Chapter 9.
Elara's POV.
I didn't scream or push the door open and demand an explanation. I didn't even cry.
The tears had dried the moment I heard Dante's voice, that thick, low rumble confessing my failure to the woman who wanted me dead.
I turned away from the door and walked back down the hallway. My footsteps made no sound on the thick carpet. I reached my room, closed the door, and sat on the edge of the bed.
He didn't want a wife or even want a partner. He wanted a biological machine, and because the machine had broken, he was already looking for a replacement.
I couldn't sleep. I watched the sun rise through the window.
I went downstairs at 8:00 AM. I needed caffeine and a plan. I found in the breakfast nook, looking perfectly styled in a cream-colored silk dress. She was sipping tea and reading a tablet. When she saw me, her lips curled into a sweet, malicious smile.
"Good morning, Elara," she said. Her voice was light, as if we were old friends. "You're up early. The doctor said you needed bed rest."
"I'm fine," I said, heading for the espresso machine.
"Are you? You look a bit pale." Isabella stood up and walked toward me. "You should really listen to the professionals. Women like you….delicate, academic types don't survive stress well. This world is heavy. It crushes people who aren't built for it."
I turned to face her. "I've survived plenty, Isabella."
"Have you?" She tilted her head, her green eyes sharp. "Dante needs a woman who understands power. He needs someone who can stand beside him, not someone he has to constantly rescue from warehouses."
My hand tightened around my mug. "How do you know it was a warehouse?"
The news hadn't been made public.
Dante's security usually scrubbed every detail.
Isabella laughed. "I know everything that happens in this family, Elara. I helped build parts of it. You were a temporary solution to a legal problem. But now that the... solution... has been terminated, you're just an anchor. And Dante doesn't like being weighed down."
She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "He was with me last night. Did he tell you? No, of course not. He was seeking comfort where he knew he could find it. You should rest while you can. Your time in this house is ticking away."
She patted my arm and walked out, leaving me standing in the cold kitchen.
I went upstairs into my room, pulling a small duffel bag from the back of the closet, when the door opened. Lorenzo stepped in. He looked at the bag, then at me.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"I can't stay here, Lorenzo." I shoved a pair of jeans and a sweater into the bag. "I heard them last night. Dante and Isabella. He told her I failed. He was letting her touch him. He doesn't even care that I almost died."
Lorenzo closed the door and locked it. "Elara, talk to me. What exactly did you hear?"
I told him everything that had transpired yesterday and this morning. By the time I finished, my hands were shaking.
"I'm running," I said. "I'll go to Canada. I'll change my name. I just need to get out before he hands me over to her or puts me back in a hospital."
Lorenzo grabbed my shoulders. "You won't make it five miles. Dante has trackers on the cars, guards at the gates, and facial recognition on the perimeter cameras. If you run now, you're just giving him a reason to hunt you down."
"Then what am I supposed to do?" I hissed. "Wait for them to kill me?"
"No," Lorenzo said. "You don't need protection, Elara. You need information. You need to know exactly what you're up against so we can find a real way out."
"We?"
"I told you I'd help you," he said. "I'm tired of the way he runs this family. If you want out, I'll be your inside man. But you have to stay. You have to play the part of the grieving, obedient wife while we gather what we need."
I looked at him for a long time. "Why help me? You're a Moretti."
"I'm a Moretti who hates being a Moretti," he replied. "Now, put the bag away. We have work to do."
That night, Dante was out with Isabella at a charity gala. Lorenzo handled the security rotation, ensuring the guards near the east wing were occupied with a "malfunction" in the perimeter fence.
I used the code Lorenzo gave me to enter Dante's private study. I went straight for the huge desk and the safe hidden behind the bookshelf.
"The birthdate of his father," Lorenzo had whispered. "05-12-44."
The safe clicked open. Inside were stacks of cash, several passports, and a thick blue folder labeled Project V-Contract.
I sat on the floor and began to read.
My stomach turned as I flipped through the pages. It wasn't just a marriage contract. There were medical reports from my university clinic, tests I didn't remember taking. They had been tracking my health, my cycle, and my genetic markers for months before I ever met Dante.
Then I saw the bloodline records. The Moretti Syndicate had alliances that depended on the birth of a male heir. If Dante didn't produce one, he would lose everything.
I flipped to the back and found a set of handwritten notes.
Isabella's.
"Subject Elara Vance: Orphan. No living relatives. Low social footprint. High intelligence. Easily manipulated by financial pressure. If she survives the birth, commit to Swiss facility. Reason: Postpartum instability."
The room felt like it was spinning. I wasn't chosen because I was smart or healthy. I was chosen because I was disposable, like a livestock animal.
Every ounce of affection I had felt for Dante burned away in that moment. Every moment of guilt I felt for losing the baby vanished. They had never intended for me to have a life.
I didn't leave the study immediately. I took out my phone, the one Dante had given me and realized it was likely bugged. I smashed the screen against the corner of the desk, making it look like an accident.
I found a burner phone Lorenzo had hidden in the library earlier that day. I began to take photos of every page in that folder.
I put the folder back exactly as I had found it and locked the safe. I walked out of the study and back to my room.
"The devil wasn't made in a day," I whispered to the empty room.
I had been a student of medicine. I knew how to kill an infection and all sorts. And I knew that sometimes, to save the body, you had to cut the dead weight away.
The next morning, I met Lorenzo in the library. He handed me a small, encrypted thumb drive.
"What's this?" I asked.
"The security codes for the Singapore accounts," he said. "If we're going to do this, you're going to need more than just a bus ticket."
I looked at the drive, then at the gates in the distance. "How long until he notices the money is moving?"
"If we're careful? Months. If Isabella gets suspicious? Days."
I tucked the drive into my pocket. "Then we'd better be fast."