Chained In Velvet

LIANA

The dress didn't fit.

It clung to my ribs like silk over a skeleton, the neckline too wide for shoulders that had forgotten how to stand tall. My reflection trembled with me, the girl in the mirror looking too much like prey dressed for a feast.

"You look like a ghost," I whispered.

No one answered. The room didn't care. The chandelier flickered overhead, throwing fractured gold across the pale blue wallpaper. It smelled like dust and perfume I couldn't afford-like memories that didn't belong to me. Everything here belonged to them now.

Even me.

Downstairs, voices murmured like thunder behind thick walls. Contracts being signed. Numbers whispered. I could almost hear the sound of my father's signature bleeding onto paper-giving me away.

I pressed trembling fingers to my collarbone. The skin there felt thin, like if I pushed harder, I'd vanish.

They told me I was lucky. "Better than the streets," someone said. "You're beautiful. He won't hurt you if you obey."

But they didn't know him.

Dominic Moretti.

Mafia king. Devil in silk. The man they said bought me.

I hadn't seen his face-not yet. But I'd heard the stories. People said he was made of ice and gunpowder. That he never touched women unless they begged. And even then... not gently.

A knock made me jump. The door creaked open before I could answer.

"Time," said the guard. His voice was flat. He didn't look at me.

I followed him with bare feet, the hallway carpet muffling every step like the house itself wanted me silent. The staircase loomed, winding down into shadow. At the bottom: gold doors. Heavy. Closed.

Behind them... him.

I wanted to run. But where would I go?

Mom was dead. Dad had debts soaked in blood. And I-I was just the payment. The pretty little thing handed over like an object wrapped in lace.

The doors opened.

I stopped breathing.

He stood by the fireplace, back turned, one hand in his pocket. The other held a glass of dark liquor. Firelight kissed the edge of his jaw-sharp, unforgiving.

Then he turned.

Dominic Moretti.

He didn't smile. He didn't blink.

He just looked at me like I was a puzzle he'd already solved. Cold grey eyes swept from my face to my bare feet, then back again. My knees almost buckled.

He took a sip, then spoke.

"You're smaller than they said."

His voice was quiet. Rich. Dangerous.

"I... I can leave, if you want," I whispered before I could stop myself.

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing.

"You're mine," he said simply. "I don't send away what I own."

That word. Own. It echoed in my chest like a shot. My fingers curled at my sides.

"I didn't choose this," I said, voice barely above a breath.

His lips twitched-not quite a smile. Something darker.

"Neither did I."

The silence after that felt like a punishment. I stared at the floor. My heart was loud. Too loud.

"I won't touch you tonight," he said, moving to the armchair. He sat like a king-relaxed, deadly. "But you'll sleep here. In my room. That's the rule."

I swallowed. Nodded. What else could I do?

"You'll eat what I give you. Wear what I say. You don't speak unless spoken to."

I flinched.

He saw.

He liked it.

I wanted to cry. But I didn't.

Tears didn't change anything. I learned that years ago.

He rose again, walking toward me. Each step felt heavier than the last. My breath caught. He stopped inches away.

"You're afraid of me," he said softly.

I couldn't speak.

He reached up-slowly, deliberately-and brushed a strand of hair from my face. His fingers were cold. The contact burned.

"Good," he murmured. "Fear keeps people alive in my world."

And just like that... I was no longer a girl. No longer Liana.

I was property.