Armour of Vows

Chapter One

Amara

The first breath of air you take after gaining freedom isn't always fresh. In my case, it is filled with a slight whiff of alcohol and expensive perfumes.

I rub my palm against my red dress for the hundredth time. How can I feel so hot in a club filled with air conditioners?

I take a small sip of my drink while I watch the bartender make others with practised ease, throwing the bottle around and catching it behind his back without looking, earning a few gasps from the people around.

Behind the bar, rows of crystal decanters and gleaming glassware sit, their contents hinting at the finest spirits and liquors money could buy.

I have always wanted to come here, to Hornet's nest. It is one of England's most famous elite clubs, and many wait for years before getting in. If this was another day, I would have appreciated the honour of setting foot into this place.

But not today.

Today, I mourn the loss of a home but celebrate the start of a new journey.

The jazz singer effortlessly switches between songs and plays the one that sends a wave of dread to the pits of my stomach. This is the same song that played automatically on my phone when I was packing my bags yesterday, preparing to run away.

I could not live there any longer, back at home. It was all bated breaths and rehearsed conversations.

I retake a deep breath, releasing in the new environment of Paladin City, an exclusive and renowned district located in the heart of Greater London, located between Fitzrovia and Camden, providing a blend of both cities with its charms.

I scan the club, taking in the timeless artworks and mahogany pieces, clad in velvety textures, sophisticated interiors, and opulence excluding.

A painting on the second floor catches my eyes and I crane my neck to look at it. It is a self-portrait of a woman whose hair colour matches mine, red.

She sits on a throne, in beautiful beige drapes. I know this one, this self-portrait was sold for over 5 million a few months ago.

I have always wanted to make a self-portrait of myself for my collection but every painting slipped further and further away from how I look.

One day I will finish my collection and be happy with it. One day.

I tear my eyes from the painting and look around. Suit-clad gentlemen and beautiful women in silk gowns enjoy themselves around, their rich laughs and whispered talks filling the surroundings.

I recognize some of the faces, most from the business world. Many I have met in charity events, some are business partners of my dad and others are well-known celebrities or business persons.

I sway my shoulders to the music and nurse my drink while looking around. Before turning back, my eyes land on a man sitting on a plush, dark brown sofa.

He is engrossed in some files, reading them with concentration while drinking a glass of water.

Wait, who drinks water in a club?

He sits cross-legged, wearing a crisp black Italian suit with silver cufflinks shining under the dim lights. A light, sharp beard decorates his face and a few stands of his inky black hair fall on his forehead, the dishevelled look making him even more captivating.

Sensing my eyes on him, he lifts his head, giving me an unobstructed view of his striking features, high cheekbones, sharp eyes, and a sharp jawline. He looks right in my direction, his face neutral, except for his dark, black eyes boring into mine, sending a wake of goosebumps all over my arm.