Dante Moretti stood before the window, one hand buried in the pocket of his tailored blue suit, the other swirling amber whiskey in a crystal glass. The dim light from the chandelier cut across his face, revealing sharp lines, the cruel precision of a man carved from both elegance and violence.
Behind him, thunder rolled, echoing through the glass walls. In front of him sat a trembling man, his tie loosened, his eyes rimmed red with desperation.
"Fifteen million dollars," Dante said at last, his tone low and measured, like a verdict already decided. "That's what you owe me, Mr. Lane."
The man swallowed hard. "I—I told your people, I just need a little more time...."
"You had six months," Dante interrupted, his words slicing cleanly through the air. "You were granted leniency twice. I don't do thirds."
Thomas Lane, once a proud businessman, now looked like a shadow of himself. His hands shook as he wiped sweat from his brow. The papers on the desk in front of him were already smudged from where his trembling fingers had touched them.
"I can get it, I swear," Thomas pleaded. "Just—just give me a week. Two weeks at most. There's a deal...."
"The deal fell through yesterday." Dante's silver eyes flickered to the documents on his tablet. "Your partners withdrew. Your assets have been seized. Your company, insolvent." He took a sip of whiskey, savoring the quiet crumble of another man's excuses. "Tell me, Thomas, how do you expect to pay me back with nothing left?"
The man's breath came out in a ragged gasp. "Please, I have a daughter....."
"Ah," Dante said softly, setting his glass down. "I know."
His voice dropped, quieter, deadlier. "Aria Lane. Twenty-three. Painter. Graduated from a community art college. No debts. No scandals. Innocent enough." His lips curved slightly, though it wasn't quite a smile. "You see, I always do my research."
Thomas's heart sank. "She has nothing to do with this."
"Everyone connected to you has something to do with this," Dante said, walking around the desk, slow and deliberate. The faint hum of the city's electricity buzzed under his shoes as he stopped in front of the older man. "You made a deal with the devil, Mr. Lane. Don't act surprised when he comes to collect."
Thunder cracked.
And then the elevator doors opened.
Dante didn't turn, but he felt it, the change in the air, the rush of cold wind and rain that followed her inside. Light footsteps. A scent of jasmine and wet hair.
"Dad?"
The voice was soft but steady, cutting through the silence like a fragile blade.
Thomas flinched, his head snapping up. "Aria, no, you shouldn't be here....."
But Dante was already turning.
The woman standing in the doorway was younger than he expected. Soaked from the storm, her auburn hair clung to her pale skin, and her green eyes, striking, defiant, burned like emerald fire under the harsh office lights. She carried herself with a kind of unintentional grace, her presence a ripple of color against the grayness of the room.
Dante's gaze swept over her once, assessing. The artist's daughter. Beautiful. Fragile. And yet, something about her chin, the way it lifted slightly in defiance, made her seem less breakable than most.
"Who are you?" she asked, glaring at him.
"Dante Moretti." He took a step forward, extending his hand. She didn't take it. "Your father's business associate."
"Business associate?" she echoed, skepticism dripping from her tone.
He gave a small laugh, low and humorless. "Let's call it… financial entanglement."
She turned to her father. "Dad, what's going on? You said you were just meeting an investor...."
Thomas's face twisted in shame. "He's not an investor, Aria."
Something inside her went cold. "Then who is he?"
Dante smiled faintly. "I'm the man your father owes fifteen million dollars to."
Aria froze. "Fifteen… million?"
Her father buried his face in his hands.
Dante continued, his voice steady. "Unfortunately, Mr. Lane's time is up. His assets are frozen, and his properties are worthless to me. Which leaves us with a problem."
She swallowed hard, her eyes darting between them. "What kind of problem?"
"The kind that requires… creativity."
He moved back behind his desk, sliding open a drawer. From it, he pulled a black folder, thick, bound, pristine. He placed it on the desk and pushed it toward her with the edge of one hand.
"Consider this an alternative repayment."
