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His Unfinished Vow

Vaanni_Mittal
Valentina slipped away from the party's chaos, craving a quiet moment down a secluded hallway. Suddenly, she was pulled into a dimly lit private room. His scent—familiar, potent, and dangerous—hit her first. Then, his touch. Fingers, once gentle, now possessive, traced her jawline and tangled in her hair. "Sigues siendo mía, cara mia," ('You're still mine, my dear.') Dante Volkov murmured, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that sent shivers down her spine. Defiance flared within Valentina. She attempted to slap him, but he was too quick, pinning her to the wall with brutal ease. His lips, cold and demanding, found her collarbone—a chilling kiss of ownership before he released her, leaving her trembling and alone in the room. This wasn't just a chance encounter; it was a declaration of war. He was back, and Valentina knew, with a sickening certainty, that the game had only just begun.
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