He bought her only to spoil

The dress wasn't white.It was champagne-cold, lifeless, and expensive. Just like the man waiting for her at the altar.

Ariella's fingers trembled as she clutched the bouquet tighter. Her father didn't look at her. He just nudged her forward like she was a package being delivered.

"You know the deal," he muttered under his breath. "Don't screw it up."

The chapel was small, private, and surrounded by men with guns in suits. The man she was marrying didn't look at her until the last second. When he did, her heart stuttered-not from love but from fear.

Dante Romano, Cold eyes, Expensive suit expression carved from stone. He nodded once. That was all the welcome she got.

The vows were spoken The rings were exchanged, No kiss, No smile. Just signatures on a contract that sold her like a product and just like that, Ariella Hart became Mrs Romano.Wife to a man who didn't want her. Property to a family she feared.Dante Romano didn't even spare her a glance before exiting the wedding hall with his men behind him and some before him, putting him in the middle of their protection.

THE NEXT DAY..

The car was too quiet, Ariella sat in the backseat of the sleek black Maybach, her fingers curled tightly around her phone, though she hadn't checked it once. The leather interior smelt like money and masculinity-like him. Dante sat beside her, legs crossed, unreadable as ever in his crisp dark suit.She hadn't said a word since breakfast.Not that there was much to say. She'd become someone's wife overnight, and yet... she still felt like a stranger.

Dante's gaze flicked to her briefly. "You're quiet.""You're not exactly a conversation starter," she replied, not looking at him.He smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching. "You've got a sharp tongue for a girl who signed herself over like property."Her jaw clenched. "I didn't have a choice."

Silence, they both knew she was right. And he hated being reminded of it. The car rolled to a stop in front of her university Students bustled past in groups, laughing, rushing to class, alive and carefree. Ariella hesitated. Stepping out of this car felt like stepping out of another world.A world where she belonged to a man no one could ever know about.Dante turned to her, reaching into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He pulled out a black card-sleek, deadly-looking, probably with no spending limit-and handed it to her. "For what?" she asked.

"Whatever you need, Clothes, Books, Protection." His tone was flat. "Use it."

"I don't want your money."

"You already have my name. You might as well look the part."

Ariella didn't take it. She looked him dead in the eye. "You don't get to buy me off."Dante leaned in slightly, his voice low and sharp like a knife under silk. "I already did."Her breath caught.He opened the car door for her without another word, a signal that the conversation-and argument-was over. She stepped out onto the pavement, the weight of his eyes burning into her back as she blended into the crowd of students.From the outside, she was just another girl in a hoodie and jeans. But inside her pocket was a wedding ring she couldn't wear in public... and the shadow of a husband who was starting to watch her just a little too closely.

"Isn't that Ariella Hart?"

"What the hell is she doing in that car?"

"New sugar daddy, maybe?"

"She probably spread her legs for it."

Ariella kept walking. The comments stabbed like needles, but she was used to it. Mostly. The attention, the rumors, the jealousy... they'd started when her father remarried and brought in a new daughter-a daughter who hated her from day one.

"Nice ride," a voice sneered behind her. "Hope he tips well."

Ariella turned.

Danika.

Her stepsister stood there with her usual posse, arms crossed, an evil grin on her face. Same blonde curls. Same fake smile. Only this time, her voice carried louder than ever.

"Was he old? Or just rich?"

Her friends snickered.

Ariella didn't respond. She just stared at Danika, jaw tight. If only they knew the truth-that she wasn't dating some rich man... she was married to the rich man. But she couldn't say it. Not yet.

Danika leaned closer, dropping her voice just enough. "You might be fooling everyone else, but I know you. You're still the desperate charity case who begged my dad to love her, doesn't matter what you wear or what car drops you off-you'll always be beneath me."

She walked off with a toss of her hair, victorious as always.

Ariella stood there for a second, the morning sun casting a shadow longer than her figure. She wanted to scream. To cry. To run back to the mansion.

But she didn't.

She turned, lifted her chin, and walked to class.

Because no one knew her secret.

No one knew she now carried the last name Romano, and maybe that was her power.

She walked into class, back straight, chin slightly raised, pretending not to hear a thing.

