Rose stood by the window, staring out at the sprawling gardens beneath the mansion. The view from her wing was breathtaking...green fields rolling into the hills, and the sky slowly darkening as the evening approached. But none of it reached her. Not really.

The room was beautiful. It was hard to deny that. The pale gold walls, the rich velvet curtains, the antique furniture. Everything was polished and gleaming, as if to remind her that she was now a part of this world, whether she wanted to be or not.

Her gaze flickered to the bed which was neatly made, and then to the desk where she had unpacked a few of her things. It felt strange to even think of the space as hers. None of this was her life. She had never asked for it.

Her fingers toyed with the wedding ring again, the cold metal pressing against her skin. A ring that symbolized nothing but control. A token of the price her father had paid to keep her alive.

She hadn't been completely powerless. When they'd signed the papers in the courtroom, her hands had trembled, but there had been a moment. Amidst the formality, she had scribbled a note on the back of one of the forms the official was handling.

Help me. Call the police.

It had been a last-ditch attempt, a desperate plea. She knew the officiant had to have seen it. She had to believe that. It was the only thing that kept her from completely breaking down.

The thought of the note, of someone... anyone...seeing it and acting, made her stomach twist with a strange, almost embarrassing sense of optimism. The police would be looking for her, right? 

She couldn't be the only one who noticed she was gone. Her father would have called them. They would find her, and this nightmare would end.

Her heart thudded at the thought.

But reality crept in like an unwanted shadow. She hadn't even seen the look on the officiant's face when she slipped the note into the paperwork. What if they had dismissed it as nothing? What if it wasn't even seen? She had to trust that someone would act on it. She had no choice but to trust.

Rose closed her eyes, swallowing hard. She had to believe that help would come.

It was the only thing she had left. She heard a  knock at the door followed by a voice from outside which was muffled by the thick wood.

"Signora, your meal is ready."

Rose didn't move. She knew it was another reminder of her captivity, another attempt to force her to accept this life. Her stomach twisted at the thought. She wasn't hungry. She didn't need it.

"I'm not interested," she called back, her voice sharp with defiance.

Silence stretched for a moment, as if the servant was waiting for a different answer. When none came, the soft sound of footsteps retreated down the hallway.

But just as Rose started to sink back into her thoughts, the door swung open. She jumped, startled by the suddenness, her heart leaping in her chest. There, framed in the doorway, stood Dante Moretti. His storm-grey eyes were unreadable, his posture perfect, imposing as ever.

He didn't say anything at first, just stepped into the room and let the door fall closed behind him, his presence filling the space like a storm cloud.

"You refused to eat?" His voice was low, almost casual, but there was a sharpness there that made her stomach knot. It wasn't a question...more like a statement, one that demanded an answer.

Rose's pulse quickened, but she forced herself to remain still, to keep her back straight. She wouldn't let him see how much his presence affected her, how much fear and anger churned inside her.

"I'm not interested in eating," she replied, her voice steady, though her throat felt tight. "I'll eat when I get home."

Dante's gaze hardened, and for a brief moment, she saw a flicker of surprise in his eyes. Then his lips curled into a smirk, a dangerous, knowing smirk that made her heart race.

"Home?" he repeated, his voice colder than ice. "This is your home now."

She swallowed, "Boston was home," she said, her voice soft but firm, as if saying it aloud would make it real again.

Dante stepped closer, his dark eyes never leaving her face. "And what makes you think you're going anywhere?" He was so close now that she could feel the heat of his body, hear the faint rustle of his suit as he moved. Her breath hitched in her chest, but she refused to step back.

"I'll go back," she said, her words quieter now. "I'll go back to Boston, work hard, and pay back everything my father owes. This"-she gestured to the room, to him, to everything-"this won't be my life."

Dante laughed, the sound dark and hollow. "How will you do that, hm?" He paused, leaning in slightly, his voice lowering to a dangerous whisper. "You think you can pay back $10 million? In what? Your law degree?" He took a step back, his eyes glinting with amusement. "You'll never pay that back, not in a thousand lifetimes."

Did you really think that stupid stunt you pulled in the courtroom would save you?" Dante taunted. 

