The next morning came too soon.
I didn't remember falling asleep. I just remembered the cold silence. The echo of Dante's words.
You remind me of someone. I buried her years ago.
What the hell did that mean?
Was I a ghost to him? A replacement?
I sat up in bed and rubbed my eyes. Inez entered silently, carrying a pale blue silk dress across her arms.
"This is for today," she said.
"I don't want it."
She paused. "He said you'd say that."
I scowled.
She hung it carefully by the wardrobe and added, "There's a family brunch. You're expected. Ten o'clock. Dining hall."
Family?
The word clawed at my ribs.
I bathed. Dressed. Brushed my tangled curls back into a low ponytail. The dress clung to my skin like a second layer I didn't ask for. Silk made for show, not comfort. Not safety.
When I entered the dining hall, they were already seated.
Dante at the head, naturally.
Next to him—an older man with cruel eyes and a silver wolf-head cane. His father?
A beautiful woman in her forties, clearly a Virelli by blood, with a frozen smile and wine-red lipstick.
And a boy—sixteen maybe—with dark eyes too old for his face.
Their heads turned in unison when I walked in.
Like I was prey.
Like I'd wandered into a den of lions.
"This," Dante said smoothly, "is Amelia. My wife."
The woman smiled, tight-lipped. "She's… young."
"She's perfect," Dante replied, not even looking at me.
The older man laughed. A dry, rattling sound. "She looks scared."
I sat, stomach clenched. "Maybe because I am."
He raised a glass. "Good. Fear is honest."
The rest of brunch passed like a scene from a movie I didn't belong in. They spoke in low voices—business, vendettas, alliances. People I'd never heard of. Deals that sounded more like blood pacts than board meetings.
No one asked about me.
No one cared to.
When I finally rose from the table, Dante's father called after me. "Pretty things shatter, girl. Hope you're not the fragile kind."
I didn't answer.
But I felt myself cracking already.
---
Back in my room, I paced. I couldn't think. Couldn't breathe.
This wasn't just a mansion.
It was a trap layered in velvet.
Inez knocked softly. "The boss wants you in the study."
My pulse spiked. "Why?"
"I don't ask."
I followed her through a hallway I hadn't seen before. She stopped at a heavy door and opened it without knocking.
He was inside.
Behind a desk made of dark wood. Dressed in black again. Always black. Like he couldn't wear color without bleeding it.
"You're late," he said without looking up.
"It's not ten yet."
"I meant to life."
I bit my tongue, stepped in, and stood still.
He looked up then.
"Come here."
I walked forward slowly.
He slid a file across the desk.
"Open it."
I did.
My breath stopped.
Photos.
Of me. Everywhere. School. Grocery store. Inside my old apartment. With my father. Alone in the library. Dozens of them.
My blood turned to ice.
"You were watching me?"
"I don't take property I haven't appraised."
I slammed the folder shut. "I'm not property."
"You are mine now," he said coldly. "Signed and sealed."
Tears blurred my vision. "Why are you doing this to me?"
He stood.
Came around the desk.
His eyes didn't soften.
But his voice lowered. "Because someone has to pay for what your father did. Because mercy is weakness. And I can't afford weakness."
He stepped closer.
I stepped back.
"You could've just killed him," I said.
"And you'd rather I did?" His brow rose.
"I'd rather not be here," I snapped. "I'd rather be anywhere but with a man who treats people like tools."
Something in his face shifted.
He grabbed my chin. Tilted my face up.
His grip was firm—but not brutal.
"Don't ever raise your voice at me again."
I swallowed hard.
His thumb dragged slowly down my jaw. "You're brave. I'll give you that."
"I'm not trying to be brave," I whispered. "I'm just trying to survive."
For the first time, his gaze flickered. Like something inside him recognized that line.
Then it hardened again.
"You'll learn," he said. "Everyone learns eventually."
---
That night, I crept into the library.
I had to find something—anything—that gave me leverage. A door. A clue. A map of the house.
Instead, I found… music.
Piano keys. Soft. Haunting.
I followed the sound.
It led me to a hidden room near the back of the house. The door was ajar.
And there he was.
Dante.
Playing.
The melody was something ancient and broken.
He didn't see me at first.
But when he did, he didn't stop.
He finished the piece, then looked at me.
"You shouldn't be here."
"You're not what I expected," I said quietly.
"And what did you expect?"
"A monster."
"Maybe I am."
"Then why play music that sounds like grief?"
Silence.
Then he closed the lid of the piano gently.
"Because some monsters remember what it felt like to bleed."
I turned to go.
But then he asked—
"Do you want to know who you remind me of?"
I paused.
He lit a cigarette. Stared out the window.
"She was soft. Smiled too much. Trusted people who didn't deserve it."
"What happened to her?"
"She married a devil."
I left without another word.
---
Back in my room, I found a single red envelope on my pillow.
No stamp.
No name.
I opened it.
Inside was a photo.
Me.
Tied to a chair.
Bloody.
Unconscious.
And scribbled across the bottom:
"What belongs to the Devil can still be touched by darker things."
My blood ran cold.
Who sent this?
Was it a warning?
Or a promise?
—