Billionaires Vow

Chapter 1

Omen of Bloodshed

"Ma'am, there's a dark shadow over you, an omen of bad luck! Give me three rolls, and I'll help you change your fate!"

Ivy sloane stood in front of the small bakery, her navy-blue cloak draped over her thin frame. Her dark hair was pulled into a messy bun, and dirt smudged her pale face. Despite her disheveled appearance, her expression was completely serious.

Mrs. Turner, busy arranging loaves in her shop, scowled. Getting cursed first thing in the morning was not how she wanted to start her day.

She turned sharply, ready to snap at the girl-until she actually looked at her. Ivy's face was gaunt, her eyes hollow with hunger. The woman hesitated, then sighed and reached into a bag, pulling out five rolls.

"Here, take them. And keep your charms to yourself."

Ivy Sloane wasted no time devouring the bread. Then, wiping crumbs from her mouth, she pulled a small, worn slip of paper from her pocket and pressed it into Mrs. Turner's hands.

"I'm not taking charity," she insisted. "This is for your protection. Keep it with you, and it'll keep you safe."

Before the woman could argue, Ivy folded the charm into a small triangle, slipped it into her coat pocket, and turned away.

Mrs. Turner frowned. "Wait! Where are you going?"

"To the capital," Ivy called over her shoulder. She waved once, then disappeared down the street.

Ivy had always been different.

She had been abandoned as a newborn, left by a riverbank with no name and no past.

Because she could see things others couldn't.

Spirits, shadows, the lingering traces of the dead-her second sight made her an outcast. If not for Ethan Farris, a traveling mystic who took her in, she wouldn't have survived. Under his care, she studied the old ways-divination, sigils, and the ancient art of protection magic.

But a week ago, Ethan passed away. And before he died, he left her with one final message:

"Ivy, I arranged a marriage for you. He's the key to your survival. Find him in the capital before it's too late."

She had known since childhood that her life wasn't meant to last. Her energy was wrong-too cold, too unstable. Ethan had warned her: she wouldn't live past twenty.

Tomorrow is her twentieth birthday.

Which meant she had one day left.

If she wanted to survive, she had to find this mysterious fiancé.

But the closer she got to her birthday, the worse her luck became.

Disaster trailed behind her like a curse.

The moment she stepped outside, a mudslide nearly buried her alive.

A freak lightning strike fried her old phone.

She barely made it to the train station, only to realize she'd spent every last dollar on a ticket.

Ivy refused to die. She wanted to live.

But first, she had to get to the capital.

Walking wouldn't get her there in time.

She needed a ride.

Or she needed to steal one.

That evening, Mrs. Turner locked up her shop and rode her old electric scooter through the narrow streets.

Just one more turn, and she'd be home.

"A bad omen? A looming disaster?"

She huffed. Kids these days believe the strangest things.

CRASH!

A loud noise rang out behind her, making her stomach lurch.

She slammed the brakes and turned around.

A heavy flower pot had fallen from a second-story window, shattering into shards just inches from where she had been moments ago.

Her pulse pounded in her ears. The pavement was covered in sharp fragments-yet not one had touched her.

If she had been even a second slower, the pot would have hit her square in the head.

Her hands trembled as she reached into her pocket and pulled out Ivy's charm.

It had turned to ash.

Her breath caught in her throat.

"That girl... she wasn't lying."

Slowly, Mrs. Turner stepped off her scooter, turned in the direction of the capital, and bowed her head.

"Whoever you are... thank you for saving me."

By three in the morning, the streets were eerily silent, blanketed in thick fog. The air had turned bone-chillingly cold, making Ivy pull her cloak tighter around herself.

A sharp gust of wind howled through the empty road.

Then, out of nowhere, a yellow taxi rolled up to the curb.

A strange, tattered flag fluttered from its antenna, covered in faded symbols, Ivy couldn't quite make out.

The driver rolled down the window.

"Need a lift, miss?"

Ivy stepped closer, inspecting the car.

The entire thing was plastered with SpongeBob SquarePants stickers.

Of all the haunted taxis in the world, she had to get this one.

Without hesitation, she yanked open the door and slid inside. "Take me to the capital."

The driver hesitated. In the mirror, his expression shifted.

This girl had no fear.

Slowly, he turned toward her. His face was ghostly pale.

Then, with a sickening pop, he reached up and plucked out his eyeballs.

Blood streamed down his cheeks, soaking into his collar. The entire car filled with the thick, metallic stench of iron.

The driver grinned, revealing rows of yellowed, rotting teeth.

"Surprised, sweetheart?" His voice was low, sing-song.

He leaned closer, his hollow eye sockets dark and dripping.

"I'm a ghost."

The driver expected Ivy to be terrified, but she remained unfazed. "Just drive. I'm rushing."