Aria hesitated before flipping it open. Her eyes scanned the first line and froze.
"This document hereby constitutes a binding marital agreement between Dante Moretti and Aria Lane…"
Her heartbeat stumbled. "This is a joke."
"No," Dante said, his tone utterly serious. "It's an offer."
"You want me to...." she laughed once, incredulously "—marry you? For money?"
Dante leaned back in his chair. "Don't flatter yourself. This isn't about romance. It's business."
She glared at him, voice rising. "You're insane."
He tilted his head, watching her closely. "You think insanity is doing what's necessary to protect what's mine?"
"You don't even know me!"
"True," he said. "But I know what I need. And I know what your father's debt is worth to you."
Her lips parted, breath catching. "You can't be serious."
"I'm always serious."
She took a shaky step back. "Why me?"
"You're beautiful. You're unconnected to my enemies. And you can play the role." He said it without apology, as if reading from a list. "A wife will make certain business negotiations… smoother. Investors like stability. And I like convenience."
"Convenience," she repeated bitterly. "You want to buy a wife like a new watch."
He smiled faintly. "If the watch fits."
Her father rose suddenly, his voice breaking. "Aria, don't—don't get angry. He's offering to erase everything....."
She turned on him. "You're seriously considering this?"
Thomas's hands shook. "If you don't… they'll kill me, Aria. They'll kill us both."
The air went still.
Aria's heart hammered in her chest. She looked at her father, the man who used to carry her on his shoulders, who taught her to paint skies and cityscapes and saw nothing but ruin, his guilt, his weakness, his surrender.
Her gaze snapped back to Dante. "You threatened him."
"I made him an offer," Dante corrected, his tone calm, unbothered. "One that keeps him alive."
"You're disgusting."
He didn't flinch. "You'll find disgust is the least of what I am."
For a moment, only the rain filled the silence. Then Dante rose from his chair and came around the desk again, each step deliberate, controlled. When he stopped in front of her, the difference in their height and presence was almost overwhelming.
"Look at me," he said quietly.
She refused.
"Aria." His voice softened, but there was an edge beneath it, something that commanded obedience. Slowly, reluctantly, she lifted her eyes to his.
What she saw there made her breath hitch. Not warmth. Not cruelty, exactly. But power, the kind of power that didn't need to shout to be obeyed.
He reached out and brushed his thumb over the edge of the torn contract on the desk, his gaze steady on hers. "You have until tomorrow night to decide. One year of your life for your father's freedom."
Her jaw tightened. "And if I refuse?"
He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Then I collect in blood."
The words landed heavy, final, like a signature carved into stone.
Aria stepped back, trembling. "You think this makes you powerful? You're nothing but a bully in a suit."
Dante's lips curved in a small, dark smirk. "You mistake me for something human."
"Then what are you?" she demanded.
He looked at her, really looked and for just a heartbeat, something unreadable flashed in his eyes. Pain. Memory. Then it was gone.
"I'm the consequence people pray to avoid," he said softly. "And the one they always end up meeting."
A shiver raced down her spine.
When she didn't speak, Dante straightened, slipping his hands into his pockets. "You can leave now. Think it over. But remember this, if you walk away, the next time you see your father, it'll be in a coffin."
Aria's hand flew to her mouth. "You wouldn't."
He didn't respond. He didn't need to.
The silence said everything.
Thomas reached for her, but she jerked away, tears burning her eyes. "You did this," she whispered. "You sold me before I even walked in."
"Aria—"
She turned and walked out before he could finish, her heels clicking against the marble like gunshots.
The elevator doors slid shut behind her.
For a long moment, Dante stood in the dim light, the echo of her scent still lingering. The sound of the rain outside softened, but the storm in his chest didn't.
He picked up the torn half of the contract she'd left behind, running his thumb along the ripped edge.
"Fiery," he murmured to himself. "I almost forgot what that looks like."
Then, with a flick of his wrist, he dropped the papers into the fireplace.
Flames roared to life, devouring her defiance.