But she heard it all.

The whispers followed her like perfume-sticky, cloying, impossible to escape.

"They say she's married now."

"Seriously? To who?"

"No one knows. But the car, the bag... someone rich, obviously."

"She probably sold herself to some old man."

"She's always been quiet. Creepy, honestly."

Ariella slid into her seat without making eye contact. Her heart beat steady, but her fingers curled tightly around the strap of her bag. She didn't wear the ring-Dante had made that clear. No traces. No attention.

But attention came anyway.

The rumors weren't wrong. She was married.

They just didn't know to whom.

Danika didn't help. She sat three seats ahead, loud enough for Ariella to hear her snide remarks, laughing with her friends like they were on stage.

"Some girls have to work for their grades. Others just... marry for them."

More laughter. More eyes.

Ariella didn't react.

Because no one knew the name she carried now.

No one knew the cold, powerful man she shared a home with.

And if they did?

She doubted they'd keep whispering.

SCHOOL

Throughout her day in school, Ariella remained in her corner, minding her own business, despite the whispers that never seemed to fade. They followed her like an echo, growing louder with every passing day.

As the final bell rang, signaling the end of another day, she grabbed her bag and made her way toward the school gate. There, waiting for her, was Dante's Maybach, sleek and imposing. Without a second thought, she opened the door and slipped into the backseat, the car was already in motion, the driver's eyes focused on the road ahead. The silence between them was thick, only broken by the hum of the engine. Without a word, he drove swiftly, the familiar route leading them straight to the cold, imposing mansion that loomed ahead like a silent sentinel.

As they entered the mansion, the staff and bodyguards stood in quiet unison, their voices a chorus as they greeted her. 'Welcome, Mrs. Romano,' they echoed, their words heavy with formality as she passed. Ariella offered them a silent nod, her mind distant as she made her way toward the stairs.

She headed straight to her room, the door creaking slightly as she pushed it open. There, sitting on her bed with an air of quiet authority, was Dante. His presence filled the room, a silent command that set her heart racing." Ariella's gaze flickered to him, a mixture of confusion and irritation flashing in her eyes. "What are you doing in my room?" she asked, her voice steady but laced with an edge.

Dante didn't even flinch. His expression remained cold, his presence unwavering. "I trust you understand your purpose in this house," he said, his tone laced with authority, leaving no room for doubt or argument.

Ariella's lips pressed into a thin line. "And you don't have to remind me all the time," she said, her voice sharp, though the discomfort in her chest grew with each passing second.

Dante's gaze never wavered, his eyes fixed on hers with a cold intensity that made her skin prickle. The silence stretched between them, heavy and thick. Without a word, he pointed to a box resting on the bed-a pristine gift box, its elegant appearance at odds with the tension in the room.

"Get ready. We have a banquet to attend at 8 tonight," Dante commanded, his voice low and final. Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and left the room, the door closing with a soft click behind him, leaving Ariella alone with her thoughts and the weight of his words lingering in the air.

Just yesterday, she had become Mrs. Romano, and now, he was dragging her to a banquet? The thought gnawed at her as she walked slowly toward the bed, her mind racing with unanswered questions. What was all of this really about?

She paused for a moment before carefully lifting the lid of the box he had pointed to. Inside, a shimmering dinner dress caught her eye-its glittering fabric almost glowing in the dim light of the room. Beneath it, a delicate mask lay, its elegant design adding to the mystery. Ariella's brow furrowed as she wondered just what kind of banquet awaited them, her curiosity growing with each passing second.

Ariella's fingers brushed over the fabric, its softness almost surreal, as if it belonged to another world-a world she was just beginning to glimpse. The mask, delicate and intricately designed, seemed to beckon her into that unknown. Her mind raced with questions she couldn't answer. Why a mask? And why a banquet?

Ariella quickly changed into the dress, its form-fitting design accentuating her figure, but she felt no pride, only a deep sense of being out of place. As she adjusted the mask before the mirror, the woman staring back at her seemed like a stranger.

Footsteps outside the door snapped her from her thoughts. Dante's low, commanding voice called from the hallway. "Are you ready?

