VALERIA

The door shuts, and my chest drops with a sigh. That was, hold up, did I just get dragged into a lover's spat? That girl, whoever she is, is clearly involved with Dante. Does that mean... nope! Definitely none of my business. That's Dante's problem alone... hopefully.

Shaking off my mini trauma, I eat the rest of my now cold breakfast, shower, and grab a sweatshirt from his wardrobe. Good thing this man weighs over a hundred and ninety pounds, it ends up looking like I'm wearing a dress instead. It smells faintly of his cologne; musk, pinewood and a hint of cedar... I take a deep sniff.

It's been over twenty minutes since Dante left, there's no sound of either of their voices as it should be in a house like this and I'm tempted to check for myself out of habit. I chew my lower lip, thinking about calling Diego, my best friend but decide against it. Too risky.

Just when I curl up for a catnap the door opens and Dante steps in. Whatever kept him away for that long wasn't rosy. Veins pulse along his neck, jaw locked tight, eyes dark enough to freeze anyone mid-step. His eyes soften when they land on me and he pauses in his step.

"I'm sorry you had to see that. That was my ex, Alex. I broke up with her a few weeks back but she's yet to come to terms with our separation," the irritation in his voice is heavy.

"Broke up? What happened?" I yawn, pulling the covers higher now I'm sure I won't get the other end of the brunt.

"What do you think happened?" Dante asks dryly, and for the first time I see him roll his eyes. That girl must have been a handful.

"She cheated on you?" I ask, wincing as soon as the words leave my mouth. He quirks a brow. "Your best friend then." Dante shakes his head.

"Your dad?" I add quickly.

"Valeria."

"Or maybe she was too clingy?" I say quickly.

"Alex and I weren't compatible for obvious reasons. You got the clingy part right though," he's still frowning.

"Should I be concerned about my safety then?"

"Alex?" he chuckles dryly already moving to the wardrobe. "She's harmless." I'm not sure a woman who looked like she could rip off my hair is harmless but I don't press.

An awkward silence takes over the room, Dante backs me, searching for what I'm guessing is work clothes and from the way those hangers rattle I think it's in my best interest to stay quiet. I watch him or rather watch those muscles flex beneath his clothes; even when he's doing nothing, he's still doing a lot. I press my thighs against each other and sink further into the comforter. Looking this good should be banned.

Dante lays his outfit on his side of the bed and pulls off his shirt. Last night I was probably too distracted by his cock to admire him properly but now I'm getting to understand why Alex's still hung up on him. His biceps are hard, ridiculously defined against olive skin in that way that looks like they were sculpted carefully on his torso. Broad shoulders, toned arms connect with the rest of his body to create a perfectly balanced frame.

"Before I leave for the office I need to get a few things straight between us," Dante pauses and I nod. "Alright, Helen is the oldest staff member of the house, she'll introduce you to the other staff and show you around, you'll pick your new room and if you need anything at all, she can handle that."

"I can start with new clothes–"

"A stylist is coming anytime from now, she'll help you with your shopping. Here," I stare hard at the black card stretched towards me. A fucking black card! I collect it and mutter thanks.

"Check your mail for a PDF of my personal data, at least what you need to know. There's a second one you're to fill and send to me. Helen's waiting outside the door. See you later Valeria."

Just like that, the door to the bathroom shuts. I'm left with a black card that costs way more than my dignity. Welcome to marriage, Valeria.

I don't need anyone to tell me he prefers me out of his room by the time he gets back. Alright Mr. grumpy.

♣♣♠♠

Whoever said money can't buy happiness must not have had enough money to solve 'em... Ari has never been more correct. Why else am I grinning when I should be passed out from a color analysis, five boutique trips, a new haircut, nails and a visit to the dermatologist? Fucking kill me!

Sylvia is every girl's dream shopping companion, at least to those who can afford her. The trunk of the car is filled with carton bags from high end brands; Prada, Gucci, Louis Vuitton etcetera. The minute I showed the sales girl the card, her eyes practically lit up, suddenly I was 'Ms. Torres,' escorted to a private room lined with champagne and clothes. Guess money really does talk, or maybe Dante's card did the talking for me.

My screen lights up, a text from Dante. 'Get dressed. We're eating dinner at my parents'. One text, just one text and my grin fades. I've watched enough movies to know my night has already been ruined before it's even begun. I bite my lips, typing back a depressed okay.

♠♠♠♠

"Is there anything you should warn me about your parents?" I cast a side glance at the man beside me who's been strangely absent minded since I joined him in the car.

"No." Is his flat reply. He doesn't spare me a glance, just continues swiping at his screen.

