Two
The house was silent but it wasn’t peaceful.
Silence in the Langston estate didn’t mean calm. It meant control. It meant someone was deciding what words were allowed to exist.
Elena Langston sat at her vanity, staring at the woman in the mirror. She barely recognized herself. Not because her makeup was ruined it wasn’t. Or because her hair was falling it wasn’t. No, it was the diamond on her finger. That single ring had turned her entire life inside out.
Her engagement had become a national scandal overnight.
She glanced at the phone beside her. Dozens of missed calls. More headlines.
Dante Virello Proposes in Shocking Power Move
Langston Heiress Used as Leverage?
King of the Underworld Returns for His Crown… and His Queen?
Queen. What a joke.
She wasn’t royalty. She was bait. Collateral. A pawn in some war between two kings and she hadn’t even known she was on the board.
Her fingers curled into fists.
She’d never been the rebellious daughter. She’d done everything her father asked smiled when told, wore what was chosen, stayed out of tabloids. She followed the rules, kept her name clean. For what?
So he could sell her off like a bargaining chip to a man who made her feel… hunted?
A soft knock broke her thoughts.
She didn’t answer.
The door opened anyway.
Because of course it did.
He always came in uninvited.
Dante Virello stepped into the room like he owned it. Black shirt, sleeves rolled, collar open, no tie. Controlled, but informal. Like he wanted her to know he could strip the world bare and still command it.
Her pulse ticked up.
She hated it.
“You really don’t believe in knocking?” she snapped.
“You really think a door could keep me out?”
She stood. “You have a lot of confidence for someone who’s committing social suicide.”
“I’ve died before,” he said simply, and walked farther in. “Figured I’d try something new.”
He moved without hesitation touching nothing, but looking at everything. Her perfume bottles. Her violin. The carefully arranged glass figurines on the mantle. Each one delicate, expensive… fragile.
“Pretty cage,” he murmured.
Elena crossed her arms. “Get to the point.”
Dante turned to her. His eyes, impossibly dark, landed on hers with weight. “You’re still wearing the ring.”
She stiffened. “I didn’t say I’d keep it.”
“You didn’t take it off either.”
She held his gaze, jaw locked. “Why me?”
He didn’t blink. “Because Victor Langston destroyed my empire, and I’m going to dismantle his one heartbeat at a time. Starting with his daughter.”
She laughed once dry and bitter. “You’re using me to hurt him.”
“No,” he said calmly. “I’m using you to remind him what he can’t protect.”
Elena’s fingers curled tighter. “You’re disgusting.”
“You’ve lived your whole life under a man like him, and you’re just figuring that out now?”
“You’re worse.”
“Maybe.” His mouth twitched. “But I don’t lie about it.”
She took a step toward him, chin high. “You think I’m weak. That I’ll play nice. That I’ll do whatever my father says.”
“You said yes.”
“You threatened me.”
“You didn’t run.”
“I wanted to.”
“But you didn’t.”
Silence settled.
He was close now. Too close. She could smell him something sharp and expensive, like spice and danger wrapped in black silk. She hated how her body reacted before her brain could stop it.
She stepped back.
“You’re insane.”
“No,” he murmured. “Just patient.”
He took out a folder from his jacket and placed it on her vanity.
“What’s this?”
“Our wedding itinerary.”
She didn’t move. “You’re not serious.”
“I’m always serious.”
She opened the folder slowly. It was filled with details. Press dates. Designer meetings. Security protocol. Dress fittings.
“You’ve planned this out.”
“I plan everything. I had five years to map it out.”
She looked up sharply. “You spent five years in prison.”
He smiled without warmth. “And you spent five years under your father’s roof. We were both caged. Only difference is I broke out.”
She slammed the folder shut. “I’m not marrying you.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t scream.”
“You already did. At the gala. And no one helped you.”
Elena’s breath hitched.
“You’re not just fighting me,” he continued. “You’re fighting the man who raised you. And deep down, you know I’m not the only villain in this house.”
She didn’t respond. Couldn’t.
He leaned in slightly, voice dropping.
“You’re angry at the wrong man.”
Then, just like that, he walked toward the door.
“Two weeks,” he called over his shoulder. “Wear something bold for the press run. Let them see the lion Victor failed to tame.”
The door shut behind him.
She didn’t cry.
Elena didn’t cry anymore.
She just sat, stared at the ring, and tried to remember how her life used to feel before everything cracked.
The worst part?
Some tiny, wicked voice in her head whispered that maybe Dante wasn’t wrong.
Across the city, Dante Virello stared out the penthouse window of his reclaimed tower.
He held a glass of scotch but hadn’t touched it.
His mind wasn’t on the taste.
It was on her.
Elena Langston was supposed to be a pawn. A symbol. The crown he’d place on her head so he could break her father from the inside out.
But something about her wasn’t adding up.
She didn’t scream. She didn’t fold. She didn’t beg.
She looked at him like she saw straight through him.
And that was dangerous.
Because the only woman who ever saw Dante clearly… died for it.
The next morning, Elena found herself standing in front of her father’s office door.
For the first time in her life, she didn’t knock before entering.
Victor Langston looked up from his desk. Cold. Clean. Composed.
“We need to talk,” she said.
“I’m busy.”
“I don’t care.”
He raised a brow but said nothing.
“You’re letting me marry him,” she said. “Why?”
“Because the alternative is worse.”
“For you.”
“For all of us.”
She stepped closer. “What did you do to him?”
“More than you’ll ever understand.”
“Then explain it.”
He leaned back, hands steepled. “Do you think this world is built on kindness, Elena? Empathy? It’s built on leverage. And I’m out of it.”
“You’re letting him win.”
Victor’s expression darkened. “He won the moment you said yes.”
Elena’s breath caught.
Her father didn’t deny the guilt. Didn’t hide from it.
She left without another word.
And for the first time in years, Victor Langston looked… afraid.
That night, Elena sat on the balcony of her room, wrapped in a blanket, when a black SUV pulled up in front of the estate.
Dante stepped out, dressed in black again, holding a bouquet of dark red roses.
She didn’t move as he approached.
He held them out. “I figured we should start pretending.”
She stared at the roses, then met his eyes. “Pretending doesn’t require flowers.”
“True. But they make the photos more convincing.”
“You think I care about appearances?”
“You should. The world’s watching.”
She took the roses. Not because she wanted to but because rejecting them would give him satisfaction.
He didn’t smile.
He just stood there, hands in his pockets, unreadable.
“I’m not afraid of you,” she whispered.
“You should be.”
“But I’m not.”
He stepped closer, voice low. “Then you’re either braver than I thought… or more dangerous than I planned.”
Her fingers tightened around the roses.
Dante smiled slightly.
And in that moment, Elena realized something terrifying.
This man didn’t just want revenge.
He wanted war.
And he planned to wage it with her by his side.