Rose felt a cold sweat bead on her skin as she tried to swallow the lump in her throat as he continued. "What were you thinking? That anyone would come to your rescue?"

Her voice came out low, hoarse. "I didn't think you'd be that cruel," she said, her jaw tight, her eyes not daring to meet his. 

His gaze hardened again, and the words that followed were chilling. "If you try anything again, if you pull any more stunts, your father's life will be the price."

A wave of cold washed over Rose. This was it. There was no hope. No police are coming to save her. No escape..

Dante turned toward the door, his hand already on the handle. "Enjoy your freedom tonight. Tomorrow, your duty starts. You'll do as I say, or there will be consequences."

The door clicked shut behind him, and the silence that followed felt suffocating. Rose sank to her knees, her hands shaking as she clutched the fabric of her dress. She didn't want to believe it. She didn't want to accept it. But she had no choice.

She was truly damned. There was no one coming to save her. And, for the first time since everything had fallen apart, Rose finally cried.

It was lunch period and Rose was summoned to the dining room, the chandelier glow fell harshly on polished wood and silver cutlery. 

The table could have seated thirty, but tonight only a handful of men occupied it. Their dark suits made the room feel heavier, colder.

Rose's steps echoed as she entered, the sound sharp against the marble floor. She stopped just inside the threshold, her hands clutched tightly together. Every head turned. She felt their eyes sweep over her. She was the only woman in the room.

At the far end was Vittorio Moretti, Rose could immediately tell he was Dante's father, they had the same storm grey eyes and even though he looked frail, he still commanded the space. 

He leaned on the armrest of his chair, his fingers tapping once, twice, before his lips curved faintly.

"So this is the white pet," Vittorio rasped, his voice gravelly but laced with scorn. "Welcome to the family, ragazza. Sit."

Heat rose in Rose's chest. She moved stiffly to the seat opposite Dante, who sat beside his father. The silverware glinted in front of her, a plate already set, food steaming faintly. She did not touch it.

"Eat," Vittorio said after a moment, gesturing with one thin hand.

Rose lifted her chin. "No."

Silence spread across the table. The men shifted in their seats, eyes flicking from her to Vittorio, waiting. Luca's mouth curved, his gaze amused as it lingered on her.

Vittorio chuckled, a rasp that ended in a cough. "You see? She has teeth. But what good are they? A pet does not bite at the table."

The laughter scraped against her nerves. Her hands curled into fists on her lap.

Dante's voice broke the tension, low and controlled. "Eat, now."

"I said no."

The chair beside her scraped. In the next instant his hand was on her jaw, firm, forcing her mouth open as he pressed the fork past her lips. She gagged, tried to twist away, but his grip was iron. The food slid down her throat and she coughed hard, her chest burning.

Vittorio clapped slowly, the sound sharp in the cavernous room. His laugh was rough, but his eyes glittered with cruel delight. "Be grateful, ragazza. My son is softer than I."

Rose's stomach roiled, fury and humiliation flooding her at once. She swallowed hard, fighting back the sting in her eyes.

Vittorio lifted a hand, and one of the soldiers moved to the wall. A low hum filled the room, and a projector flickered to life against the far wall. 

"Train your pet," Vittorio said suddenly, his voice cutting across the room in Italian. "Non sfidarmi con la sua disobbedienza. Do not test me with her defiance."

Dante's jaw tightened, but his voice was even. "I have it under control, Padre."

"I hear," Vittorio rasped, coughing into his handkerchief, "that you thought someone would save you. That you still believe in fairy tales." His eyes narrowed. "Watch."

"I'm not interested," Rose whispered, her voice rough.

The old man didn't look at her. He merely nodded once, and two soldiers stepped forward. One seized her shoulders, the other tilted her chin toward the wall.

Rose jerked against them, but their grip was unyielding. The screen lit up with a moving image. Her throat closed.

It was her.

She saw herself standing in the courtroom, pen in hand, her mouth curved in a smile. She watched her own laughter, her own face tilted toward Dante as though she were the happiest bride in the world. 

Dante was there beside her, signing with ease, his hand steady as though the act meant nothing. To anyone else, it looked like joy.

