Chapter 3 The Wedding Night

Alina sat in the back of the sleek black car, her hands folded tightly in her lap as the city lights blurred past the tinted windows.

She was no longer Alina Moretti. She was Alina Valenti.

The thought sent a shiver down her spine.

Dante sat beside her, silent and composed, his elbow resting against the car door, fingers tapping lightly against his knee. He hadn't looked at her once since they left the Valenti estate.

She should've been relieved. But the tension in the car was suffocating.

She risked a glance at him. The shadows cast by the dim interior lighting made him look even more menacing-sharp jawline, cold eyes, and an air of absolute control.

Dante Valenti was a man who owned everything in his world.

And now, he owned her.

The car slowed, turning onto a long driveway lined with iron gates that opened smoothly as they approached. The Valenti mansion loomed ahead, a dark fortress against the night sky. It was even bigger than her family home, but where the Moretti estate once had warmth, this place was nothing but cold stone and empty grandeur.

As the car stopped, the driver stepped out and opened the door. Alina hesitated for a fraction of a second before stepping out, her heels clicking against the cobblestone driveway.

Dante followed, his presence suffocatingly close behind her.

She wrapped her arms around herself, more out of instinct than the actual chill in the air. The silence stretched between them until Dante finally spoke.

"Inside."

The command was simple, but it sent a pulse of unease through her.

She stepped through the grand double doors, the interior just as imposing as the exterior-high ceilings, expensive chandeliers, and an eerie silence that made the house feel more like a prison than a home.

Dante walked past her, tossing his suit jacket onto a nearby chair before turning to face her.

"You're my wife now," he said, his voice as smooth as silk but laced with something dangerous underneath. "You will obey me. You will not question me. And you will never forget why you're here."

Alina's hands curled into fists. She wanted to fight back, to tell him she wasn't his prisoner-but she was.

"I never wanted this," she whispered.

Dante's dark gaze locked onto hers, something flickering in his eyes-rage, amusement, or something in between.

"Neither did I," he said, stepping closer. His fingers traced along her jaw, his touch deceptively gentle before he gripped her chin, tilting her face up toward him. "But here we are."

Alina's breath caught. His proximity was overwhelming, his scent-expensive cologne and whiskey-filling her senses.

"You hate me," she said softly, more a statement than a question.

Dante's smirk was slow, cruel. "I do."

The weight of those two words settled in her chest like a stone.

"Then why marry me?" she asked.

His fingers trailed down her neck, his voice low and taunting.

"Because hate isn't enough," he murmured. "I want you to suffer, Alina. And what better way than to keep you by my side?"

Her stomach twisted.

Dante released her suddenly, stepping back as if he was already done playing his little game. "Your room is down the hall," he said. "Locked. From the outside."

Her heart pounded. "You're locking me in?"

Dante smirked. "Did you think you were free, wife?"

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing in the center of her new prison-his home, his world, his rules.

And there was no escape.