Chapter 4 The Stranger Husband

The dining room was nothing short of palatial. Vaulted ceilings painted with faded frescoes. A long ebony table that could seat thirty. Sunlight spilled through tall windows framed by sheer white curtains, casting ethereal patterns on the polished floor. The place reeked of history and wealth-ancient wealth. Not the flash of new money, but something colder, heavier. Rooted in generations of control.

Valeria sat at one end of the table, dressed in a modest cream blouse and tailored trousers that someone had laid out for her. The maid had offered to help her dress, but Valeria had refused. She didn't need help. What she needed were answers.

A soft click of footsteps echoed across the marble, and she looked up sharply.

Dario Levanis entered the room like a shadow made flesh.

He was tall, lean, and meticulously groomed-his dark suit tailored so precisely it looked like it had been sewn onto him. His black hair was swept back in a way that seemed both effortless and calculated. His eyes, a sharp stormy gray, locked onto hers with unsettling calm.

Valeria didn't stand.

"Good morning," he said, as if they were two lovers meeting after a peaceful night.

She said nothing.

He took the seat at the opposite end of the table, far from her, as if to offer her space-or perhaps to assert distance. A servant immediately appeared with coffee and a selection of fruits and pastries. Valeria didn't touch any of it.

"You drugged me," she said, her voice low but laced with fury.

Dario glanced at her, then calmly stirred his coffee. "Technically, I didn't. But yes, you were sedated. It was necessary."

Her fingers curled around the edge of the table. "Necessary for what? Stealing my life?"

He didn't flinch. "Necessary to ensure a smooth transition."

Valeria leaned forward, her voice sharp. "You think kidnapping me and marrying me under false pretenses is a transition? You think forging a life on lies will be stable?"

"I didn't lie," he replied. "The marriage is legal. You signed the paperwork."

"I was drugged."

"You were exhausted. Vulnerable. And your signature is valid under Levanis law, as well as EU business contracts." He paused. "I made sure everything was clean. It had to be."

Her stomach turned.

She didn't know what was worse his calm, or the fact that he believed what he was saying. There was no remorse in his tone. Just logic. Precision. Like he was explaining a business deal, not a betrayal.

"I'm not staying here," she said. "You can dress it up as a palace, but it's a prison."

Dario looked at her for a long moment. Then he put his cup down and leaned back in his chair. "You can leave, if you like."

She narrowed her eyes. "What's the catch?"

"No catch," he said. "You're not chained to the walls. You're free to leave the house, even the country, if you wish. But the moment you do, the Moretti board will remove you. Public scandal. Questions. Rumors. You'll lose everything your father built. Everything you've protected so far."

Valeria stared at him.

It wasn't a threat. It was a trap painted with freedom.

He went on, "The marriage stabilizes your image. Your company. Mine as well. And more importantly, it keeps the wolves at bay. Both of us have enemies, Valeria. You just don't know all of yours yet."

She stood suddenly, the chair scraping sharply against the marble. "I don't need your protection."

Dario tilted his head slightly. "No. But you need time. And whether you like it or not, we're stronger together than apart-for now."

She wanted to throw something at him. The silver coffee pot. The porcelain cup. Anything to wipe that look off his face. That icy calm.

But she didn't.

She couldn't afford to be reckless. Not now.

"You don't know me," she said. "And you don't know what I'll do."

"I know exactly who you are," he said, finally standing. "That's why I chose you."

Her breath caught.

Chose. Not agreed to marry. Chose.

Like she was a brand, a stock, a line item in a business acquisition.

He walked toward the doorway, pausing just before he left.

"I'll be in meetings most of the day. You have access to the library, the gardens, the upper floors. The estate is yours now. You should get to know it."

"Why?" she asked bitterly.

He glanced back. "Because you're not a prisoner, Valeria. You're my wife. And eventually, you'll need to start acting like one."

The door closed behind him.

Silence fell again.

But not the silence of surrender. No. This was the silence before the storm.

Valeria walked to the tall window and looked out.

Endless gardens. Fountains. Ancient statues and hidden alcoves. Beautiful and vast-and yes, without walls.

But it was still a cage.

They hadn't taken her freedom in the obvious ways. No chains, no locked doors.

Instead, they'd taken her name. Her company. Her voice.

And now, she would take it all back.

Not loudly. Not in anger.

Quietly. Strategically.

Like her father had once done.

Like a Moretti.