The images shifted. Photographs. Headlines. Billionaire Dante Moretti Marries Rose Blake. Who would have thought the Bachelor Dante Moretti would be so married so quickly? Italy's Financial Prince. The words scrolled in bold type, each one hammering at her chest.

Her lips parted, but no sound came. Her heart pounded so hard it hurt.

Across the table, Vittorio's thin smile stretched. "Do you see? The world believes. They cheer for you, ragazza. Who will listen if you complain now?"

Rose's voice scraped from her throat. "It's not real. None of it's real."

The men around the table only looked amused.

Dante leaned forward, his gaze locking onto hers. "Who will take your word over mine? You smiled for the cameras. You looked so happy signing that contract. To the world, you are my wife. Will you tell them you were forced?" His lips curved faintly. "They will laugh in your face."

Her stomach dropped. Her fingers dug into the edge of her chair as the screen flicked through more images, each one a lie carved into permanence.

The projector hummed on. Rose sat frozen, her mind reeling as her smiling face stared back at her from the wall.

The meal ended with little else spoken. Vittorio leaned back in his chair, satisfied, while the men murmured in low voices. 

Rose sat stiff and silent, her stomach turning with every fake headline that still burned behind her eyes. When the projector finally flicked off, she felt like she could breathe again-but the relief was short-lived.

Dante rose first. The scrape of his chair was soft, deliberate. His eyes cut to her with a look that made her blood run cold.

"Come," he said.

It was not a request.

The soldiers released her arms and she followed because she had no choice. Every step down the long corridor pressed heavier against her ribs. He didn't look back at her once, but his silence felt louder than words.

When he opened the door to her chamber, he stepped inside and waited. She hesitated on the threshold. His hand closed around her arm, pulling her in before the door shut behind them with a dull thud.

Rose's pulse skittered. She tried to pull back, but his grip was iron.

"You embarrassed me tonight," Dante said, his voice low, calm, but sharp enough to cut. "In front of my father. In front of my men. You made me look weak."

Her throat tightened. "I won't sit there and be called a pet."

"You are what you are here," he said flatly.

Her eyes flashed. "I'm not an animal. And I'm not your possession."

The silence stretched. Then, without warning, he pressed her back against the wall, his hand pinning her jaw in the same place it had been at the table. His storm-grey eyes bore into hers, unflinching.

"You will let them call you worse if I command it." His tone was flat, his grip unyielding. "Do you understand me?"

Her pulse hammered against his palm. She tried to claw at his wrist, but he didn't flinch.

"You think defiance makes you strong?" His voice dropped lower. "It makes you stupid. And in this house, stupidity gets people killed. Your father first."

The words sliced through her, sharper than his hold.

Tears stung her eyes, but she shook her head. "You're a monster."

Something flickered across his expression and went as quickly as it came. He pressed her harder into the wall, his lips near her ear, his breath cold against her skin.

"No. I am survival. And you-" his grip tightened briefly, forcing a strangled gasp from her throat-"are mine to control."

He released her abruptly, and she crumpled against the wall, coughing, clutching her neck.

Dante looked down at her, his suit unruffled, his gaze steady as though nothing had happened. "Remember this," he said softly. "Every choice you make, I own the cost. And I will make you pay for it."

He moved to the nightstand, pressed a button on the wall. The door opened and two soldiers entered.

"Strip the room," Dante ordered in Italian.

The soldiers obeyed without hesitation. One by one, they carried out the velvet drapes, the armchair, the rugs. They took her mirror, even the lamp by her bed. Rose's heart pounded as she watched her sanctuary dismantle piece by piece until nothing was left but the bedframe, the mattress, and the cold walls.

She spun on him. "What are you doing?"

"Pets don't get luxuries," Dante said, his tone casual, almost bored. "And you haven't earned them."

Her eyes burned. "I'm not your pet."

He stepped closer, so near she felt the heat of his body, though his expression remained unreadable. "You are until I say otherwise."

The soldiers left. The door closed. Dante's gaze didn't move from her face.

"No food for the rest of the day and tomorrow," he said softly. "No water until morning. You will remember this when you think of disobedience."

Her stomach clenched, but pride forced the words out. "You can take everything from this room, Dante. You won't break me."

A faint smile ghosted across his lips, but it was merciless. "Everyone breaks. So will you."

