The sound of the slap cracked through the Thorn estate like a whip in a cathedral.
Everyone stopped moving.
Gerald's jaw went slack. Lucinda gasped, fingers flying to her lips. Even Cassandra, who had worn a smug little smirk all evening, looked momentarily stunned. David's eyes flicked nervously to Lorenzo, as if he expected bloodshed to follow.
But Don Lorenzo Rossi didn't raise his voice. Didn't recoil. Didn't blink.
No. What he did was far more unsettling.
He smiled.
It wasn't warm. It wasn't forgiving. It curled slowly along the edge of his lips, quiet and ominous, the kind of smile that meant something dangerous had just caught his interest.
Mariluna's breath came fast, her pulse racing in her throat. Her fingers still tingled from the slap, the heat of it fading fast, but it wasn't her hand that trembled, it was something deeper, somewhere in her chest. Lorenzo took a step forward. Then another. Even without touching her, the heat of him pressed in, heavy, like a storm rolling in off the sea.
"You hit me," he said, voice low, calm, almost amused.
"You grabbed me," she shot back, chin lifted.
He laughed. It was soft, almost silky, but there was nothing gentle in it. "I've faced men who've tried to stab me in the back. Watched traitors drown in their own blood. And yet," he paused, voice dipping just slightly, "I've never had a girl slap me in front of witnesses."
His hand rose, and she flinched, just slightly, but he didn't strike. Instead, he gently moved a strand of hair away from her cheek, revealing the sharp line of her jaw.
He leaned in until his breath warmed her skin. "You're either very brave," he murmured, "or very stupid."
"Or maybe just very tired of being used," she replied through gritted teeth.
That made him pause. His gaze lingered on her face, searching for something,
, weakness, maybe, or fear, but she held firm. Around her, the world remained flat and dull, drained of color for years, but this man standing before her? He was vividly sharp, too sharp.
Behind them, Gerald awkwardly cleared his throat. "M-Mr. Rossi… about the agreement…"
Lorenzo didn't break eye contact with Mariluna until he spoke. "I'll sign it," he said. "But the girl comes with me. Now."
"She, she hasn't even packed a bag," Lucinda stammered.
"She won't need anything," Lorenzo replied, already turning. "I'll make sure she's provided for."
David stepped forward and handed him the folder. Lorenzo signed with swift, practiced strokes. "This deal is binding," he said, his voice suddenly glacial. "Break it, and you'll regret it, briefly."
"Understood," Gerald nodded quickly, his hands trembling.
Mariluna turned her head toward the people who had once called themselves her family. Not one of them looked at her now. No one said goodbye. No tears. No words.
Cassandra wore her smugness like perfume. Gerald looked like a man who'd just offloaded a burden. And Lucinda, ever cold, stared with her arms folded, already planning her next move.
Mariluna didn't cry.
Not because she wasn't hurt, but because there was nothing left to grieve.
Lorenzo extended a hand toward her. It was a quiet invitation. His fingers were long, precise, measured control in human form.
She didn't take it.
She walked past him instead, her spine straight, her chin high. If this was her fate, she would walk toward it on her own terms.
Lorenzo fell into step behind her, his presence dark and sure, like a shadow with purpose.
The ride was quiet. The interior of the car smelled like wealth, leather, cologne, something old and polished. Mariluna sat rigid, arms crossed, gaze fixed out the tinted window. The passing world blurred in shades of gray.
Lorenzo sat across from her, observing.
No tears. No begging. No false sweetness. He'd expected dramatics from the older girl, Cassandra, yes, but this one… this one was all fire veiled in frost.
"What's your name?" he asked at last, voice calm.
She didn't answer.
"I'll find out anyway," he said, leaning forward just a little.
"Mariluna," she replied flatly. "Not that it matters. I'm just part of a deal, right?"
"Wrong." He studied her. "You were a transaction. Now you belong to me."
Her nails bit into her palms. "I'm not a possession."
"Everything can be bought," he said, a little too easily. "Even people."
"You must be incredibly lonely," she snapped.
His smile returned, this one more frigid than the last. "Loneliness is for fools. Power keeps better company."
Soon, they arrived.
The estate loomed like something from a darker time, grand, yes, but fortified. Gated, guarded. A mansion pretending to be a palace, but built like a prison. The kind of place where secrets were meant to stay hidden.
David opened the door. Maids lined the entrance, heads bowed, lips tight. No one greeted her. No one smiled.
"She stays in the East Wing," Lorenzo instructed, already striding through the entry. "Two guards at the door. No one enters without my permission."
Mariluna stared at him. "So it's a cage after all."
"It's sanctuary," he corrected, not bothering to glance back. "Until I say otherwise."
She didn't speak. She walked.
Past the guards. Past the maids. Past the luxury she couldn't care less about.
The room was beautiful. Gilded edges. Velvet drapes. A massive bed, enough to get lost in. Old oil paintings stared down at her from the walls.
But it wasn't home. It never would be.
That night, she sat by the tall window, watching the still forest outside. Her arms wrapped around her knees. The silence felt too thick. Her heart heavy. Her world still gray. Her body might've been safe,for now, but her soul hovered at the edge of something darker.
A knock interrupted the quiet.
She didn't answer.
The door opened anyway.
Lorenzo stood there, shadowed by the light behind him.
"I've made a decision," he said.
She turned to face him.
"You won't be a toy," he told her, voice unreadable. "You'll be something else."
A chill spread through her.
"What?"
He looked her in the eyes, sharp and unwavering. "You'll be my wife."
The words slammed into her like a punch.
Married? To him?
To a monster in tailored suits, a king of blood and shadow?
No. No, this couldn't be real. She opened her mouth to protest,
But he was already gone. The door shut behind him with a quiet finality that echoed louder than any shout.
A sound that felt like fate.