Elara's POV
The ring feels like it weighs a thousand pounds on my finger.
I stare at it—this beautiful, cold piece of metal that just became my prison—while Dante pours himself another drink. He doesn't offer me one.
"Sit," he commands, gesturing to a leather chair across from his desk.
I want to refuse, to tell him he doesn't get to order me around yet. But I already signed the contract. Already sold myself.
I sit.
Dante settles into his own chair, looking completely relaxed. Like he just closed a business deal instead of buying a human being.
"Let's establish some ground rules," he says.
"I thought that's what the forty-seven pages were for."
His eyes flash with something that might be amusement. Or warning. "The contract covers legalities. I'm talking about reality. How this actually works."
"You mean how you own me now?"
"Yes." He doesn't even pretend otherwise. "For the next two years, you are mine. My wife in every public sense. You'll live in my home, attend my events, smile when cameras point at you, and never—ever—embarrass me."
Each word feels like a chain wrapping around my chest.
"What about private?" I ask. "When there are no cameras?"
"In private, you stay out of my way." He takes a sip of his drink. "I have a guest room prepared for you. Your bedroom. Not our bedroom. We're married on paper, not in practice."
Relief floods through me so strongly I almost gasp. Whatever nightmare I'm entering, at least it doesn't include that.
"Good," I manage. "Because I would never—"
"I know." His voice cuts like ice. "Touching you would require wanting you. I don't. You're a tool for my revenge, nothing more."
The words shouldn't hurt. I don't want him to want me. But somehow, being called a tool still stings.
"My father," I say, changing the subject before he sees how much he's getting to me. "You said you'd handle his legal fees."
"Already done. I've retained the best criminal defense team in the country. They'll meet with Richard tomorrow morning."
"And the charges? Can they make them go away?"
Dante's laugh is harsh. "Your father stole fifty million dollars. Those charges aren't going anywhere. But my lawyers will negotiate a plea deal. Reduced sentence, better prison conditions. He'll do time, but it won't be twenty years."
My stomach twists. "He still goes to prison?"
"Did you think I'd let him walk free?" Dante leans forward, his eyes boring into mine. "He destroyed my father. He deserves to suffer. I'm just making sure he suffers the right amount—enough to hurt, not enough to kill him."
"That's sick."
"That's justice."
"Justice would be proving he's innocent!"
"He's not innocent." Dante's voice is flat, final. "I've seen the evidence, Elara. All of it. Your father knew exactly what he was doing. He just didn't expect to get caught."
I want to argue, to defend Dad, but the words stick in my throat. Because I've seen some of that evidence too. The signatures. The transfers. The lies.
"My mother," I whisper instead. "Her medical care—"
"The hospital bills are being handled. She'll have the best doctors, private room, whatever she needs." He pauses. "But you should know—she can't visit our home. Neither can your father once he's released. No contact except supervised meetings I approve."
My head snaps up. "What? You can't keep me from my family!"
"I can, and I will. The contract specifies limited supervised contact only. You should have read more carefully before signing."
I did read it. I just didn't think he'd actually enforce that part.
"You're a monster," I breathe.
"I'm a businessman who learned from your father that mercy is weakness." Dante stands, walking around the desk until he's looming over me. "Here's what you need to understand, Elara. I don't care if you hate me. I don't care if this breaks you. I only care that you play your part perfectly."
"And if I don't?"
"Then the deal is void. Your father's legal team disappears. Your mother's medical coverage stops. Everything I've promised evaporates, and you're left with nothing again."
It's the perfect trap. He knows I can't refuse. Can't rebel. Can't even fight back without destroying my family.
"When do we..." I can barely say it. "When's the wedding?"
"Friday. Three days from now."
My heart stops. "Three days? That's impossible!"
"City hall ceremony. Quick and simple. Just enough to make it legal." He returns to his chair. "I've already arranged everything. You just need to show up and say 'I do.'"
This is really happening. In three days, I'll be married to this cold, cruel man who hates me.
"What about the press?" I ask. "When my father was arrested, we were all over the news. If I suddenly marry you—"
"I'll handle the press. I'm announcing our engagement tomorrow. The story is we met months ago, fell in love, and you had no idea about your father's crimes." His smile is sharp. "Everyone loves a romance that transcends scandal."