He reached for the lamp switch. Darkness swallowed the room. She heard the door open, the faint click of his shoes against the marble floor, and then the lock sliding into place from outside.

The lock snapped shut behind him. The corridor fell quiet, broken only by the steady tap of his shoes on the marble floor. He did not look back.

Rose's defiance still echoed in his ears. You won't break me.

Foolish girl. Everyone broke. It was only a matter of time.

He reached the end of the corridor and turned. A guard opened the door without being asked. Dante stepped inside.

Soft lamplight spilled across the space, painting her in warm tones. She sat upright on a chaise, a book on her lap, her cane leaning within reach. 

She was petite and neatly dressed, hair pinned back with careful precision-she looked like the very opposite of the world he carried on his shoulders.

Her green-grey eyes lifted to him. She studied him, as she always did, sharp and unhurried. "You're late."

He loosened his cuffs, set his jacket over a chair. "I was occupied."

"Occupied," she echoed, closing the book with delicate fingers. "Which means you've done something reckless."

His jaw ticked. "Discipline isn't reckless."

"On the contrary, with you it usually is." She shifted slightly, the movement careful with her spine. "Was it Rose?"

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he crossed to the sideboard, poured himself a measure of brandy, and took a slow sip. The silence was answer enough.

Bella's gaze sharpened. "What did you do to her?"

"She forgot her place," he said flatly. "In front of our father."

Bella's lips pressed into a thin line. "So you punished her."

"She had to learn."

Bella's cane tapped once against the floor, her gaze never leaving him. "And what did you learn?"

His jaw tightened. "That weakness is not tolerated."

Her eyes softened, but her voice was steady. "No. You learned to repeat him."

The words hung heavy, it was sharper than any accusation. For a moment his shoulders stiffened, the mask threatening to crack. He despised hearing Vittorio's reflection in her tone, but he didn't deny it.

"I am nothing like him," Dante said at last, his voice low and dangerous.

Bella leaned back, measured and composed despite the tremor in her hand against the cane. "Okay."

Dante stood at the window, the brandy untouched in his hand, the reflection of his own storm-grey eyes staring back at him. Bella shifted on her chaise, adjusting her posture with the help of her cane.

"When will you start coming outside again?" he asked suddenly, without turning.

She tilted her head, lips curling with something that wasn't quite a smile. "When Vittorio finally dies."

Dante's gaze flicked toward her, sharp. He scanned the corners of the room, the shadows, even the door. "Don't say that aloud."

Her soft chuckle broke the tension. "What? Afraid one of Father's loyal dogs is listening at the walls?" She sighed, leaning back, eyes clouding with a mix of amusement and resignation. "Tell me, Dante... why did you bring her here? Of all people, why an innocent girl?"

His jaw tightened. "She was the debt repayment."

"You knew exactly what you were dragging her into." Her tone lost its lightness. "You know how misogynistic Vittorio is. You remember how he was with our mother, with-" she stopped, the words pressing against old wounds, "-with me."

The muscles in Dante's forearm flexed, his fist curling tight at his side. He said nothing.

"Vittorio will break her," Bella continued, her eyes unflinching on his. "And if he can't, he'll make you do it for him."

Dante's head turned sharply, his voice low and edged. "I have to be married, with a son, before I can claim the seat. He gave me two years to secure it or else Luca gets it."

Bella's lips parted in quiet acknowledgement. "Yes. I know." She tapped her cane lightly against the marble, the sound sharp in the hush of the room. "But still, you could have chosen differently. At least one of the daughters of the old families. Women bred for this life. Not someone like her."

Dante finally met her gaze, storm meeting storm's echo. His voice was calm, but it carried the steel of inevitability. "She was the easiest move to make."

                                   ****

When the door finally opened, the scent of roasted meat and fresh bread drifted in, taunting Rose's hollow stomach. A tray was set down on the table. For two days she had been given nothing but water, the ache in her belly twisting into sharp knots.

She didn't hesitate this time around. She sat and ate with desperate hunger, tearing through each bite as though the food might vanish if she slowed. Her throat burned as she gulped down the water, but she didn't care. By the time she was finished, she leaned back in the chair, weak but steadier than she had felt since that cursed dinner.