Her heart raced as she opened the door to face him. His gaze scanned her, indifferent. "You look... acceptable," he said, offering no hint of emotion.

Without another word, Dante turned and led her down the grand staircase. Ariella followed, her mind swirling with questions. What was this banquet about? And why was she part of it?

They reached the door, and Dante opened it without looking back. She followed him into the Maybach, the car's interior as luxurious as the mansion they'd left behind. The driver said nothing as they sped away, the night air growing colder as the city lights disappeared into the distance.

As the car turned onto a quieter road, Ariella's unease grew. The building ahead looked like a fortress, its stone walls lit by golden lights and guarded by men in suits. When the car stopped, Dante turned to her. "Stay close to me," he said, his voice colder than the night air.

She nodded, a chill settling over her. The staff greeted them at the entrance with silent professionalism and opened the grand doors to reveal an opulent banquet hall. The chandeliers sparkled overhead, and fine china adorned the tables. As Dante entered, the room seemed to hush, all eyes on him.

Ariella followed, her stomach tightening. As they neared a table, a man in a dark suit rose to greet them. "Mr. Romano," he said, shaking Dante's hand with cold warmth. Ariella felt like an outsider, surrounded by strangers in a world she didn't understand, her unease growing with each step.

They crossed hands as they entered the room, the tension between them noticeable. The soft murmur of conversations seemed to hush as they passed through the crowd, every eye on them. Dante's presence was commanding, but Ariella felt exposed, as if every step she took was under a magnifying glass.

The man in the dark suit who had greeted them earlier approached once more, his eyes lingering on Ariella for a moment too long before turning back to Dante. "Mr. Romano," he said smoothly, "It's an honor to have you with us tonight."

Dante nodded, his grip firm on her hand as he responded, "The pleasure is mine." His voice was calm, almost casual, but Ariella couldn't shake the sense that there was something more beneath the surface.

As they moved further into the room, Ariella's stomach twisted. The grandiosity of the setting and the cold gaze of those around her only amplified her feeling of isolation. Dante's grip on her hand was the only thing anchoring her in that moment, but even it felt strangely possessive, as though she were a mere accessory to his presence in this strange world.

As they stepped into the next room, the atmosphere shifted. Heavier. Darker. All eyes turned.

Suits filled the room, powerful men gathered around low tables, smoke curling into the air from expensive cigars. The lighting was dim, except for the soft, sultry glow on the stage at the far end, where strippers danced to the slow thump of bass-heavy music. It was an odd blend, business and pleasure, wealth and depravity.

Ariella's heels clicked softly against the marble as she moved beside Dante, her hand still in his. Conversations lowered to murmurs, then resumed when everyone had gotten their fill of watching her, measuring her, judging her. Some smirked. Others just looked confused. No one smiled kindly.

Dante didn't acknowledge the stares. He led her straight to the front where the heavyweights sat, all older men in sleek black and gray, gold watches glinting under the low light. She recognized none of them, but they all looked like they could buy a country and burn it down in the same day.

They sat. Dante at the head of the table. Her at his right.

A crystal glass of dark liquor was placed in front of him without a word. One of the men raised an eyebrow at her. "You bring your little bride to the table now, Romano?"

Dante didn't look at the man. "She sits where I sit."

No one questioned it again.

Ariella sat still, stiff. The scent of cologne, whiskey, and money soaked the air. She tried not to stare at the naked woman grinding against a pole just a few feet away, tried to pretend this was normal.

Tried to breathe.

But deep down she knew-this wasn't just a dinner.

This was a message.

She belonged to Dante now.

Even here.

Especially here.

Ariella stayed quiet, her eyes scanning the faces at the table. Every man here oozed power. Their conversations were coded, clipped, masked behind business jargon and veiled threats. Even without understanding everything, she could tell this wasn't a regular meeting. This was strategy. Territory. Control.

And money. Always money.

The women kept moving through the room like shadows-laughing too loudly, touching too freely. One of them brushed past Ariella's chair, bending over with a smirk that was all too intentional. Her perfume was strong, her body nearly bare.

Ariella shifted slightly in her seat.

Dante noticed.

He didn't speak, but his hand tightened on Ariella's thigh-a silent warning, or maybe a promise. Possession. A reminder she wasn't invisible, not here, not next to him.

