Rain blurred the city into streaks of light.
Elena's wrists ached from fighting. She had stopped only because it changed nothing.
Across from her in the back of the car sat Alessandro De Luca.
Unmoving.
Untouched by chaos.
The interior smelled of leather and quiet power. The windows were tinted black, sealing her away from the world she knew.
"You can't do this," she said, her voice steadier now. Anger felt better than fear.
"I already have," he replied without looking at her.
His calmness made her pulse spike.
"You're insane if you think I'll play obedient wife."
A faint smirk touched his lips.
"I don't want obedience."
"Then what do you want?"
Now he looked at her.
Fully.
Slowly.
"You."
Her breath hitched again — not from fear this time, but from the way he said it.
Like a decision already carved in stone.
The car slowed.
Massive iron gates opened ahead.
The De Luca estate.
It wasn't a house.
It was a fortress.
High stone walls. Armed guards. Security lights cutting through the rain like blades.
The gates closed behind them with a final metallic clang.
Trapped.
The car stopped beneath a covered entrance. Before she could react, her door opened.
Alessandro stepped out first.
Then he offered his hand to her.
Not to help.
To claim.
She stared at it.
"I'm not your wife."
His eyes darkened slightly.
"You signed the moment you chose your father."
Her jaw clenched. She stepped out without touching him.
Inside, the mansion was worse.
Marble floors.
Crystal chandeliers.
Silence that felt expensive.
Power lived here.
And she did not belong.
A woman in her late forties approached — elegant, composed.
"Everything is prepared," she said to Alessandro.
Prepared.
Elena's stomach twisted.
"You're staying in the east wing," Alessandro said.
"I'm not staying."
His gaze sharpened.
"You are until the wedding."
Wedding.
The word echoed like a prison sentence.
"And if I try to leave?"
He stepped closer.
Close enough that her back nearly brushed the marble pillar behind her.
"You won't."
That certainty again.
"I will," she whispered defiantly.
Something flickered in his expression — irritation? Amusement?
"Try," he said softly.
For a second, she thought he wanted her to.
That thought unsettled her more than the kidnapping.
He turned to leave.
"Wait," she demanded.
He paused.
"You said this isn't about money anymore," she said. "So what is it about?"
Silence stretched between them.
The staff had disappeared.
The guards had retreated.
Only the two of them remained in the vast marble hall.
Alessandro walked back toward her slowly.
Each step controlled.
Measured.
Dangerous.
"You don't remember," he said quietly.
Her brows furrowed. "Remember what?"
His eyes searched her face.
As if looking for something that had once existed there.
Then—
"You will."
Before she could respond, he reached out.
His fingers brushed a strand of wet hair from her cheek.
The touch was brief.
But electricity shot down her spine.
She slapped his hand away instantly.
"Don't touch me."
His jaw tightened.
But he didn't react violently.
Instead, he leaned closer.
His voice lowered.
"You will learn," he murmured, "that I do not repeat myself."
Her heart pounded — but she refused to step back.
"I would rather die than belong to you."
That did it.
For the first time, real emotion surfaced in his eyes.
Not anger.
Not cruelty.
Something darker.
"You won't die," he said quietly.
His hand moved suddenly — gripping her waist firmly.
Pulling her flush against him.
She gasped.
The heat of his body shocked her.
His other hand cupped her jaw — not gently.
Not painfully.
Controlling.
"If you ever speak of dying again," he whispered against her lips, "I will show you exactly how much I intend to keep you alive."
Her breath trembled.
The tension between them snapped tight.
For one dangerous second, she thought he might kiss her.
Instead—
He released her.
Stepped back.
Mask back in place.
"The wedding is in seven days," he said calmly. "You will behave."
"I won't."
A small, almost private smile curved his mouth.
"We'll see."
He turned and walked away.
Leaving her alone in the massive hall.
Alone in a golden cage.
But as she stood there shaking, one thought refused to leave her mind:
He hadn't denied it.
He hadn't denied that this was planned.
And somehow—
Somehow—
He looked at her like she had always been his.