"Well," I drag out my word, "Are they scary? Like monster in-law level kind?" Dante's hand freezes and I scold myself for my inability to shut up. He lets out a deep sigh, the reflection from his phone revealing a small smile.

"You can call them that," then he turns to face me. "You don't have to be scared." He says calmly.

The rest of the ride is quiet, both of us sitting in comfortable silence. The car slows to a stop, and the gates open before us. I grip my bag a little tighter as we drive in. Even from here, the house looks intimidating. Massive, quiet, and too perfect to be real reminding me that people like me don't belong in places like this.

My throat goes dry, palms slick against my dress.

I try not to stare, but it's hard not to. Everything about this place screams power.

When the car finally stops in front of the entrance, I realize I haven't said a word the whole ride. The gates close behind us with a soft thud, and for some reason, it feels like the air changes.

Lord please.

VALERIA

Dante places his hand on the small of my back, nudging me forward. We move past a row of steps that take up space big enough for an actual room and stop in front of the largest brown door I've ever seen.

At the rate my heart is beating, I'm sure Dante can hear it too. I'm not usually this intimidated. If meeting a duo of stuck-up billionaires is anything to compare to my past job, this is a pinch of salt... or so I try to convince myself.

The hinges groan, and a draft of chilled air rushes past, carrying the faint scent of oak and polish. An older man dressed in a tuxedo steps forward.

"Master Dante, miss," he bows, "welcome home."

"Thank you, Augustine. How are you faring?" Dante's tone softens, a flicker of warmth I've never heard before.

"Very well, Master Dante. Dinner is ready. Your parents are waiting." Augustine steps aside, revealing the exquisite interior of the mansion. Chandeliers dangle from high ceilings, their bright light traveling across the room, accentuating the contrast of my green dress against the white walls of this house. Everything is so minimalist yet elegant; whoever picked this must have great taste.

"Tesoro mio, sei a casa!" A shrill voice drifts our way. I turn to face a middle-aged woman who looks like the female version of Dante. Her black hair is styled in a short wolf cut that gives her a chic look, and I recognize her immediately as Florence Romano, Dante's mother. She spreads out her hands, a radiant smile on her face as she beams up at him.

"It's good to see you too, Mom." Dante lowers himself to hug her. Florence pats his cheek tenderly, then asks a few questions in Italian. Dante must have said something unpleasant. Soon she turns to face me, smile replaced with a frown. Her gaze lingers on my neckline, then my shoes, like she's cataloging flaws. I meet her stare, chin high, pretending I don't feel like prey.

"This is Valeria Torres, Mom," Dante says immediately, pulling me to his side. "Valeria, this is my mother, Florence."

"Torres," she says my name lazily, probably trying to fix a family to it. Then, "What happened to Alex?" Florence says sharply, eyes blazing with unfiltered disgust.

Right.

"We broke up, Mother," he says tiredly, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Pfft. Oh, please," Florence says, the words dripping with disdain.

"I'm starving, Mom," Dante says, smiling. "Am I not allowed to eat again at my parents'?" She nods grimly, her eyes raking over me one last time before she looks away. Just like I expected. Shrewd doesn't even cut it-the devil wears Prada is more like.

A wave of roasted meat, butter, and herbs hits me the second I step in, warm and inviting in a way the house itself isn't. The table gleams under chandelier light, every dish laid out like art.

"Hello, Dad," Dante says to a man I instantly recognize as Lucas Romano. Dressed in black slacks, a crisp white shirt, and a sleeveless cardigan, he looks every inch the composed patriarch. His eyes, though steady and assessing, carry that quiet authority that could make anyone shrink. Anyone but me.

"Hello, son," Lucas says, his gaze on me.

"This is Valentina, my girlfriend. Valentina, this is my father, Lucas Romano." The pride in Dante's voice makes me wonder if there's more to him and Alex's story than he's letting on. From the looks of things, he doesn't seem to give a fuck about my presence, pushing the wrong button. In fact, my fake boyfriend seems to gloat at their disapproval.

"Huh." Lucas' brows rise slightly, silent amusement in his voice. "Welcome to my humble home, Valentina. You don't mind introducing yourself over dinner, do you?"

Humble home indeed.

I plaster the most sincere smile I can pull. "Your home is beautiful, and it'll be my pleasure."

Dinner begins with an appetizer that consists of red wine and caprese salad. I feel Florence's gaze follow me while I eat. Good thing I know dining etiquette well enough to eat a full-course meal without embarrassing myself.

"So," Florence lowers her glass, "Valeria, tell us about yourself. Who are your parents?"

Dante's gaze flicks to his mother, a warning glint in his eyes, then he shifts in his seat, adjusting his cufflink.

