Dahlia’s POV

The sound ripped through the hall—loud, sharp, and terrifying. For a moment, no one moved. Then another shot followed, and another. Glass shattered, people screamed, and the whole room broke into chaos. Guests scattered in every direction, tables flipped, chairs crashed to the ground.

My heart stopped. My legs felt weak. I didn’t even know where to run.

Then I felt a strong hand grab my arm. I gasped as I was yanked down to the floor, my glass slipping from my fingers and shattering beside me.

“Lay low,” Luca growled, his voice deep and rough in my ear. His body pressed close, shielding me. The scent of gunpowder and cologne filled my nose, and my pulse pounded so hard it hurt.

I ducked my head, trembling as more shots echoed through the air. Screams bounced off the walls, and all I could see were flashes of movement—men in suits running, people crying, and Luca’s cold eyes scanning the room like he was ready to kill whoever came near us.

Somewhere deep inside me, one thought kept repeating over and over.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

This wasn’t supposed to be my life.

From his waistband, Luca drew a sleek black gun. My breath caught. I couldn’t look away as he stood up, tall and steady, his body still between me and the chaos. The sound of his gun filled the air—sharp, deafening cracks that made my ears ring and my stomach twist.

All around us, his men moved fast, like they’d done this a hundred times before. They pulled out their weapons, shouting to each other as they returned fire. Tables flipped over, wood splintering as bullets tore through them. I pressed my face to the floor, shaking so badly my teeth chattered. My heart slammed against my ribs, too fast, too loud.

Then I looked up—and saw him.

Luca. My husband. The man I had just married.

He stood there like the world around him wasn’t falling apart. Calm. Cold. Completely in control. His hand didn’t even tremble as he fired another shot. And when one of the attackers fell, Luca didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. He just turned slightly, scanning for the next one.

It was like watching death itself move through the room.

His dark eyes moved around the room, checking everything like he was counting the danger one by one. He didn’t look scared at all. Not even a little. He just started giving orders, calm and serious, and his men listened to him immediately. They moved quickly, cleaning up the mess and securing the place like they had done this a hundred times before.

I stood there shaking. My hands were on my face and I could barely breathe. My heart was racing so fast it hurt. Everything felt unreal—the noise, the smell, the fear. I couldn’t believe this was happening.

Then he reached for me.

His hand wrapped around mine—warm and strong. I felt it right through me, like a small shock that made my breath catch. His grip wasn’t rough. It was firm, steady, like he was saying without words that I was safe now. I didn’t know why, but that made me want to cry.

He pulled me to my feet, slow but sure. I stumbled because the floor was slippery with broken candles and petals, but he didn’t let go. He held my arm and kept me close, guiding me through the mess like it was nothing. My wedding dress was heavy and tangled, brushing against my legs, and I could feel sweat sticking it to my skin.

The black Range Rover was parked just ahead, shining under the broken lights like something out of a different world.

Luca walked beside me, his steps long and confident. His men were all around us, their faces serious, holding guns and watching every corner. The air smelled like gunpowder and smoke, mixed with the faint scent of flowers that somehow survived all of it.

I didn’t say a word. I just followed him, trying not to think, trying not to fall apart.

After what felt like forever, even though it was probably just a few minutes, we got to his mansion. It was huge. The walls were dark, the gates tall and heavy, and the windows shone like mirrors in the sunlight. The driveway was long, with neat green bushes on both sides. I felt a shiver run through me as I looked at the house. This was where I was supposed to stay now. With him. Alone.

My stomach twisted just thinking about it. I had only just met this man. I had only said “yes” because I had to. And now I was supposed to live in his house, like his wife. What if he didn’t believe I was Denise? What if he found out the truth and decided to kill me?

When he opened the car door for me, I didn’t move right away. My legs felt weak. I looked around, scared, not sure what to do. Then Luca looked at me. His dark eyes were calm but serious, and when he said, “Come,” his voice was soft but firm. I couldn’t say no.

I stepped out of the car. The gravel made a crunching sound under my shoes. The air was cool and made me shiver again. Each step toward the house felt heavier than the last. I felt so small next to him, so scared and unsure.

Inside, the house was even bigger. The air felt cold and quiet. The floors were shiny, and the furniture looked really expensive. Everything looked perfect—too perfect. Like a place where I didn’t belong.

An older woman came out from one of the halls. Her hair was gray and tied up neatly. She wore a black dress that looked like a uniform. Her face was calm, but her eyes looked sharp, like she noticed everything.

“Mr. Romano,” she said in a soft voice, bowing her head.