Despite the eerie atmosphere, there was no overwhelming sense of malice in the car, meaning the driver hadn't harmed anyone. He was just an ordinary ghost, not worth Ivy's concern.

The ghost driver was dumbfounded. Why wasn't she scared? Everyone he had encountered before, young or old, had screamed in terror at the sight of him.

Determined to shake her, he leaned in, exhaling a cold breath against her skin. His teeth gleamed as he sneered, "Girl, a ride in my car might cost you your life." He then let out a deep, sinister laugh, hoping to rattle her.

Ivy, irritated by the noise, grabbed his eyeballs and shoved them into his mouth. Her voice was cold as steel. "Make another sound, and I'll send you straight to the afterlife."

An unseen force surged through the car, instantly weakening the ghost's energy. Realizing he had provoked someone far beyond his understanding, the driver hastily dug the eyeballs from his throat and jammed them back into their sockets.

Scrambling back into his seat, he buckled his seatbelt. "M-Miss... it's not that I don't want to drive. I just can't leave this area."

"Just drive," Ivy said, closing her eyes as if to rest.

Though doubtful, the ghost hesitantly stepped on the gas. To his surprise, the car moved freely, gliding down the road that had once trapped him.

Thirty minutes later, he pulled up to their destination and let out an awkward chuckle. "We're here, Miss."

Ivy glanced at the towering skyscraper ahead. "You're a decent driver," she remarked.

The ghost rubbed the back of his head. "Well, I've been at it for twenty years."

Stepping out, he held the door open for her. "After you."

Ivy turned to him, her gaze thoughtful. "The dead and the living are separated for a reason. Your energy is harmful to the living, just as ours is to you. Since you gave me a ride, I'll return the favor-I'll help you cross over."

The ghost stiffened.

He had barely entertained the idea before Ivy saw right through him.

Dropping to his knees, he begged, "Please, just let me go back one last time! I can't leave my wife and daughter like this."

His name was Leonard Brooks, a taxi driver who had spent his life scraping together a living for his family. He had no fancy education, just a strong desire to provide for his wife and their five-year-old little girl.

The night he died, he had been rushing home. His daughter's favorite SpongeBob plushie sat on the passenger seat beside him, a reminder of the life he was eager to return to.

But fate had other plans.

The bridge collapsed beneath him, sending his car plunging into the river. He never made it home.

Since then, he had been driving the same road every night, the hope of seeing his family again keeping him tethered to the world of the living. He even covered his car in SpongeBob decorations, wishing someone-anyone-would recognize him.

Now, he was sobbing, clinging to Ivy's pant leg like a child. "My daughter... she's too young to lose her father..."

Ivy grimaced, shaking off his grip. "Enough with the waterworks. You're literally crying like a ghost."

Leonard sniffled, pulling out the worn SpongeBob plush from his pocket. He held it out to her.

"Please, Miss... If I can't stay, could you at least deliver a message?"

He hesitated before continuing, his voice choked with emotion. "Tell them I love them. Tell my wife... not to grieve too much. And if she ever meets someone good, she should remarry."

Ivy cut him off. "No need. You can tell them yourself."

Leonard's breath caught. "I... I can?"

"I'll let you visit their dreams," Ivy confirmed.

Overwhelmed, Leonard's face lit up. "Miss, you're a miracle worker!"

Ivy lifted her chin. "I've been doing this kind of thing since I was three."

Leonard eagerly nodded, giving her a thumbs-up. "A prodigy, no doubt!"

She began the ritual. "Alright, let's hurry-dawn is almost here."

As her spell took hold, Leonard's form began to fade. His voice echoed as he called out, "Thank you! If you ever end up in the afterlife, I swear I'll repay you!"

Ivy's expression darkened at the mention of death. If she didn't find her so-called fiancé soon, she wouldn't have to wait long to find out what the afterlife had in store.

With a sigh, she continued her journey, weaving through the city.

Hours passed, but she found nothing-no signs, no one with the fate she was searching for.

As night fell, an unbearable pain crawled through her body, sharp and suffocating. It felt like fire and ice gnawing at her veins.

Exhausted, she collapsed onto the hospital steps.

"Dying here wouldn't be the worst thing," she muttered to herself. "At least the morgue's close."

Just as she resigned herself to her fate, a sleek, black Maybach pulled up to the curb.

A suited bodyguard hurried to open the door, bowing slightly as he announced, "Mr. Shaw."

A tall, striking man stepped out, dressed in an impeccable black suit. His presence was magnetic, his features sharp and commanding.

Even among the well-dressed men surrounding him, he stood out-like a king among pawns.

Then Ivy saw it.

A brilliant halo of purple light surrounded him, glowing like a beacon at night.

Her breath caught.