Valentina's POV:
The first thing she felt was disorientation. The second was terror.
Valentina's eyes flew open. The ceiling above her was unfamiliar — too ornate, too perfect. Her pulse thundered in her ears.
Where—?
She sat up sharply, breath catching. The sheets slipped off her body, revealing a soft cotton nightdress she didn't remember putting on.
Her skin crawled.
Someone changed me.He changed me.
Her feet hit the cold floor. She staggered once, gripping the edge of the mattress, heart racing so fast it felt like it might rip through her chest. The room — the light — the silence — it was all too still.
No screams. No alarms. No chains. Just this velvet-coated cage.
She stumbled toward the window, yanked open the curtain.
High walls. Trees. Nothing but distant birdsong and manicured calm.
It made her feel sick.
She clutched the windowsill, trying to breathe, trying to focus.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. You're not dead. You're not ruined. Not yet.
You survived. Again.
Her vision blurred for a moment. Panic swelled in her throat like a scream she couldn't afford to release.
Then something shifted.
Not peace. But clarity.
A calm that didn't feel comforting — just... cold.
Sharp-edged.
You're still in the game, she thought. He hasn't won.
She wiped at her face, surprised to find no tears.
Just heat, rage. And something deeper: resolve.
You'll get out. You'll get Isabella out. You'll make sure this ends.
But this time... not with running.
You'll smile. You'll kiss. You'll play the perfect partner.
And then? You'll shatter him from the inside.
And that's when the idea hit her.
Break his trust.
The one thing Dante valued more than obedience. More than control.Trust.
He wants peace? I'll give him peace.I'll be soft. Sweet. Gentle.And when he believes I've finally submitted—I'll rip the floor out from under him.
She walked to the wardrobe, her steps steadier now. A yellow summer dress caught her eye.
Innocent. Warm. Sunshine incarnate.
A lie.
She pulled it on, her hands only slightly trembling now. Not from fear.From precision.
She sat at the vanity, brushing her hair slowly. Her reflection looked... different.
Not like a victim.
Not like prey.
Like someone ready to trap the trapper.
Just as she reached for the bracelet lying near the mirror, the door creaked open.
She turned sharply.
Dante.
Barefoot. Hair messy. Shirt slightly wrinkled. And worse—his eyes looked… soft.
He stepped inside slowly, voice low. "You're awake."
She didn't move. Just stared.
"I didn't knock," he added, glancing away like he was ashamed. "I know I should have. I just—needed to see you."
Her throat tightened.
He stepped closer, slowly, each step calculating.
And then, gently, he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind.
She froze. Not from fear. From calculation.
This is your angle, her mind whispered. He wants softness. Vulnerability. Trust. Give it to him.
His breath brushed her ear as he spoke. "About yesterday… I'm sorry. I was angry. I lost myself again. And I promised I'd never do that to you."
He held her tighter. But not roughly. Not like before.
More like he was afraid she might slip through his fingers if he wasn't careful.
"I don't want us to live in war anymore," he murmured. "I want to try again. A second chance. We could… be normal."
She stared at their reflection in the mirror.
His arms around her. The yellow dress. Her bare feet on cold marble.
A picture of peace.
A perfect lie.
You want a second chance? I'll give you one, she thought, eyes steady.
I'll give you comfort, and warmth, and smiles. And when the time comes, I'll leave you broken.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for his hand, playing the part.
"What do you want from me?" she whispered.
"I want you," he said simply. "To trust me again. To stay."
And I want your password. Your secrets. Your blind spot, she thought silently.
"I'll try," she said softly. "Let's try."
He kissed her shoulder. "You look beautiful in yellow."
She smiled — soft and slow.
But her eyes stayed cold in the mirror.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
The hallway was too quiet, but the morning light spilled soft and warm, making everything feel like the start of something new.
Downstairs, the long dining table was already set for breakfast. Ten plates. One king at the head. Eight shadows in suits. One empty chair beside him.
My chair.
I paused at the doorway, barefoot and glowing in the soft morning light, watching the subtle tension dissolve as Dante's eyes finally found mine.
He didn't blink.
Didn't breathe.
He just watched.
His usual dangerous edge was gone this morning, replaced by something softer—something full of quiet wonder.
I gave him the smile I'd practiced—the one that told him everything was fine.
"I hope I didn't keep you waiting," I said softly.
He stood and pulled my chair back with a tenderness that caught me off guard.
"You're never kept waiting in this house, Valentina," he said quietly, voice warm and steady, without a hint of harshness.
I sat beside him, not across, close enough to feel the steady pulse of his presence. The others began eating, the quiet clink of cutlery filling the room, but I let the silence between us stretch thin and fragile.
Halfway through breakfast, I turned to him, tilting my chin just right. My voice was sweet, but careful.
"Dante?"
He didn't look at me right away, cutting into his toast slowly, savoring the moment.
"Yes, tesoro?"
"I'd like to go shopping today."
He tensed for a moment.
"I promise to behave. No running. No hiding. Just… something bright. I've been wearing too much black lately." I brushed my fingers lightly against his wrist. "I think you'd like me in something… softer."
His jaw clenched, then relaxed.
And then, slow and real—a smile.
Not the usual cold smirk.
Not a mask.
A smile filled with love.
"You may go," he said softly. "But you'll be escorted. Four guards. No exceptions."
I returned his smile, sweet and practiced.
"Thank you."
A small pang hit me as I glanced toward the window, thinking of Isabella — my only real refuge, the one person who could see through the masks.
I need to talk to her. Soon. Before this act consumes me completely.
But for now, I stayed—smiling, pretending, playing my part.
___________________________________________________________________________________
The soft glow of evening wrapped around the house like a whispered secret. Valentina was just about to settle in when a gentle knock came at her door.
The maid stepped inside, bowing with practiced politeness. "Sir has requested your presence in ten minutes, ma'am. He said to wear something comfortable."
Her eyes held a quiet firmness before she bowed again and slipped away.
Valentina stood frozen for a heartbeat, the words hanging heavy in the still air.
What will he want now? Her heart fluttered beneath the calm mask she wore so well. Another test? A new game? Or something I can't yet see?
Her fingers brushed over the soft fabric of her night suit laid out on the bed. Play along. Just play along. The mantra echoed in her mind. Keep him close. Keep control. Don't let him see the cracks beneath.
She slipped into the comfortable clothes—soft, unassuming—everything to appear easy and unthreatening. Smoothing back her hair, she caught her reflection for a brief second and forced a small, unreadable smile.
This is just a part to play. A mask I wear so well.
Downstairs, the grand entrance loomed ahead.
Two silent men opened the door for her as she stepped through, their presence both reassuring and intimidating.
And then she saw him.
Dante.
Casual. Relaxed.
Wearing simple clothes, scrolling through his phone, waiting like any other man might.
Not the ruthless king. Not the dangerous predator.
Just a man.
And for a split second—just a fleeting heartbeat—something inside her softened.
That casual ease, the quiet normalcy of him, stole her heart for once.
But the moment passed as quickly as it came.
She straightened her spine, the hard shell snapping back into place.
No. Not yet. Not now.
Because she knew—always knew—that beneath the calm, there was a storm waiting to break her.
She took a breath and stepped forward, the soft sound of her slippers echoing quietly in the hall.
Dante looked up from his phone.
Their eyes met.
And in that instant, everything hung on a knife's edge.
What would come next?