"I'm an orphan." I flash a bleak smile, gaze lowering back to my meal.

"Sorry to hear that, but if you don't mind, I'm curious if you have any living relatives?" There's not the slightest hint of remorse in her voice, and I can already tell where this conversation is headed.

"Not at all." I take a bite of my salad. "I am much too alone in this world, yet not alone enough."

"Rainer Maria Rilke," Lucas says, eyes narrowing not in disapproval but silent calculation.

"Interesting," Florence murmurs, voice dipping low. "So, all relatives are dead. I can only imagine how hard it is, navigating through life alone, left only with the legacy of the deceased," she says slowly. Then, as if she didn't just belittle me, she says through a smile, "So, which companies do you own?" Dante's lips twitch in impatience. He lifts his wine glass, hiding the faint smirk of disbelief behind it.

"The Romanos are a very enterprising family." The unspoken words in her statement are supposed to make me flinch, if only she knew who I really am.

"I don't own any companies, but," I place a palm over Dante's, stroking it fondly, "I don't think Dante minds my socioeconomic status." Dante snickers quietly beside me. I can almost see the smile on his face.

"Young people," Florence laughs nervously, waving off my statement. "Don't they just remind you of Romeo and Juliet, Lucas dear?" She lets out a long, dreamy sigh, and Lucas makes an agreeing sound.

"Darling, what would happen if an eagle lived in the midst of eagles?"

"The eagle, I suppose, would begin to act like a chicken," I say easily.

"Good thing you're smart. You see," her voice rises, sharp and direct, "In our world, dear, heritage isn't something you build, it's something you preserve. We invest wisely-in business, in alliances, and yes, in marriage. Surely you don't imagine this little... arrangement with my son could ever become anything lasting?"

There's no trace of emotion in her features, just dark green eyes boring into my soul and an air that's convinced me she would shred me into pieces if I dare go against her will.

"Florence," Lucas says, placing a hand over his wife's.

"Dante dear, how has work been?" Her radiant smile returns.

Dante clears his throat. "Work has been going well, thank you."

"Good to know you don't have too much on your shoulders. Maybe you can make time to fix the issue between you and Alex," she suggests. "You've always had a generous heart, Dante, but perhaps it's time you learned generosity doesn't mean lowering your standards. Some people simply weren't raised to understand the weight of our name."

My jaw clenches, and I stab my fork into a piece of steak. My relationship with Dante might be a sham, but that doesn't make her words cut lighter.

Dante places a hand on my thigh, gently squeezing it.

"Alex and I are over. You, of all people, should respect my decision." His tone is firm; his gaze meets mine long enough to send a sympathetic look.

"I'm only looking out for you. Besides, she's the perfect girl for you, can't you see? She's suffered two panic attacks since you drove her out of your house because of this," her gaze meets mine, "Valentina."

"You've never liked any of my exes," Dante says dryly, tongue sliding over his teeth in frustration.

"Well, they weren't good enough, if you ask me. Look at this one, for instance. What could she possibly offer you, huh? You're a business mogul, Dante, so you should know she's an investment one way or the other-"

"Not everything has to go your way."

Florence holds up her hand. "If your father had married beneath his station, do you honestly believe the Romano name would hold the influence it does today? Legacy, my dear, isn't sustained by affection-it's sustained by association."

"Florence," Lucas says softly, raising a brow at his wife.

"I've heard all you have to say. Too bad I'm getting married to Valeria." Dante tips his chin, brows lifted faintly.

"Dante, your mom and I would not-" Lucas begins, only to be cut short by his wife.

"Is this a joke?" Florence's voice comes out as a half-gasp. She leans forward slightly, lips pulled into a thin line, fingers wrapped tight around the edge of the table.

"I'm afraid not, Mother."

VALERIA

The attention is no longer on me, yet I can feel the anger and hatred seething under Florence's skin the same way you feel the winter chill before snow starts to fall. Her nostrils flare slightly, lips twitching like they're struggling to stay calm.

"Don't act surprised, mother. You keep on asking me to settle down," Dante scoffs. "Besides, this would stop investors from pulling out and the feds from snooping around."

Florence lets out a visible sigh of relief, a small knowing smile tilts her lips as she hurriedly gulps down her drink.

"It's a contract marriage, after all," she says softly, sounding more like she's trying to convince herself than anyone else.

"And," Dante pauses. Both Florence and Lucas' eyes snap towards him. "This marriage is going to be my first and last. I don't plan on marrying anyone other than Valeria now or ever." The certainty in his voice makes me want to both blush and hide.

"Lucas, say something!" Florence's eyes dart between Dante and me, then her husband. "You're his father."

