~HAILEY POV~

The steak came next, carried on shiny silver plates by the butler, whose gloves sparkled under the light.

It looked juicy, thick, and perfect. The smell filled the room with a rich, buttery scent that made it feel smaller. My stomach growled loudly, like a loud shout in a quiet place.

I felt my face get hot with embarrassment. I looked at my stomach like it had done something wrong. What a traitor.

I picked up my knife and fork with stiff fingers, aiming for relaxed boredom, but my grip hesitated just enough to show weakness. The first slice cut too easily, juices bleeding into the porcelain like spilled wine.

My throat moved before my brain caught up. I slipped the bite past my lips.

And nearly moaned.

The flavor hit hard.....smoky, tender, almost obscene in how good it was. My eyes nearly rolled back, traitorous in their own rebellion.

Damn it.

I forced my expression flat, chewing louder than necessary, like I wanted everyone at this table to hear just how unimpressed I was.

Santino's voice slid through the silence. "Good?"

I didn't need to look to know he was watching. I could feel his stare, a weight pressing on me, stripping me bare, measuring every reaction.

"It's edible," I said, chin high, voice bored.

"High praise." His reply was dry, smooth. His knife slid clean through his steak, each movement accurate, practiced. Not a scratch. Not a hesitation. Even his eating was a performance in control.

I dabbed at my mouth with the napkin, feigning a yawn. "Don't get used to it. I'll go back to insulting the food soon."

"Please do."

The words caught me mid-motion. My hand froze halfway to the glass, fingers tightening on the stem. He wasn't mocking. Not this time. It was softer. Dangerous in a different way. Like he wanted me to. Like he enjoyed it.

I looked up.

And the world shrank.

The light from the chandelier was soft around the edges. The long table, shiny plates, and even my parents seemed to fade away, just background sounds to the connection between us.

His eyes were fixed on mine, creating a bond that felt strong and unbreakable.

My chest beat too fast, my breath shallow. I panicked, heat licking under my skin.

I shoved another piece of steak into my mouth just to break the tension. Anything to cut the string between us.

When I glanced up again, he was gone. Not physically....he was still there, lounging like a king at the head of the table....but turned away.

Already angled toward my father, voice slipping effortlessly into calm business talk. Like I'd imagined it all. Like that thread had only been in my head.

The rejection burned worse than my father's cruelty ever had.

I stabbed my fork down too hard, the clang of metal on porcelain louder than it should've been. I turned away from Santino...from his shadow, from his control....and my eyes met my mother's.

She wasn't stone this time.

Her chin dropped, the smallest nod, almost invisible. But I saw it. A whisper of comfort. A reminder that she saw me, even if she could never fight for me.

Silverware clinked, filling the silence.

Then my father cleared his throat, puffing up his chest like a man about to take center stage. His voice rang too cheerful, too polished. "If all is well, then I believe we should take the deal to the next stage."

Deal.

The word dripped poison.

I froze, fork halfway to my lips, the blood draining from my face. My fist curled under the tablecloth so hard my nails carved half-moons into my palm.

This wasn't just dinner. This was a trade.

I looked at Santino. Against every warning screaming in my skull, I looked.

A flimsy hope burned in my chest.....ugly, desperate. Maybe he would say no. Maybe he'd refuse. Maybe he'd see me as something more than an object.

But his gaze was already on me, steady, unyielding. He wasn't thinking. He wasn't questioning. He had already decided.

"Yes," he said finally. Smooth. Final.

And then he smiled. A slow, creeping smirk that turned his handsome face cruel. Ruthless.

"Everything will go as planned," he added, his voice silk over steel. He let the pause hang, savoring it. "I am satisfied with the... merchandise."

The word slashed through me. Merchandise.

Like I was a diamond ring. A car. A thing to be owned, passed around, and signed for.

My skin crawled. My heart slammed against my ribs, trying to break free. The air itself pressed down on me, thick and suffocating.

Santino's gaze sharpened, a twinkle like a blade catching light. He knew what he'd just done. He'd branded me with a word. He'd stripped me down to nothing but property.....and made sure I knew it.

My father leaned back, smug, as if he'd just won a war without lifting a finger. My mother stayed still, lips trembling but silent.

And me? I shivered. From the back of my neck down to my toes. A damaging tremor I couldn't control.

The kind of shiver that doesn't leave.

The kind that marks the beginning of a cage closing shut.

~SANTINO'S POV~

She was a wildfire. Loud. Messy. Untamed. Not the quiet, naïve girl I had been promised. Not the small, soft thing her father thought he could hand to me with a bow.

Everyone in the room feared me. They lowered their voices when I walked in. They chose their words carefully,They treated me like a god to worship.

That was how it worked in my world. Respect was currency. Fear was safety.

Not Hailey Carter.

She insulted my chandelier. She mocked the soup. She chewed her steak like she was ready for a fight. She spoke first, loudest. She did not bow.