One of the men at the far end of the table chuckled. "Didn't think I'd ever see you bring a girl to the table, Romano."

A few more joined in-some amused, others skeptical.

"She's not just a girl," Dante said smoothly, swirling the wine in his glass without looking away from the man who'd spoken. "She's my wife."

The table quieted. Like a pin had dropped.

Ariella felt the stares now, more piercing than before. Some looked surprised. Others clearly didn't know how to react.

"She's young," someone muttered under their breath.

"She's mine," Dante replied, sharp and final.

No one dared say another word about it.

Ariella swallowed hard, fighting the heat crawling up her neck. She wasn't sure if she wanted to thank him or throw her wine in his face.

Instead, she just sat there. Still. Silent. Trapped.

Ariella sat quietly beside Dante, her presence barely acknowledged now that the business discussion had resumed in full force. The men at the table spoke in low tones, voices gruff and confident, numbers and threats tossed around like casual banter. She didn't understand most of it, but what she did catch chilled her-mentions of shipments, territory, payoffs. Power was currency here, and everyone at that table was filthy rich in it.

The strippers moved like silk and smoke under the low lighting, their bodies twisting to the rhythm of the music thumping through the walls. One slid across Dante's side of the table, heels clicking against the glass as she dropped low and flipped her hair, arching toward him with a flirtatious smirk.

Ariella stiffened.

Dante didn't stop her.

He didn't even flinch.

He simply leaned back in his seat, eyes following the dancer with quiet detachment-like she was just another detail in a world he owned. His fingers tapped against his glass of bourbon, and when the woman leaned closer, his hand brushed her hip briefly, signaling nothing... and everything.

Ariella looked away, jaw clenched.

The men around the table laughed and cheered as another dancer joined in, and one of them slapped her ass like it was the most normal thing in the world. Champagne bottles were popped. Smoke curled in the air. It was chaos laced with seduction-and Ariella was stuck in the middle of it, sitting like porcelain in a room full of wolves.

"You get used to it," a voice murmured beside her.

She turned. It was one of the wives-older, beautifully cold, and draped in designer chains like they were armor.

"The girls. The games. The blood on their hands," she added, sipping from her glass. "You either become one of them... or you survive by pretending none of it touches you."

Ariella swallowed, trying to ignore the sound of Dante's low chuckle at something the stripper whispered in his ear. Her stomach turned.

But she didn't leave.

She sat straighter, crossed her legs, and reached for the glass in front of her.

If this was her new world-of champagne and sin, of silence and survival-then she would play her part.

And maybe, one day, become just as dangerous as the man who owned her.

Ariella excused herself quietly, slipping away from the table while the music and laughter masked her exit. The hallway outside the banquet room was dimly lit and lined with abstract artwork-cold, soulless, expensive. She walked briskly, heels clicking against the marble floor as she made her way toward the restroom. The air felt lighter out here, but only slightly. Her head was spinning, heart tight in her chest.

She paused in front of the mirror, gripping the edges of the sink. Her reflection stared back-flushed cheeks, guarded eyes, lips pressed into a thin line. The dress Dante chose for her clung too tight. Everything about tonight felt like a costume, and she was still trying to remember who she was underneath it.

A faint creak behind her.

She froze.

The door didn't click shut behind her.

Slowly, she turned-and her heart sank.

It was one of the men from the table. Slick hair. Snake smile. He had been watching her all night. She felt his gaze long before he ever followed her. Now he was standing in the doorway, eyes raking over her like she was a piece of meat on display.

"Didn't mean to startle you," he said smoothly, stepping inside. "Place like this... it's easy to get lost."

Ariella's spine straightened. "You're in the wrong room."

He chuckled, taking a step closer, hands in his pockets. "Am I?"

Her pulse kicked up. She backed away a little, eyes darting to the door.

"You're Dante Romano's little secret," he murmured. "Funny how he parades you in here like a trophy, but lets you sit silent while the rest of us talk."

He took another step forward, and Ariella could smell the liquor on his breath. "He doesn't deserve something as soft as you."

"Get out," she said, voice sharp.

He smiled wider. "What's he gonna do if I don't?"