Chapter 6 Who is she

Liana's POV

Her eyes widened. Barely. A flash of confusion.

"Lady Volmore," she said again, more slowly this time, as if maybe I'd hit my head or maybe she thought I needed reminding.

As if I'd made this decision.

As if I'd become this.

No. I crawled back away from her on all fours, like an animal trapped in a cage. "Don't you say that. Don't you" I started laughing once more. That awful laugh. The one that made the guards tense and glance at each other like I was something to fear. Like I was going to develop horns and claws at any second.

"I'm not no, no, no-I didn't agree to this. I didn't agree to this!"

I fought to rise, stumbling on shaky legs like a baby fawn on wheels.

"I don't know what sick cult this is or what kind of Stepford Bride mind control I was under, but it's shattered now, you hear me? I am awake."

No one moved.

The whisper woman recoiled, hands up. "Miss. Perhaps you should lie down. I can show you to your rooms"

"I'll burn down your rooms."

She flinched.

A whisper, and I'd unspun again.

The groom standing behind her, the man I'd kissed, the man who'd not spoken one damn thing since the wedding kept watching me. His jaw locked. His eyes are unreadable.

And that was when I knew that I felt worse than afraid.

He wasn't surprised.

He had expected this.

As if I was always going to break.

As if I was meant to be broken.

"I want to go home."

The words were small. A whisper in and of themselves. But they tasted like blood in my mouth.

"I want to go home. Do you hear me?"

I started walking, not even knowing where-to the giant front doors maybe, to freedom or to delusion, did not matter. The air in there was thick, toxic, like needing to breathe through somebody else's lungs. I needed out. I needed air that was not full of roses and rot.

The guards did not move. Just stood there like statues carved out of contempt.

I want to go back to my family," I cried louder, voice shaking. "My real family."

I spun around, eyes surveying the faces, searching for something human.

"I didn't ask for this! You-you all drugged me or hexed me or whatever the damn hell that was. I wasn't myself! And now I remember, okay? Now I know-I know what you did."

Tears blurred my sight, hot and furious.

"Where is my phone?" I was frisking the dress like an idiot, as if I thought they were ever going to let me leave with anything. "I want to call my mom. My dad. I-I have rights, don't I? I'm a person!"

But no one moved.

Just him.

The groom. The unmoving storm in a fitted suit.

His eyes caught mine then, cold and even and brimming with something that felt like scorn.

"Take her to my quarters," he commanded.

A click of his fingers, a brief command, as if I was nothing more than a disobedient animal.

"No-NO!" I retreated, bumping into one of the pillars. "Don't touch me. Don't you even dare-"

Two guards advanced.

"I want to go home!" I shouted it this time, the sound burning my throat raw. "You can't just keep me here! You can't-I'm not yours!"

But no one complained.

No one flinched.

They just moved over.

And I was picked up, pulled, carried like a ghost in my own body, the satin and lace of my wretched wedding gown flying behind me like a widow's shroud.

And he-he didn't even glance back.

He walked away.

As if I was already gone.

---

Dante's POV

"Take her to my quarters"

I said it without lifting my gaze.

Enoch said nothing. He never does, unless he's forced to. He nodded that near-vanishing nod-the sort that means, I hear you, without wasting breath-and left.

The door slammed behind him, the click louder than it had to be.

And I waited.

The seconds ticked. Ticked again. Strung out tight like a cord about to break.

Somewhere down the hallway, I heard the sound of faint shuffling movement. The silence of footsteps. The creak of hinges worn to old age.

Then-silence.

Not peaceful. Not still.

It was the type of silence that presses against your skin. Clings to your throat. The type that does not belong.

I did not move. I did not breathe. Just sat there, and allowed the wrongness to filter in through the cracks.

The dress didn't fit her. Not in size. In soul.

It stuck to her like a mistake.

That is when it hit me.

She's not Stella.

And worse-

She's human.

My breath was taken.

Just for a moment. In, then out. Under control.

But my mind?

It blew.

What. The. Hell.

How did a human girl end up here?

Not just here-beyond. Beyond the wards. Beyond the guards. Beyond Enoch.

Enoch.

Had he known?

No. No, don't leap. Don't spin. Remain anchored.

But the questions continued to pile up.

How the hell did a human girl end up at my wedding?

Who put her in that dress?

Who let her walk down that aisle?

Who signed off on this?

This wasn't an accident. Couldn't be. You don't misplace a Virello bride with some soft-faced girl from the city and expect no one to notice. So what is this? A prank? A rebellion? A warning?

I kept my stance, statue-still. That's how they like to see me. Cold. Unshakable.

But my mind?

It was pulling threads, fast. Spinning. Mapping every possibility, every motive, every traitor.

Did she sneak in? Impossible. Security was tighter than a vice.

Unless he knew. Unless he's in on it.

No. No, not him. Enoch follows protocol like scripture. But even gods fall.

And my father-he's capable of worse.

Is this one of his games? A way to corner me? Break the deal? Shift power?

I needed answers.

Now.

I turned away before I could say something I'd regret. My voice wouldn't have been calm.

Because what I needed wasn't comfort. Or clarity. Or time to digest whatever this was.

I needed control.

I needed an order.

And there were only two people who could give me what I wanted:

My father.

And Enoch.

And if they didn't?

Then they could burn right alongside whoever thought this was a good idea.

---

The solid oak door to my father's chambers was already open. Not a peep in the room. Not a groan in the floorboards. Not a hint of anything, but the smothering stillness that always clings when he is in solitary with his mind.

My father stood by the window, looking out over the vast estate, his back to me. The shadows played over his broad shoulders, the shape of him cut from the smooth surface. Every inch of him is a king. A legend. A monster, if I'm being honest.

But even legends have their cracks.

I stepped inside, and the door closed gently with a whisper that was too rough in the quiet. The burden of it all smothered me like a boulder, too heavy to lift, too heavy to ignore.

I couldn't wait any longer.

"Father," I told him, my voice steady, but the words trembling in my throat like they were molded in stone. "What the hell happened today?"

He did not turn immediately. He just stood there, looking out into the black horizon as if considering the fate of the world. And then, finally, slowly, he turned, as if his movement was the only thing in the room.

His eyes locked with mine with the weight of all the authority he had ever wielded. Cold. Unwavering.

"Is that why you're not enjoying your wedding night, Dante?" His voice, so low, so measured. Stirred the air like a storm on the horizon. He wasn't shocked. He wasn't angry. He was just. waiting. Calculating. "Your bride's absence disturbs you, does it?"

I clenched my fists. My knuckles whitened.

No, I spat out, syllable by syllable a raspy edge. "That is not what this is about. Who is she? Why is she here? Why the devil did you-"

I never got to conclude. He put up a hand, the motion languid, almost remote.

"Enough." His voice was final, like a verdict already given.

I stepped forward, could not keep myself back. "I want answers, Father. I need to know what the devil is going on.".

He didn't flinch. Didn't budge. He stared down at me, a predator watching a lesser beast who had no idea of the trap it had stumbled into. Then, without a word, he turned and walked toward the desk at the far side of the room.

He pressed a button-one that I'd seen a thousand times and a soft chime echoed through the silence.

"I want you here," he ordered, as if his words would mold the universe itself to his will.

I did not know who he was calling. Did not need to. It did not matter?