She did not flinch. For some strange reason, that did not displease me. It felt rather refreshing.

I lifted my wine glass, because that's what men like me did. We lift glasses and we measure people in the way they hold their forks.

"You're very unrefined," I said.

She gave me a tight-lipped smile. "Thank you." Short. Dry. Like I wasn't worth talking to.

The nerve of her. That tongue. Those bright eyes that dared me to step closer. I should have been angry. I should have told her the cost of her careless words.

But instead, there was this pull inside my chest.

Like a rope being thrown down into a pit and someone daring me to climb. It was a challenge I would love to see to the end.

Then Marcus walked in.

My assistant. Loud when he wanted to be. He barged through the door like he owned the hinges.

"Boss, quick update- oh, you're in the middle of dinner." He looked at Hailey the way idle men look at pretty things.

I watched Marcus grin, and something cold filled me. Not the slow, steady cold I carried for business. A sharp, hot prick of anger.

He had no right to grin like that. Not at my table. Not at her.

"Hi, future Mrs. Blackwood. How's prison?" He smirked as if he said a joke.

She laughed. Not the polite laugh. A real laugh that shook the room. Her eyes curved and she looked alive for a second. That laugh cut through the silence like a small bell.

I felt something ugly then. For a bitter second I wanted to snap his neck. But that would be too quick. Too easy. No. I pictured a slower thing.

A deeper lesson. I imagined taking him to the edge where he would not even know how he died.

Hailey was still smiling. The smile did a trick. It softened her face. For a moment she looked less like an enemy and more like something else. Not harmless.

"Out." I glared at Marcus.

Marcus winked like a child. "You'll survive. Just don't drink the orange soup."

He then bowed like a clown, dramatic and loud, then left with a whistle. I watched him go. I watched the door close. The sound felt clean.

A memory flashed in my head then. Old reports. Files. A voice in my ear months ago telling me of her father's secret dealings, and here they were with a marriage deal.

The warm, small feeling that had crept into my chest vanished like smoke.

I set my glass down carefully. The clink was soft. My voice was flat when I said, "You like him."

She looked at me like the question was obvious. "Of course. He's funny. You should try it sometime." Her answer was careless. Her tone was careless.

It should have ticked me off. Instead it landed like a pebble in still water and made small rings. She thought I needed to be lighter.

That assumption, the small mistake, made me want to teach her a lesson.

"Careful, Hailey. My patience has limits."

She didn't flinch. Her smile faded a little, but she held her chin high like a queen who'd lost her crown and kept her head anyway.

"So does mine," she said.

The air between us changed. Sparks, Dangerous and sharp. I could feel the heat around the words.

She was challenging me. I was going to have fun breaking this little spoiled princess.

The thought of breaking her tasted sweet and cold at once. Not in a childish way. In the way I handled men who thought they were bigger than they were.

In the way I dealt with broken machines: take them apart, see the parts, learn how they work, put them back together only if they were useful.

But Hailey was not a machine. She exploded, pushed back, ate steak with both hands. She called soup orange water. She called out my chandelier.

And she smiled when my men joked about our impending union.

My assistant's interruption had been useful. It had let me see her laughter. It had shown me how she looked when she let down her walls for a second.

She reached for her glass and sipped like nothing happened How Brave.

I watched her fingers. Long and quick. Her knuckles white on the cutlery. I watched the way she chewed, the small movements in her jaw. I observed the little pauses when she breathed.

Men like me are not used to being watched back. We look. We own. But she did not look like she was searching for approval. She looked like a woman who wanted to see what I would do.

"I will enjoy this," I said low, and the words were not kind.

She answered with her eyes. Her jaw tightened. That would be the game now. Push. Pull. See which one of us would bleed first.

If she was wildfire, then I would be the rain.Hard. Controlling. Necessary. And I would see if she would burn, or if she would change the air herself.

Either way, I promised myself one thing: She would not make me look weak in front of my table.

~HAILEY POV~

Dinner ended on a sour note, like a bitter aftertaste that refused to leave my tongue. My father's patience had snapped like a rope stretched too tight.

I knew when we got home it would be me who paid for it.

But right there at the table, I still couldn't bring myself to care. My stubbornness was louder than fear, for now at least.

Santino, oh so gracious in his fine suit, escorted us to the front door like he was a polite gentleman. His steps were slow, confident, too smooth, like a predator pretending to be harmless.

His gaze kept sliding to me, snapping quick, staying for a second too long before he looked away. It made the hairs on my arms stand up, like he could see too much of me.

When he finally spoke, his voice was velvety.

"Mr Carter," he said, turning to my father. His eyes were quick, but the lazy smile pulling at his mouth told me his words would sting.

"As you've seen tonight, your daughter lacks the bearing and manners fit for the daughter-in-law of the prestigious Blackwood family. I hope that next time we meet... she will have been... tamed."

