The car was too quiet. The kind of quiet that wraps around your neck like a silk scarf—luxurious, but also slightly suffocating.
I sat stiffly, pretending to stare out the tinted window, but really, I was painfully aware of the man beside me. Dante Vale. The Devil himself. And yes, he still looked annoyingly perfect even in the dim glow of the dashboard lights.
"Comfortable?" he asked, his voice once again doing that annoying thing where it sounded like dark chocolate melting on a violin string.
I didn't look at him. "Is that a trick question?"
He chuckled—low and amused. "No. But I am known for those."
Figures.
The silence crept back, thicker this time. I glanced sideways—just a peek—and instantly regretted it. His hand rested lazily on the armrest, dangerously close to mine. His fingers were long, elegant, and tattooed. A black serpent curled up the side of his wrist, disappearing beneath his sleeve.
Of course he had a snake tattoo. How poetic.
"This isn't a kidnapping, Lillith," he said suddenly, as if reading my thoughts. "You can relax."
"Funny. Most kidnappers say that too."
This time, his laugh was louder. I hated that I didn't hate the sound.
"Where are we going" I asked looking away from him he was quiet for a while before replying.
"Home" by home did he mean his place? Well of course he did. Just as my thoughts we wandering we finally go to his place.
We pulled up to a massive wrought-iron gate, which opened with the slow, dramatic weight of a horror movie mansion. The Caruso estate didn't do "subtle." From what I could see through the windshield, the villa looked like something out of an old mafia film—marble, statues, and intimidation in every brick.
I had barely unbuckled my seatbelt when the door opened on Dante's side. He stepped out like he was arriving at a red carpet event, not dragging home a reluctant bride.
Then, he opened my door for me.
Chivalry? Or theatrics?
Either way, I stepped out, my heels clicking against the stone driveway like punctuation marks on an unfinished sentence.
Inside, the house smelled like leather, espresso, and danger. Every wall screamed wealth and power. It was beautiful. I hated it.
"Your room is upstairs. Second door on the right," Dante said, walking ahead without looking back. "You'll find everything you need."
"Does that include a map to escape routes?"
That earned me another smirk. Great. Now he was entertained.
"I'm sure you'll figure it out. You strike me as clever."
Was that a compliment? I hated that I noticed.
The staircase was wide, the kind that dared you to fall dramatically down it. Maybe I should've. Would've been a great excuse to delay whatever this twisted version of bridal bliss was supposed to be.
My new room was... elegant. Like, "I could get used to this" elegant. Cream walls, gold trim, a chandelier, and a queen-sized bed that looked like it came with nightmares.
As I stepped inside, the door shut behind me.
I was alone.
Sort of.
Because no matter how soft the sheets were or how expensive the view, this wasn't home. This wasn't safety. This was his world now. And I was just a pawn—dressed up, packaged, and gifted like a trophy bride.
But I wasn't going down easy.