The car ride is silent except for the faint hum of the engine. Every tick of the clock on the dashboard feels like a countdown to something I can't name.
Dante Moretti sits across from me in the backseat, his green eyes focused, unblinking. He hasn't said another word since he told me I belonged to him. He doesn't have to. The air in the car is already thick with control.
He smells like expensive cologne, smoke, and something darker. Something that clings to power.
I force my gaze out the window, but I can feel his eyes on me. Watching me like he already knows everything I'm thinking.
"How old are you?" he asks suddenly, his voice low.
"Eighteen," I reply, barely above a whisper.
"Good." He doesn't look satisfied or comforted by that. Just…confirming.
The silence returns, heavy and final. I fidget with the hem of the red silk dress they forced me into, the one that still clings to me like shame.
"You were sold tonight," he says, not as a question but a fact. "But don't mistake this for a favor. I didn't save you. I claimed you."
I swallow the rising lump in my throat. "Why me?"
He tilts his head slightly, as if that question amused him.
"I don't like owing people," he says simply. "Your stepfather made a deal with someone I don't like. I needed to take that asset away before he could use it."
"Asset?" I whisper.
He doesn't blink. "You."
---
The car slows and pulls into an underground garage. Polished floors. Security cameras. Armed guards at the entrance. Not a hotel. Not an apartment.
This is a fortress.
One of the guards opens my door, and Dante steps out first. I hesitate, but the guard gestures impatiently. I follow.
Inside, the hallway is dim, elegant, silent. The air smells of leather and wood and dominance. The elevator doors slide open. Dante steps in. So do I.
The moment they close behind us, the space feels ten times smaller.
"Take it off," he says quietly.
I blink. "What?"
He doesn't repeat himself.
He's not talking about my dress.
I reach up slowly and remove the thin silver chain around my neck. It was a gift from my mother on my sixteenth birthday. The last thing in this world that felt like mine.
He takes it from my hand and pockets it.
Then he pulls something out from the inside of his coat.
A collar.
Not leather. Not chain. It's black velvet with a delicate diamond in the center and a clasp shaped like a crescent moon.
"Every woman who belongs to the Moretti family wears one," he says, stepping closer. "You wear this, not for fashion—but so no one touches what's mine."
He reaches for my throat, slowly, like a predator giving prey the chance to run.
But I don't run.
I stand still.
Let him fasten it around my neck.
It clicks softly, like a lock snapping shut.
The collar isn't tight. It's not uncomfortable. But it feels like it weighs a thousand pounds.
"You'll never take it off," he says, his voice low against my skin. "Not unless I say so."
---
We reach the penthouse level. The elevator opens to a massive living space — marble floors, dark furniture, high windows that overlook the city. The skyline glows against the night, but the space inside feels like it exists in another world.
"This is where you'll stay," he says, walking ahead of me. "There are rules."
I don't respond. I can't.
"Rule one," he says, glancing over his shoulder. "You don't lie to me."
My chest tightens.
"Rule two. You don't leave this place without permission. Try, and I'll find you."
I nod, heart pounding.
"Rule three," he says, his tone softening—just a little. "You don't get to love me. Or hate me. You just survive."
I don't know how to respond to that.
He walks to the bar, pours himself a glass of something dark and expensive, and downs it in one motion.
Then, he turns back to me.
"You'll sleep in the guest room for now," he says. "Don't lock the door."
"Why?"
"Because if I want in," he says, walking toward me slowly, "a lock won't stop me."
My feet instinctively take a step back, but I stop myself.
He notices.
He smirks.
"Don't be afraid of me, Aria," he murmurs. "Be afraid of what happens when I'm not around to protect you."
---
Later that night, I lie awake on a giant bed in a room too beautiful to feel like prison but too quiet to feel like home.
The collar is still around my neck.
I run my fingers over the small diamond, wondering how something so delicate can feel so suffocating.
The silence presses in.
I hear footsteps in the hall.
I freeze.
They pause outside my door. One breath. Two.
Then they continue.
I exhale.
The walls are thick, but not thick enough to keep out fear.
---
The next morning, a woman I don't recognize brings in breakfast. She doesn't speak. She leaves quickly. The food is untouched.
I wander into the main living area and find Dante sitting at the long dining table, reading a file.
He doesn't look up.
"Sit," he says, gesturing across from him.
I obey.
He hands me a document. A contract.
"Read it. Then sign."
It's a nondisclosure agreement. Terms. Conditions. Warnings.
At the bottom is a line for a signature.
My name is already printed.
"Is this... marriage?" I ask quietly.
His gaze meets mine. "Ownership."
---
The pen trembles in my hand.
"I don't want this," I say.
He doesn't blink. "Neither did the girls they sold after you."
That makes me pause.
"Were they..."
"Dead?" he says, his voice unreadable. "Some. Others were sent to worse places. You're lucky. Whether you see it now or not."
I grip the pen tighter.
My options are survival... or being swallowed whole by a world I know nothing about.
So I sign.
---
Afterward, he closes the file.
"You're smart," he says. "Obedience is power when used correctly."
"I'm not your pet."
"No," he agrees. "Pets get affection."
There's a small pause before he adds, "You'll earn that."
His tone is quiet, but not cruel. Still, it cuts deeper than shouting ever could.
---
That night, I dream of red silk, diamond collars, and green eyes that burn into my soul.
When I wake, the collar is still there.
And so is he.
Leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching me.
"I said don't lock the door," he murmurs.
My heart leaps.
"I didn't," I whisper.
He tilts his head.
Good. He believes me.
Then he steps inside and sits on the edge of the bed, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek.
"You're stronger than you think," he says softly. "But don't confuse strength with rebellion. I don't want to break you, Aria."
"Then what do you want?"
He leans in, his breath warm against my skin.
"I want to own every part of you. Willingly."
I flinch slightly at his words—not because he sounds cruel, but because he sounds honest. Dangerously honest.
"Why would I give myself to someone like you?" I whisper, barely audible.
Dante's gaze doesn't soften, but it lowers to my lips for a fleeting second. "Because eventually, you'll realize that surrender isn't always weakness. Sometimes it's survival. Sometimes…" he pauses, brushing a knuckle down my jawline, "it's the only kind of freedom left."
I swallow hard. My skin burns where he touches it. It's not affection. It's not lust. It's possession.
And maybe something more terrifying—something real under all the ice.
He leans closer, his breath brushing the shell of my ear. "Let them fear me, Aria. Let the world believe I'm heartless. But if you ever lie to me... if you ever betray me…" His voice lowers like a knife sliding across silk. "I won't give warnings twice."
He stands abruptly, pulling back the tension like snapping a violin string. He walks to the door but pauses, glancing over his shoulder.
"You'll come to me when you're ready," he says. "And you will come to me."
I don't respond. I can't. My throat is tight with everything I want to say but don't dare to.
When the door closes behind him, the silence is deafening. But my pulse still pounds like a drum in my ears, the echo of his presence still burning in the air.