My jaw dropped so wide I must have looked like a fish gasping for air.

I couldn't even form words for a second. This bastard. This arrogant, cold-hearted bastard. Prestigious family?

My foot. He had the nerve to shame me in front of my father, to talk about me like I was some dog needing training.

My father's face flushed red, anger and humiliation mixing in ugly streaks. He laughed nervously, the kind of laugh that made my stomach twist with disgust.

"Ah yes, Mr Blackwood," he said, almost bowing, his hands rubbing together. "My apologies for her behavior tonight." He was all smiles, but it was fake. He was burning inside and I knew who would be burned next.

I glared daggers at Santino, praying that he would just drop dead right there on his marble doorstep. My chest rose and fell in quick breaths.

He looked at me once more, those dark eyes glittering like they knew exactly what he was doing. Then he turned away, still smiling faintly, like he had won something.

......

The car ride home was heavy.

The silence wasn't just silence, it was stuffy, choking, like smoke filling the car. The kind of silence that presses down on your chest and makes you want to scream just to break it.

I leaned against the window, my face blank, the disguise I always wore when I was with them. I wasn't about to show weakness, Not in front of the monster that called himself my father.

Beside me, my mother's hand clutched mine. Her palm was damp with sweat, her fingers trembling even though she tried to grip firmly.

Her face was turned toward the window, her lips pressed tight, eyes staring into the rain like she wanted to disappear into it.

My father sat in the passenger seat like a king on his throne, his phone in his hand, thumbs moving fast and furious across the screen.

Probably texting some business partner about money. Always money. Never once about me. Never once about her. I stared at him, wondering what it would feel like if he gave even half the energy he gave his deals to being a father.

Maybe life wouldn't be this hell.

Raindrops splattered against the windshield, racing down like tiny rivers. The driver kept his eyes locked forward, silent, because even he feared the man sitting in front.

I closed my eyes, leaning my head back. For a moment I drifted into a troubled nap, images of Santino's smirk mixing with the memory of my father's fist.

......

The slam of car doors jolted me awake. My heart jumped into my throat. I stumbled out of the car, dazed, my legs stiff, and followed my parents inside.

The living room was dark, moonlight spilling faint silver across the floor. It made shadows on my father's face, sharpening his rage, making him look less human, more monster.

He didn't even remove his jacket. He just turned on us like a storm.

The sound came before I even registered the movement. Slap. Flesh on flesh. My mother's head snapped to the side. A gasp ripped out of me before I could stop it.

She crumpled to the floor, one hand flying to her cheek.

"No!" My voice cracked, broken, desperate. "Don't hit her! You promised!" My feet wouldn't move. Fear nailed me to the floor, heavy, crushing. My body screamed to run to her, but I stayed rooted like a coward.

He didn't stop. His hand kept rising and falling.

Slap. Slap. Slap. Each one harder than the last. My mother didn't even shield herself.

She stayed curled, still, taking it all. She always did. If she fought back, he would turn on me instead. So she endured.

She always endured.

"Everything-" slap "I've-" slap "worked-" slap "for-" slap "was-" slap "destroyed-" slap "by you!" His words came between the blows, spit flying from his mouth, his voice wild and ugly.

Then he grabbed her by the hair dragging her across the floor like she was trash. Her body left streaks of blood on the tiles.

My stomach turned.

My throat closed. Tears blurred my vision but I couldn't stop screaming, couldn't stop begging.

"Please! Stop! You're killing her!" My voice was hoarse, breaking. But he didn't stop. He never stopped until his rage cooled on its own.

Finally, he stood back, chest heaving, suit splattered with blood. My mother lay still, too still, in a pool of red. A deep gash marked her forehead.

Her right eye was swollen shut.

"Behave properly," he spat, voice rough, "and stop being so ungrateful." With that, he stormed upstairs, leaving silence in his wake.

I scrambled to my mother's side, falling to my knees in the sticky blood.

"Mom," I sobbed, shaking.

My hands hovered uselessly over her wounds, too afraid to touch, too afraid to hurt her more. My heart clenched so tight it felt like it would rip out of my chest.

She lifted her head weakly, tried to smile, but it twisted into a grimace. Blood spilled from her lips. A broken tooth clinked against the tile.

My sobs came raw, loud, shaking the walls.

"Shh," she whispered, voice thin as paper. Her swollen face turned toward me. "Don't cry, my little volcano." The words cracked and she winced.

Every sound seemed to hurt her.

"Santino... he seems like... a fair person... beneath what he shows. Do what your father says." Her voice was fading, trembling.

I thought of Santino. His sharp eyes, his cold smile, the strange moment at dinner when it felt like the world had shrunk to just us.

And I realized I was trapped between two monsters. My father, cruel and twisted. Santino, a man I couldn't yet read.

Which one was worse? Which one would break me first? I didn't know. But I knew one thing. I was stuck.

Stuck between the devil and the deep blue sea.