"Nobody will believe that."
"They'll believe what I tell them to believe. I own half the media outlets in this city."
Of course he does.
"One more thing," Dante says, pulling out another document. "This is a non-disclosure agreement. Everything that happens between us—everything you see, hear, or learn in my home—stays private. Forever. Sign it."
I take the NDA with numb fingers. It's only two pages, but the penalties for breaking it are severe. Millions in damages. Criminal charges.
I sign it anyway. What choice do I have?
Dante takes the document, checking my signature like he doesn't trust me not to forge it.
"Good. Marcus will drive you back to your hotel. Tomorrow, movers will collect your belongings and bring them to the penthouse. You'll move in immediately."
"Tomorrow? I can't just—"
"You can and you will." He presses a button on his desk. The door opens and Marcus appears like he was waiting. "We're done here."
I stand on shaking legs. "Wait. I need to know—why are you really doing this? It can't just be revenge."
For a moment, something flickers across Dante's face. Something raw and painful and quickly hidden.
"My father's last words to me were in a letter," he says quietly. "He wrote that he was sorry for failing me. That Richard Sinclair had destroyed him and there was no way back. That he loved me but couldn't live with the shame."
His hands curl into fists on the desk.
"He put a gun in his mouth because your father took everything from him. His reputation, his money, his hope. Everything." Dante's eyes meet mine, blazing with controlled fury. "So now I'm taking everything from Richard Sinclair. His freedom. His reputation. His dignity. And most importantly—his daughter."
Tears blur my vision. "I'm not a thing to be taken."
"You became one the moment you signed that contract." He gestures to Marcus. "Get her out of my sight."
Marcus touches my elbow, gently guiding me toward the door. I let him lead me, too numb to resist.
At the threshold, I turn back one last time.
Dante is standing at his window again, looking out at the city. His shoulders are rigid, his posture screaming control. But in the reflection of the glass, I see something else.
Pain.
Deep, devastating pain that's been carved into him for fourteen years.
And suddenly I realize the horrible truth: Dante Moretti isn't just my enemy.
He's someone who's been destroyed just like me.
Someone who rebuilt himself from nothing into something powerful and cold and untouchable.
Someone who learned that the only way to survive is to stop feeling.
And now I'm supposed to spend two years with this broken, dangerous man who sees me as nothing but a tool for revenge.
The elevator doors close, sealing me in with Marcus.
"He's not going to make this easy for you," Marcus says quietly.
"I noticed."
"But he's not a monster. Not completely."
I laugh bitterly. "Could've fooled me."
Marcus is silent for a moment. Then: "His father's suicide destroyed him. Changed him. Made him into what he is now. Everything he's built, everything he's become—it's all to prove he survived what Richard Sinclair did to him."
"So I'm just collateral damage in his therapy?"
"No." Marcus looks at me, his expression unreadable. "You're the final piece. The thing he thinks will give him closure. Make the pain stop."
The elevator reaches the ground floor. The doors open to the lobby.
"Will it?" I ask. "Make the pain stop?"
Marcus's answer chills me to the bone:
"I don't think anything can. Which means the next two years are going to be hell for both of you."
He walks me to a black car waiting at the curb. Opens the door for me like I'm actually someone important instead of someone who just sold herself.
I slide into the backseat, the engagement ring heavy on my finger.
As we pull away from Moretti Tower, I look back at the building. At the top floor where Dante is probably still standing at his window, drinking alone, planning his revenge.
And I wonder which one of us is really the prisoner here.
Me, trapped in a contract marriage with a man who hates me?
Or him, trapped in pain so deep he thinks destroying me will somehow heal him?
My phone buzzes. Victoria: Are you okay? You've been in there 45 minutes.
I type back: I'm alive. Barely.
Then I add: I'm getting married Friday.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
Finally: WHAT???
I turn off my phone before she can call. I can't explain this. Can't put into words what I just agreed to.
The car drives through Manhattan, past people living normal lives. Going home to families who love them. To futures that aren't signed away on contracts.
In three days, I'll stand in city hall and marry Dante Moretti.
And my life—what's left of it—will officially belong to the man who wants revenge more than he wants air.
God help me.