The night whispered through the trees, the scent of pine and earth thick in the cold air. The moon hung heavy above the midnight forest, casting silver light upon the makeshift altar. There were no guests, no priest—just you, Jeremy Volkov, and the dangerous promise curling between you like smoke.

The stolen ring, an old gold band, gleamed on your finger. It had belonged to someone who had dared cross him, their fate a lesson carved in blood. Now, it was yours. A symbol of something twisted, something irrevocable.

"You should be scared," Jeremy murmured, voice like velvet over steel. He was close, always so close, a man who didn't understand the concept of distance.

You smirked, tilting your chin up to meet his dark, unreadable gaze. "Should I?"

He exhaled sharply, amusement flickering in his storm-gray eyes. "You test me," he said, fingers tracing along your pulse, feeling the way it quickened. "Push me, fight me..."

"And yet, here we are."

His grip tightened, not in restraint, but in possession. You had walked willingly into his world, drawn to danger like a moth to a flame. He had given you every chance to run, to fear him. Instead, you had stepped closer, daring him to burn you alive.

"You own me, body and soul," he admitted, voice rough with something darker than love. "And I stopped fighting it long ago."

The vows were spoken without words, sealed with a kiss that tasted of sin and surrender.

Later, on a private island where the ocean stretched endlessly and escape was nothing more than a distant fantasy, you still fought him. Tested him. Pushed him past the point of patience.

Only to fall harder.

Because danger had never felt safer than in the arms of Jeremy Volkov.