I have to stop myself from scoffing at her desperate plea.

"You'd cut yourself out of the inheritance if you go against us." Lucas's voice drops to that calm, dangerous register that makes the room feel smaller. His features harden into steel as he glares at his son.

"An inheritance of what?" Dante asks, shaking his head in wry amusement. "Real estate and material I could get myself? You seem to forget I transferred my shares to my own holding company years ago. And you never signed a conditional leadership agreement."

Lucas snorts, leaning back in his chair. "You think a holding company saves you? One bad headline, and the board votes you out under the performance clause I wrote myself." Then, lowering his voice, he adds, "You can keep your shares, but forget about the rest. The estate, the trust, the old money-none of that will bear your name after this."

"Then I'll build mine from scratch. Without your shadow hanging over me," Dante says, tossing his napkin across the table, a subtle tick in his jaw.

God, this is worse than I imagined. I mean, I expected Florence's bullying, but them disinheriting Dante? My appetite vanishes. My stomach churns, and my heartbeat drums heavily in my chest. The thought of Dante planning to build from scratch reminds me of my ironic reality. I guess building from scratch is a different reality for people like him.

"You're going to regret this, and when you do, it might be too late," Lucas says flatly.

"Let me be the judge of that." Dante's gaze meets his mother's. "Don't look so surprised. You taught me yourself to always stay one step ahead. What did you call it again?" He feigns a pause. "Ah, futuristic thinking."

The color drains from her face; even her diamond earrings seem to lose their sparkle as she grips her fork hard, knuckles white.

"Don't you dare use my own words against me." Her voice trembles, and all of a sudden, the intimidating woman I met earlier looks smaller... frail even.

"Good night, Mom. Dad. I love you." Dante rises and steps behind my chair, pulling it back slightly.

"Goodnight, Mr. and Mrs. Romano, thank you for dinner," I murmur, avoiding eye contact.

Dante's hand slips around my waist as we leave the dining room in silence. Guilt worms its way into my thoughts, breeding doubt and fear. I've dealt with powerful people before; this won't be the last of it. Families like the Romanos always find a way to get what they want. It's only a matter of time.

I glance at Dante, who looks calm as ever, like his parents didn't just threaten to disinherit him.

"Let me handle the thinking, Valeria," he says softly. I look away quickly, biting my lower lip.

A flicker of confusion crosses Augustine's face before it returns to neutral.

"Are you leaving already, Master Dante?" Augustine asks.

"I'm afraid so, Augustine. See you when next I visit." A faint smile lifts his lips, dimples forming in his left cheek. "Good night."

The butler bows. "Goodnight, Master Dante, and Miss..."

"Valentine," I offer spitefully-then Dante pokes my waist. "I mean, Valeria."

"Goodnight, Miss Valeria. Have a lovely night."

We both murmur our goodbyes and step into the cold night air. The chill hits like ice after the suffocating warmth of the Romano home.

"What was that about, Valeria, or do we now call you Valentine?" Dante scoffs, sliding into the seat beside mine.

"Valentine, please. It has the Italian flair your family might actually appreciate."

"I doubt it," Dante says quietly. The engine roars to life, and the privacy glass slides up. I steal a few glances at him, wondering if I should bring up his parents' threat. The logical part of me knows I shouldn't-but the silence is maddening. Dante isn't scrolling through his phone like usual. He's just staring out the window, checking the time every so often. He looks... tired.

"I'm sorry about my parents," Dante says finally. "They're not used to change."

"You mean poor people?" I tease.

Dante rolls his eyes, a small smile flickering across his face. "Semantics."

He turns toward me, more serious now. "Really, I didn't need to bring you here. My original plan was to just let the media run with our relationship. Guess I got carried away."

"So... this is the last family dinner I'll be attending?" I ask.

"Very unlikely."

"Guess my dream of a drama-free in-law dinner was just a fantasy," I sigh. "Do they really plan on disinheriting you?"

"Yes-if I hadn't played my trump card. But my parents are stubborn, so fingers crossed." The way he says it, without a hint of worry, makes me wonder where he gets that kind of confidence. Mars?

"Well, I'd hate to come from your family-if that helps."

Dante laughs, a real one this time. It's rich and contagious, and before I know it, I'm laughing too.

Then his phone rings, slicing through the moment.

"Excuse me." He lifts a finger. "Alejandro? What-" His expression tightens. Dante switches to Italian, his voice rising with every word as he bolts upright in his seat. He runs a hand through his hair, muttering, "Fuck."

Cupping the phone, he lowers the divider. "Drop me off at the office and take Valeria home," he says, then returns to the call, leaving me in silence and confusion.