I didn't sleep.
I couldn't.
The image from the red envelope was burned into the backs of my eyelids. Every time I blinked, I saw it.
Me.
Broken.
Like it was a memory I hadn't lived yet—but would.
At some point in the dead of night, I ripped the photo into pieces and flushed it. But the message stayed. Pressed into my bones.
What belongs to the Devil can still be touched by darker things.
I wasn't safe here. But worse—I wasn't safe anywhere.
---
By morning, Inez returned, breezing in with another silk dress. This one was darker. Sapphire blue, with sheer sleeves and a slit up the thigh.
"Why do I need to look like this?" I asked.
"You're going out."
My heart flipped.
"Out?"
She nodded. "Gallery showing. Mr. Virelli's cousin is hosting it. High society. Press might be there. You'll smile. Pose. Pretend you're happy."
The weight of the dress doubled. "Why take me in public?"
Inez didn't answer. She didn't have to.
I was an asset now.
A doll to polish.
A wife to display.
And maybe... a trap to lure someone else in.
---
By seven, we were in the backseat of a luxury car with tinted windows. Dante didn't speak the entire ride. He just scrolled through his phone, his thumb tapping like a countdown.
His silence was worse than his words.
It meant something was coming.
Outside, the world felt normal. Lights. People. Laughter. Noise. All the things I used to be part of—now just distant echoes.
Inside the gallery, cameras flashed as we entered.
Dante's hand tightened around mine like a warning.
He leaned close. "Smile, cara mia. The world is watching."
So I did.
I smiled.
Wide enough to crack.
---
The gallery was a cathedral of light and wealth. White walls. Floating canapés. The kind of people who sipped champagne like blood wasn't being spilled in back rooms.
Everyone turned when we entered.
They all knew who he was.
Some nodded.
Some stepped aside.
Some watched me with envy.
Idiots.
Dante introduced me like I was a prized necklace.
"This is Amelia. My wife."
Wife.
It still sounded fake in his mouth.
I played along, barely.
Let him guide me from piece to piece. Art I didn't understand. Faces I didn't trust. A maze of glances and hidden meanings.
Until I met her.
Blonde. Red lips. Legs like a runway model.
And the way she looked at Dante—like she owned him.
"Dante," she purred. "You didn't tell me you got married."
He didn't smile. "It was a sudden thing."
"I'm sure it was."
She turned to me.
"Amelia, was it? You're… young."
My spine stiffened. "You're observant."
She smiled, razor-sharp. "You must be so special to hold his attention. Even for a week."
My chest tightened.
"Is there a problem?" Dante's voice was low. Controlled.
She backed off, but the damage was done.
Every eye was on me now.
Why her?
How did she land him?
How long until she's replaced?
---
After twenty minutes, I excused myself to the restroom.
I needed air.
A second alone.
But instead, I got locked doors and marble silence.
Until I heard a voice.
Low.
Male.
Behind me.
"You don't belong here."
I froze.
Turned.
A man in his forties. Sharp suit. Greying beard. Eyes like knives.
"I—"
"Girls like you don't last long in this world," he continued. "Do yourself a favor. Disappear before he ruins you."
He walked past me, slow and casual.
But his parting words clung to the air like smoke.
"Whatever you think you are to him—you're not."
---
I returned to the gallery floor shaken. Dante noticed instantly.
He pulled me aside. "What happened?"
"Nothing."
He gripped my arm. "Don't lie to me."
"Some man spoke to me. I don't know who he was."
"What did he say?"
"That I don't belong here."
His jaw flexed.
"Next time someone says that," he growled, "remind them you belong to me. That's all they need to know."
---
The drive home was silent again.
But different.
Charged.
Dante kept glancing at me.
As if he wanted to say something.
But didn't know how.
I finally spoke.
"Do you ever get tired of owning people?"
His brows lifted.
"I don't own people."
I laughed bitterly. "Could've fooled me."
He leaned in slowly, like a predator studying prey that suddenly bit back.
"I don't own people," he repeated. "But I do break them when they forget their place."
I looked out the window.
"I won't forget," I whispered. "Because I never knew it in the first place."
---
Later that night, I stood on the balcony outside my room.
The wind was cold. Sharp. Honest.
I thought about climbing over the edge.
Not to jump.
Just to feel like I could.
Then I heard a noise behind me.
Footsteps.
Dante.
Of course.
"Get inside," he said quietly.
"No."
He sighed. "It's dangerous out here."
I turned. "What part of this house isn't?"
For a second, I thought he'd yell.
Instead, he came closer.
Stopped an inch from me.
His voice dropped.
"Do you really think I'm the worst thing in your world?"
I looked up at him. "No. But you're the one holding the keys."
Something flickered in his eyes.
Then he reached out.
And gently brushed my hair behind my ear.
"You think I enjoy this?" he said. "Having you here. Reminding me of everything I lost?"
"I didn't ask to look like her," I snapped.
He stilled.
"So you do know."
"I'm not her, Dante. I'll never be her."
"No," he said softly. "You won't. She was kind."
My throat tightened.
He turned and left without another word.
---
After midnight, I couldn't sleep again.
I wandered the halls in silence.
Found myself drawn back to the library.
Books were safe.
Books didn't lie.
Until I found another red envelope wedged between two volumes.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
I opened it.
This time, no photo.
Just words.
"He's not the devil. He's the cage. And there's a deeper hell waiting beneath him."
I backed away.
Something told me whoever was sending these…
Wasn't warning me.
They were circling.
Getting closer.
---
By the time I returned to my room, Inez was waiting with a message.
"Mr. Virelli says you're expected downstairs. Now."
"For what?"
"He didn't say."
My skin crawled.
Still—I went.
I found him in the cellar.
Surrounded by men in black.
Blood on the floor.
And someone—alive, barely—tied to a chair.
It was the man from the gallery.
The one who warned me.
Dante didn't look at me.
He handed me a knife.
"Cut him," he said.
"What?"
"Cut him. Or I'll make you watch what happens when I do it."
I stared at the blade.
Tears filled my eyes.
"I can't."
He stepped forward.
Whispered into my ear.
"You want to survive here, Amelia? Then you bleed first. Or you break."
I lifted the knife with shaking hands.
And in that moment, I stopped being whoever I was before.
—