Dante's movement was too fast, too controlled.
A blur of black suit as he ripped the paper from above the doorframe.
The sheer violence of the action—a complete contrast to the gentle way he'd just spoken—sent a fresh wave of terror through Hikky.
"You weren't thinking about my proposal," he stated, his voice now stripped of all warmth. It was the cold, flat tone of the Mafia Lord.
The one that could end lives without a second thought.
His eyes, dark as midnight and sharp as glass, pinned her to the spot. The paper, crumpled into a tight ball in his hand, seemed to pulse with a dark energy.
"I—I was just looking at the... the smudge on the wall, sir," she stammered, scrambling for a believable lie, but the lie felt flimsy against the weight of his truth.
She swallowed hard, her gaze flickering to the spot where the paper had been. Dante, your curse shall be transferred back to you until you meet the woman carrying it.
He didn't believe her. She could see it in the infinitesimal tightening of his jaw.
"The paper, Hikky," he advanced on her, his steps silent on the marble floor. "What did you read on the paper?"
She shook her head, fear constricting her throat. "Nothing, sir. Truly. Just a distraction. I apologize."
"Don't lie to me," the command was a low roar, the first genuine display of rage since he had returned.
The dining hall's opulent silence shattered. He reached her, his large hand clamping around her wrist with bruising strength. "What did it say? The curse? The woman? Black is the colour? Tell me."
Her breath hitched. He wasn't just guessing; he was confirming the key phrases. He knew.
"I… I don't know what it meant, sir," she whispered, tears blurring her vision again. "I just saw words... "
His grip tightened, forcing a small gasp from her. "The curse that binds me, Hikky. The one that keeps me from feeling anything human. The one that was transferred back to me the moment I bought you. You've been carrying it all this time, a dark shadow draped over your life. And now that shadow is mine again."
He released her wrist as suddenly as he had grabbed it, leaving the imprint of his fingers like a branded mark. He turned, facing the grand window that overlooked the Moretti estate, his back a wall of controlled power.
"My answer, Hikky. Now," he demanded, not looking at her. "Marry me. You are the only person who has seen my weakness and lived. You are the only woman who is both my curse and my cure."
Her mind reeled. The man she feared, the man who had bought her was confessing a fate-altering love, tied to a dangerous curse that now resided within him.
The wedding wasn't just a proposal; it was a deadly pact. Marrying him was the only way to survive Lady B's punishment, but it was also a direct challenge to Clara Bryan, the politician's daughter who was already his fiancée in all but name.
Her decision was a leap of faith into an abyss.
She took a shaky breath, straightening her maid's apron. "My answer is… yes," she said, the word barely a sound, yet it hung in the air like a declaration of war.
Dante slowly turned back to her, and for the briefest moment, the coldness in his eyes thawed into something startlingly akin to relief. It was quickly replaced by his usual merciless mask.
"Good girl," he murmured, a terrifyingly possessive edge to his voice. He walked past her and stopped right at the doorway.
He didn't look back, but his next words were a hammer blow.
"Start preparing. The wedding is in three days. And since you know the colour of our fate," he paused, his head cocking slightly. "The gown will be black."
Three days, She was to marry the most feared man in the country, the man with a political fiancée, and seal a supernatural curse in seventy-two hours.
Dante went to his wardrobe, and brought out a special ring - the ring had always been there, expensive, classy and beautiful.
"It will suit your finger, if you are really made for me". He said and carry her left middle finger and slip the ring into it, it fitted perfectly well.
Before Hikky could form a single protest, the double doors of the dining hall burst open.
A fierce, stunning woman in a crimson power suit stood framed in the doorway, her fiery red hair pulled back severely, her eyes blazing with fury.
It was Clara Bryan....
She just saw her fiance - Dante the mafia lord proposing to a maid he bought.....
"Dante... What in God's name is the meaning of this? What's going on here?" Clara spat, her voice tight with disbelief, as she held up a shimmering, black, satin wedding invitation.
Her eyes, blazing with political entitlement, landed on Hikky, who still stood by the messy breakfast tray, her maid's apron a stark contrast to the room's lavish wealth. The politician's daughter advanced, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at the trembling maid.
"Did you really think you could marry this little kitchen rat, betray me, break my heart, and not face the consequences, Dante? I just got this little gift, and I'm here to tell you…" Clara paused, her eyes narrowing as they locked onto the faint red mark on Hikky's neck—the mark left by Dante's earlier grip. Her expression shifted from outrage to cold, calculating malice. "…this wedding is not happening."
Suddenly, two massive men in tactical gear stepped in behind Clara, flanking the doorway. They weren't Dante's usual men; they were the private security detail of her powerful father.
Clara smiled, a predator's curve of the lips. "I'm not leaving without my fiancé, Dante. And I'm certainly not leaving this little maid here to play dress-up."
She took one final, deliberate step towards Hikky. "You useless whore." She snatched a delicate porcelain flower vase from the table and raised it high, intent on striking Hikky.
Before the vase could descend, a masculine hand—quick, powerful, and decisive—gripped Clara's wrist and forced it back down.
"Stop. Enough," Dante commanded, his voice a low, hard rumble of absolute finality.
Clara turned on him, her eyes scornful. "Are you really going to do this to me? I will go and report you to my father, and bet me, you can't withstand what's coming." With that cold threat, she stormed out of the room, her two armed men following suit.
The doors slammed shut, plunging the tense silence back into the room. The moment she was gone, the shock of the confrontation broke Hikky. She sank to her knees, burying her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
Dante knelt beside her, pulling her up gently. "Don't cry, you'll be fine."
"I... I don't know if I'm doing the right thing," she choked out, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "I don't want trouble. It's just like I broke her relationship with you. I know how it feels if I were in her shoes."
Dante cupped her cheeks with his palms and tenderly wiped away her tears. "Do you believe in destiny?" he asked her. "Destiny broke our relationship. It has nothing to do with you."
"Clara never loved me..." he continued.
"I'm sorry, Boss," Hikky cut in, her voice trembling. "That's what men always say when they find a replacement."
Dante paused, his thumb gently tracing the line of her cheekbone. His dark eyes held hers with a startling intensity.
"I am a Mafia Lord," he said, his voice flat and heavy with power. "Who would beat me if I tell the truth? Of course, no one dares me, so I have no reason to lie."
He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, cold confession that was meant only for her ears.
"Clara Bryan had been f*cking her dad—her stepfather she portrays as her father."
Hikky's eyes flew wide open. She stared at him, her mouth agape, unable to utter a single sound....