Chapter 5 The Wolf's Cage

The door opened with a soft creak, and Sera stepped over the threshold like she was walking into a nightmare wrapped in velvet.

This bedroom wasn't just luxurious-it was lethal in its beauty.

Massive arched windows loomed on one side, draped in sheer ivory curtains that billowed in the breeze like ghosts. A marble fireplace crackled with a firelight that painted the dark wood floors in shifting gold. The chandelier above twinkled quietly, like it was watching.

But it was the bed that drew her eyes.

Carved mahogany, carved with Moretti wolves and thorned roses, too intricate to be coincidence. Large enough for a king. Draped in layers of deep navy silk that shimmered like water beneath moonlight.

Only one bed.

Only one side turned down.

Sera's spine stiffened.

> One room.

One bed.

One husband.

She hovered by the doorway, barefoot on cold tile, still wrapped in the blood-red satin dress they'd forced her into. The Moretti crest was still stitched against her collarbone, a silent brand. Her hair was falling from the pins. Her mascara smudged beneath her eyes like bruises.

She didn't belong here.

She didn't belong anywhere in this palace, made of cruelty and control.

Dante walked in behind her, casual and slow like he had all the time in the world.

He unbuttoned his cuffs, one by one. Rolled his sleeves halfway up his forearms, the way men do before they fix something or break it. Then he removed his cufflinks-silver wolves, of course-and placed them on a tray beside a decanter of amber liquor.

Like this was just another evening in his kingdom.

Like the woman standing at the edge of the room wasn't falling apart inside.

Sera's throat felt tight. Her arms crossed over her chest, not for modesty-but as armor.

> "This isn't a marriage," she said, her voice low and sharp. "It's a prison."

No hesitation.

No plea.

Just truth.

Dante didn't look at her.

He poured himself a glass of scotch, slow and neat.

Then he said, without turning,

> "Only if you try to escape."

That was it.

That was the only warning he gave her.

And it was worse than any threat he could've made.

Sera waited.

Waited for the exact moment Dante turned away-

toward the fire, toward the bed, toward anything but her.

Then she moved.

Fast. Silent. Desperate.

She slipped across the room, the crimson silk whispering around her legs, and yanked open the door to the en-suite bathroom. It was massive, cold, and marble from floor to ceiling-but it didn't matter.

She slammed the door behind her, twisting the lock hard until it clicked.

One barrier. One moment of control.

She backed away from the door, breath catching in her throat, until her spine hit the porcelain sink behind her.

> Think, Sera. Think.

Survive. Breathe.

But breathing was getting harder.

Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. Her chest rose and fell in short, clipped bursts. Her skin prickled with the memory of Dante's touch, the weight of his words, the kiss in front of a room of monsters.

She pushed herself toward the mirror.

And stared.

The girl staring back wasn't the version of her from just a week ago.

Her eyeliner was smudged. Her hair was half-unpinned. Her skin looked pale against the fire-glow red of the dress clinging to her curves like chains.

Her gaze flicked to her left hand.

The ring.

Black diamond. Twisted metal. Cold as sin.

She yanked it off with shaking fingers and hurled it into the sink.

> Clink.

It spun once. Twice. Then stopped-mocking her.

Sera gripped the edge of the counter until her knuckles went white.

No phone. There is no signal. No plan.

The walls of the bathroom were smooth stone. The window-if there was one-was sealed behind frosted glass and steel bars. There were no vents. No exits. Just marble, mirrors, and the sickening echo of her own breath.

But at least...

> At least the walls didn't look at her like he did.

At least in here, the fire didn't follow her gaze.

At least in here, she could fall apart without an audience.

She sank to the floor, back against the cool tile, and her heart still hammering.

She wrapped her arms around her knees and let her head fall forward.

> Just breathe. Just one night. Then, figure out the rest.

But in the back of her mind, she knew-

Dante Moretti never gave a warning he didn't intend to follow.

And this wasn't over.

Not even close.

The silence had teeth.

Sera sat curled on the bathroom floor, forehead resting against her knees, eyes squeezed shut. The cold from the marble seeped through the dress and into her skin, but it was the quiet that clawed at her.

Too long.

Too still.

She didn't trust stillness. Not in this house. Not from him.

Then-

A knock.

Three taps. Not loud. Not impatient.

Just... deliberate.

Measured.

Like he knew she was already listening.

> "You can't hide in there all night," Dante said.

His voice was soft through the thick wood. Casual. Velvet-laced.

But Sera didn't move. Didn't speak.

Her heartbeat picked up.

He waited a beat.

Then:

> "Are you afraid of me?"

She swallowed.

Still nothing.

Because yes-she was afraid.

Not of pain. Not even of death.

But of how close he stood to that door.

How calm he sounded.

How easily he might strip her of herself.

A low chuckle followed. Quiet. Almost amused.

> "That's smart."

The sound slithered under her skin.

Then the doorknob jiggled.

She sat up straighter, back pressing against the cabinet, arms tense.

His voice came again-closer now.

> "You're not the first woman to lock herself away after marrying me."

Sera flinched.

What did that mean? Who had come before? What had happened to them?

> "But you'll be the first," he said calmly,

"that I open the door for."

She didn't dare breathe.

Then came the sound-

Click.

Not the knob.

Something thinner. Finer.

A whisper of metal.

A lock-pick.

Sliding into the keyhole like a promise.

Her blood turned to ice.

> No.

One turn.

Two.

He was picking the lock.

And she didn't know what terrified her more-

That he could.

Or that he wasn't in a hurry.

Like he knew the outcome already.

Like he knew she'd still be his once the door opened.

The lock gave with a soft click.

The door creaked open an inch, then two. Light from the bedroom spilled in, cutting across the polished marble like a blade.

Sera didn't move.

She wanted to run.

She wanted to scream.

But her body sat frozen, knees tucked under her chin, heart pounding like a war drum. She stared at the threshold like it was the edge of a cliff.

Then-

Dante stepped in.

Slow. Composed. Terrifying in his control.

His suit jacket was gone, tossed somewhere on the bed she refused to acknowledge. The sleeves of his crisp white shirt were rolled up just enough to expose strong, veined forearms and the gleam of his silver wristwatch.

He wasn't angry.

That was the worst part.

He wasn't yelling.

He didn't slam the door.

He just looked at her. Calm. Still.

A man used to be obeyed-even in silence.

Sera's chest rose and fell, ragged and wild, like a storm trying to form inside her ribs.

> "I said I wouldn't force you into my bed," Dante said.

His voice was low and intimate, meant for this small space. The firelight from the bedroom flickered across his face, casting soft shadows along the sharp angles of his jaw.

He took one step inside.

It's not a threat.

Not a lunge.

Just one quiet step closer.

> "But I won't let you sleep in my damn sink either."

Sera shifted backward on instinct, her shoulder blades brushing the cool tile wall.

He didn't follow.

Didn't have to.

His presence filled the room like smoke.

She opened her mouth to speak-but nothing came out. No witty retort. No insult. Not even fear.

Just breath.

Just fury.

Just him.

Dante folded his arms slowly across his chest, leaning against the doorframe like a king debating how much mercy to grant.

> "You have two options, Seraphina," he said.

Her name in his mouth sent another chill crawling down her spine.

His eyes darkened as he spoke again.

Voice like velvet.

Words like steel.

> "Sleep in my bed."

He tilted his head.

> "Or don't sleep at all."

The door closed behind him with a soft click.