There's a long silence. The handler's fingers twitch. And then—slowly—he releases the chain and stepps back. Dante steps forward and kneels—not in reverence, not even in theatrics—just crouches in front of Vierva .
He looks at her now with a crooked smile—one side of his mouth tugged higher than the other, as if he couldn't decide if this was funny or sad or some strange mix of both. He didn't reach for her. Didn't touch the chain or the hem of her flimsy get up. Just stares at her face for a long moment in silence before speaking again—quiet enough that only they could hear it over the low hum of whispered confusion behind them.
"They broke you early."
He says it without pity. Without blame. Just fact. Gently spoken, but not soft.
He stands again and turns to the auctioneer without breaking eye contact with Vierva .
"Send the rest of the paperwork to my estate. We leave now."
He doesn't wait for a reply, motioning for Vierva to follow. The chain drags behind her as she walks—not tugged, not forced—just trailing across the floor as if it already belonged to him. And in every way that mattered now, it did.
Dante leads Vierva out of the auction house, his long strides eating up the distance to the waiting car. The sun is bright after the dim interior, making Vierva blink and squint as they step outside. Dante glances at her, taking in the delicate features that the harsh light now reveals in sharp relief - the high cheekbones, the full lips, the long lashes casting shadows on her pale cheeks. Her beauty is striking, almost ethereal, marred only by the haunted look in her sage green eyes.
Still perfect, Dante thinks to himself, a flicker of something dark and possessive passing through his mind. He opens the car door for her, holding it steady as he waits for her to get in. She hesitates for a moment, glancing up at him with a mix of fear and wary curiosity in her eyes. Then, with a small, almost imperceptible sigh, she ducks her head and slips into the car, the chain around her neck glinting in the sunlight.
Dante watches her settle into the leather seat, noting how she sits with a kind of tense grace, as if she's used to being told to hold herself a certain way. He slides into the driver's seat, closing the door behind him and shutting out the chatter and activity of the street. For a moment, there is only the hum of the engine and the soft sound of Vierva's breathing beside him.
As Dante pulls out onto the main road, he glances at Vierva, taking in the way the sunlight plays across her face, highlighting the curve of her jaw, the delicate line of her throat. Beautiful, he thinks again, a sense of satisfaction settling in his chest. Mine now.