Her reprieve didn't last long. A pair of women entered the chamber with towels, soap, and a fresh dress. They worked silently, washing away the grime of herimprisonment, combing through her tangled hair, fastening her into clean clothes. 

"Don't linger," one of them muttered finally, adjusting the collar of her dress. "Padrone is waiting."

Rose's pulse quickened. She hated the thought of seeing him again, hated that she had no choice but to obey. If she refused, her father might pay for it, or worse-her own life might be snuffed out before she had a chance to fight for it. 

She clenched her jaw, silently vowing that she would not stay here forever. One way or another, she would find her way out of this fortress and away from Dante Moretti.

The hallway outside was wide and cold, lined with oil paintings of stern-faced men who bore the same storm-grey eyes as Dante. 

When she stepped out, he was already there, leaning against the stone arch. He now wore a black shirt and trousers, the top buttons undone, casual in a way that unsettled her more than his formality. He looked less like a don and more like a predator at ease.

"Follow me," he simply said.

Rose obeyed, each step echoing against the marble. She kept her eyes forward, but her mind tracked everything-the number of doors, the way the light pooled in certain corners, the men stationed in shadows. Every detail was another piece of a puzzle she would one day use to free herself.

He led her through the atrium, its high ceiling domed with carved stone. She slowed a little, her eyes drawn to the grand council chamber that sat at its center, sealed behind tall double doors.

"That," Dante said, catching her hesitation, "is not for you. Ever."

Rose's eyes darted over the closed doors, her curiosity tugging against her fear. "And if I do?"

He stopped just long enough to look at her. The pause was heavier than any threat. Then he turned and kept walking.

"You won't."

She bit back the retort that rose in her throat and trailed after him as he led her down a staircase into another hall.

They passed the doors leading to his own suite, directly opposite hers. He didn't stop, but she could feel his eyes on her as they walked by. The closeness of their rooms made her stomach twist.

"This is mine," he said simply. "You don't come near it."

She forced her expression blank. "Believe me, I won't."

He didn't respond, only turned her toward the opposite wing. He gestured briefly at another set of doors, darker wood reinforced with iron.

"My father's suite. If you value your life, you won't cross that threshold unless you're summoned." His voice dropped lower, colder. "And even then, you'll wish you hadn't."

A chill skated down her spine, but she lifted her chin. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear.

He took her next to the far wing, where the atmosphere seemed lighter. A suite with a carved door stood slightly ajar, pale light spilling into the hall.

"Bella's wing," Dante said. His tone shifted, just slightly, gentler than before. "She doesn't need disturbance. You'll leave her in peace."

Rose glanced at the doorway, she's prompted to ask who Bella was, but his look said otherwise.

They turned again, coming to the last suite, across from Bella's. The door was wide, polished, and flanked by two guards.

"Luca's," Dante said flatly. 

Something in his tone made Rose's heart pick up. She filed it away, not daring to ask.

Finally, he stopped in the center of the atrium, where the corridors intersected like the spokes of a wheel. He faced her fully for the first time, his storm-grey eyes unreadable.

"You've seen enough," he said. "These halls are not yours to roam. You stay in your wing, and you leave when I tell you to. Nothing else."

Rose's voice broke into a bitter laugh before she could stop herself. "You expect me to sit quietly in my room like some pet waiting for scraps?"

His head turned slowly toward her, his grey eyes narrowing just enough to freeze the smile on her lips. "You seem to forget your place often. Perhaps you need another reminder."

Her stomach tightened. She swallowed hard, but forced herself to keep her chin lifted. "I haven't forgotten. I just don't accept it."

The faintest curve of his mouth appeared, more shadow than smile. "Acceptance isn't required. Obedience is."

Rose folded her arms, her voice sharp with defiance she couldn't contain. "You can map out every wall and lock every door, but you won't cage me forever."

For a long moment, he simply stared at her, his expression carved from stone. Then, slowly, he leaned closer, his voice dropping so low only she could hear.

"Try," he murmured. "See what happens."

Her breath caught, her stomach knotted with anger, but she forced herself not to flinch. She wouldn't give him that.

When he turned and walked away, she stood in the atrium alone, fists clenched, vowing that one day she would walk these halls free...without him and without chains.