Chapter 3 Her pov

~HAILEY POV~

The steak came next, carried on shiny silver plates by the butler, whose gloves sparkled under the light.

It looked juicy, thick, and perfect. The smell filled the room with a rich, buttery scent that made it feel smaller. My stomach growled loudly, like a loud shout in a quiet place.

I felt my face get hot with embarrassment. I looked at my stomach like it had done something wrong. What a traitor.

I picked up my knife and fork with stiff fingers, aiming for relaxed boredom, but my grip hesitated just enough to show weakness. The first slice cut too easily, juices bleeding into the porcelain like spilled wine.

My throat moved before my brain caught up. I slipped the bite past my lips.

And nearly moaned.

The flavor hit hard.....smoky, tender, almost obscene in how good it was. My eyes nearly rolled back, traitorous in their own rebellion.

Damn it.

I forced my expression flat, chewing louder than necessary, like I wanted everyone at this table to hear just how unimpressed I was.

Santino's voice slid through the silence. "Good?"

I didn't need to look to know he was watching. I could feel his stare, a weight pressing on me, stripping me bare, measuring every reaction.

"It's edible," I said, chin high, voice bored.

"High praise." His reply was dry, smooth. His knife slid clean through his steak, each movement accurate, practiced. Not a scratch. Not a hesitation. Even his eating was a performance in control.

I dabbed at my mouth with the napkin, feigning a yawn. "Don't get used to it. I'll go back to insulting the food soon."

"Please do."

The words caught me mid-motion. My hand froze halfway to the glass, fingers tightening on the stem. He wasn't mocking. Not this time. It was softer. Dangerous in a different way. Like he wanted me to. Like he enjoyed it.

I looked up.

And the world shrank.

The light from the chandelier was soft around the edges. The long table, shiny plates, and even my parents seemed to fade away, just background sounds to the connection between us.

His eyes were fixed on mine, creating a bond that felt strong and unbreakable.

My chest beat too fast, my breath shallow. I panicked, heat licking under my skin.

I shoved another piece of steak into my mouth just to break the tension. Anything to cut the string between us.

When I glanced up again, he was gone. Not physically....he was still there, lounging like a king at the head of the table....but turned away.

Already angled toward my father, voice slipping effortlessly into calm business talk. Like I'd imagined it all. Like that thread had only been in my head.

The rejection burned worse than my father's cruelty ever had.

I stabbed my fork down too hard, the clang of metal on porcelain louder than it should've been. I turned away from Santino...from his shadow, from his control....and my eyes met my mother's.

She wasn't stone this time.

Her chin dropped, the smallest nod, almost invisible. But I saw it. A whisper of comfort. A reminder that she saw me, even if she could never fight for me.

Silverware clinked, filling the silence.

Then my father cleared his throat, puffing up his chest like a man about to take center stage. His voice rang too cheerful, too polished. "If all is well, then I believe we should take the deal to the next stage."

Deal.

The word dripped poison.

I froze, fork halfway to my lips, the blood draining from my face. My fist curled under the tablecloth so hard my nails carved half-moons into my palm.

This wasn't just dinner. This was a trade.

I looked at Santino. Against every warning screaming in my skull, I looked.

A flimsy hope burned in my chest.....ugly, desperate. Maybe he would say no. Maybe he'd refuse. Maybe he'd see me as something more than an object.

But his gaze was already on me, steady, unyielding. He wasn't thinking. He wasn't questioning. He had already decided.

"Yes," he said finally. Smooth. Final.

And then he smiled. A slow, creeping smirk that turned his handsome face cruel. Ruthless.

"Everything will go as planned," he added, his voice silk over steel. He let the pause hang, savoring it. "I am satisfied with the... merchandise."

The word slashed through me. Merchandise.

Like I was a diamond ring. A car. A thing to be owned, passed around, and signed for.

My skin crawled. My heart slammed against my ribs, trying to break free. The air itself pressed down on me, thick and suffocating.

Santino's gaze sharpened, a twinkle like a blade catching light. He knew what he'd just done. He'd branded me with a word. He'd stripped me down to nothing but property.....and made sure I knew it.

My father leaned back, smug, as if he'd just won a war without lifting a finger. My mother stayed still, lips trembling but silent.

And me? I shivered. From the back of my neck down to my toes. A damaging tremor I couldn't control.

The kind of shiver that doesn't leave.

The kind that marks the beginning of a cage closing shut.