lie. That's sick.”

He stepped into the room. Ivy backed up until her spine hit the cold metal of the control desk.

“I stepped in as your guardian because I couldn't wait any longer,” he said. He was close now. Close enough that she could smell the whiskey on his breath.

“What does that mean?”

“It means you were always going to end up here. I just made sure it happened now.”

She tried to bolt past him, but his hand snapped out. His grip on her wrist was like a manacle. He swung her around, pinning her against the monitors. Her own face, from two years ago, was right behind his shoulder.

He pressed a hand to her chest. He could definitely feel her heart trying to break out of her ribs.

“Do you know what I do to girls who don't listen, Ivy?” he whispered.

“Let go of me.”

“One choice. That's all you get. Submit. Ninety days. My rules. No limits.”

Ivy looked into those icy eyes. She wanted to scream, but her throat felt tight. “And if I say no?”

He smiled. It wasn't a kind smile. It was the smile of a man who had already won. “Then you’ll never know what it’s like to belong to someone who actually knows how to keep you.”

The word belong hit her like a physical weight.

“In the morning, you sign the contract or you leave with nothing,” he said, leaning in until his lips brushed her ear. “But if you sign, there are no safe words. I take everything.”

He let go and walked out.

Ivy didn't move. She couldn't. She looked at the screen, at her own terrified reflection. Her heart was screaming run, but something lower, deeper in her belly, was heavy and hot.

She didn't sleep. She just waited for the sun to come up.