Three
Elena didn’t sleep.
How could she, with his voice echoing through her mind?
“You’ll be mine before the week is over, Elena. In every way that matters.”
The silence of her room mocked her. Her bed, which once felt like a haven, now felt like a cage. The Virello estate had too many walls, too many shadows, and one man who seemed to know exactly how to unravel her.
She sat up, clutching the sheets, furious with herself for trembling.
This was just a game. That’s what everyone said about Dante Virello.
But it didn’t feel like a game. It felt like war.
And she had no idea how to win.
Morning came sharp and silver. The house was already buzzing when Elena descended the stairs, dressed in a cream blouse and black slacks prim, polished, and perfectly unreadable.
The staff moved around her like ghosts, polite but distant. Elena wasn’t sure if they were afraid of her… or just afraid of who she now belonged to.
Because that’s what it felt like, didn’t it?
Not a fiancée. A possession.
“Don’t let him make you small,” she whispered under her breath as she reached the bottom step.
“Elena.”
She nearly jumped. He was leaning against the column at the end of the hallway impeccable black suit, shirt unbuttoned just enough to remind her that danger wore elegance well. Dante held a steaming cup of coffee like a king holding court.
“You’re up early,” he said smoothly.
“I didn’t sleep.”
His brow lifted. “Already losing sleep over me? I’m flattered.”
She stared at him, unimpressed. “No. Just insomnia. Happens when you’re forcibly relocated to the lair of a megalomaniac.”
He smirked. “You say that like it’s an insult.”
God, he was impossible.
“I need to speak to my father,” she said, brushing past him. “Where’s your phone?”
“Confiscated,” he said casually. “You’re on a temporary communications blackout.”
She froze. “You can’t just isolate me.”
“Actually,” he drawled, sipping his coffee, “I can. And I will. At least until your father publicly acknowledges our engagement.”
Elena turned, eyes blazing. “So I’m a hostage now?”
“No,” he said. “A guest. One with unfortunate ties to a man I intend to ruin. Surely you understand the caution.”
He’s paranoid. Or calculated. Or both.
Dante stepped closer. “The sooner you understand the rules, Elena, the less painful this will be.”
“And what rules are those? Be silent? Be sweet? Be obedient?”
He chuckled. “Tempting, but no. Just don’t lie to me. And don’t run. I hate chasing.”
Their eyes locked.
He was daring her. Testing her.
Elena refused to look away. “I won’t lie. But I’m not afraid of you either.”
“You should be,” he said quietly.
But something flickered in his gaze. Not threat. Something else.
Something like… restraint.
Later that day, Dante’s penthouse office towered above the city. Elena stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows, arms crossed, ignoring the way his cologne lingered in the room like a storm waiting to break.
“You brought me here to what? Parade me like some kind of trophy?”
“You’re not a trophy,” he said, not looking up from his papers. “You’re leverage.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, charming. Truly.”
“It’s the truth. And you’d be wise to accept that, Elena.”
“Why me?” she asked, finally. “There are a thousand ways to get revenge on my father. Why this?”
Dante set his pen down. His eyes met hers.
“Because you’re the only thing he values that he can’t buy back.”
The words hit her harder than she expected.
“And what about me? Do I get a say in any of this?”
Dante stood, walked toward her with the measured grace of a predator.
“You already said yes,” he murmured, eyes narrowing.
“I didn’t mean it!”
“But you said it. In front of witnesses. And your father didn’t object.”
She stared up at him, jaw tight. “That wasn’t consent. That was shock.”
“Words are power, Elena. Especially in my world. And yours sealed your fate.”
That evening, a formal dinner was arranged.
Elena entered the dining room in a sleek black dress chosen by someone else. Her makeup was flawless. Her expression was not.
Dante was already seated, drink in hand, watching her with that same unreadable intensity.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
She sat across from him. “You look like a man who’s about to get stabbed with a steak knife.”
He smiled. “There she is.”
A full five seconds passed before either of them spoke again. The tension could’ve sliced the air.
“Did you enjoy your day?” he asked.
“Oh, yes. Being under surveillance was thrilling.”
“It’s for your protection.”
“From what? You?”
Dante laughed. “You’re too sharp for your own good.”
“And you’re too cruel for yours.”
They ate in silence for a moment, the candlelight casting shadows on his cheekbones.
Then:
“You think I’m cruel?” he asked, voice low.
“I know you are.”
“I think you confuse cruelty with clarity.”
“No,” she whispered. “I know the difference.”
He leaned forward. “Then you know what I do to people who cross me.”
She held his gaze. “Do you also know what happens to men who underestimate women like me?”
That did something. His expression shifted—just slightly.
“Keep talking like that,” he murmured, “and I might start to like you.”
Later that night, Elena stood on the balcony, city lights flickering like dying stars below. The cold wind kissed her skin, but she didn’t move.
Behind her, she felt him approach.
“You think if you jump, you’ll escape me?”
She turned slowly. “Maybe I just needed air.”
Dante didn’t smile. “You’re not my prisoner, Elena.”
“No. I’m your pawn.”
“No,” he said, stepping closer. “You’re my queen. You just don’t see the board yet.”
She scoffed. “Do all psychopaths speak in riddles?”
He was so close now, she could see the tension in his jaw.
“I never wanted to hurt you,” he said, voice tight.
“Then let me go.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
He hesitated. “Because if I let you go… this all falls apart.”
“This?” she echoed, breath catching.
He didn’t answer.
Instead, Dante stepped back like a man who wanted to touch fire but knew it would burn.
“Get some rest,” he said. “The wedding’s in six days.”
Her heart slammed in her chest.
He disappeared into the shadows, leaving her breathless, furious, and more dangerously entangled than she’d ever planned to be.