Luca didn’t smile. He didn’t even nod. He just said, “Take her upstairs.”

The woman looked at me, waiting. I slowly started walking toward her, my heart beating fast.

Then, his hand closed over mine. Strong. Commanding. Warm. But when I looked at him, my chest froze.

He didn’t smile. He didn’t soften his gaze. He just leaned a fraction closer and said words that made my stomach twist painfully:

“Go upstairs and wait for me… naked.”

Dahlia’s POV

Time seemed to stop. My mouth went dry. My legs felt like they had turned to jelly. I couldn’t think. I wanted to pull my hand away, to step back, to scream, but the fear in his eyes and the power in his voice made me freeze in place.

My heart raced so fast it felt like it would explode. What… what did he just say? I thought, my mind spinning. Is he serious? Is this real?

The housekeeper glanced at him and then back at me. She didn’t say anything, didn’t blink. It was as if she expected me to obey without question.

I could feel the weight of Luca’s gaze on me, dark and intense, like he was watching not just my body, but my thoughts too. Every instinct in me screamed to run, but the thought of leaving the house, of disobeying him, was terrifying.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry, trying to steady my shaking legs. My mind raced with a million thoughts: I just met this man. I barely know him. And now… now he’s asking me to… My stomach churned, and cold sweat broke out across my skin.

I forced my legs to move, one shaky step at a time, following the housekeeper who walked quietly in front of me. She didn’t look back to check on me, but somehow I could feel she knew how scared I was. The silence wrapped around us, making the sound of our footsteps louder, almost too loud. My heels clicked softly against the marble floor, and every sound seemed to bounce off the tall walls of the mansion.

Finally, she stopped at one of the doors near the end of the hallway. It was tall and made of dark wood, with a gold handle that caught the light. She turned to me, her expression calm, though there was something in her eyes—something I couldn’t quite name.

“My name is Mrs. Cruz,” she said softly, her voice calm and almost motherly, though I could tell she was choosing her words carefully. “This is Mr. Romano’s room… and yours as well.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, though the words sounded thin and broken, like they weren’t really mine.

I reached for the golden handle with trembling fingers, trying to steady my breathing, but before I could push the door open, Mrs. Cruz leaned closer. Her face softened, and for the first time I saw real emotion in her eyes.

“Obey Mr. Romano,” she whispered, her tone quiet, almost secretive, like she didn’t want anyone else to hear. But there was sympathy in her voice, heavy and clear, like she was warning me and pitying me at the same time.

Without another word, she stepped back and gave me a small nod before walking away, her footsteps fading down the long hall.

With a small push, I forced the door open, the hinges groaning softly like they were warning me not to enter.

The room stretched out before me like something out of a nightmare and a dream at the same time. It was massive, too big for one person. The walls were painted in dark, brooding colors—shadows clung to the corners as if even the light from the chandelier above dared not chase them away. A faint smell of expensive cologne lingered in the air, mixed with leather and something metallic I couldn’t name, but it made my stomach twist.

My eyes landed on the bed, and I froze. It was huge, draped in sheets so dark they almost blended with the shadows. The headboard was tall, carved wood that looked older than me, and the pillows were arranged perfectly, not a crease out of place. The bed was the kind of thing that demanded attention, like it knew what it was meant for. My cheeks burned at the thought, and my heart thumped louder.

Go upstairs and wait for me. Naked.

His words kept playing in my head again and again until I felt lightheaded. I stood there in the middle of the room, shaking a little, my hands cold and clammy. My fingers reached for the zipper at the back of my wedding dress. I touched it, felt the cool metal under my skin, but I couldn’t pull it down. I just couldn’t. My chest felt tight, and it was suddenly hard to breathe.

I turned away from the mirror and walked to the big window instead. The view outside was beautiful—tall trees, a wide driveway, the sun slowly setting—but all I could think was what if I ran? What if I just opened that window and jumped out? Could I make it? Would anyone stop me?

My thoughts were all over the place when the sound of the door opening made me freeze. My heart jumped to my throat.

“Denise,” his voice said from behind me. Deep. Calm. Dangerous.

For a moment, I didn’t even answer. I had forgotten that was supposed to be my name now. When I finally turned around, he was standing by the door, still in his black suit, still as stone. His eyes—dark, unreadable—found me instantly. The air in the room shifted, heavy and cold.

“Why are you still wearing your clothes?” His voice was low, quiet—but it carried through the room like a threat. “Did you not hear what I told you to do?”

Dahlia’s POV

I froze. My mouth opened, but nothing came out. My tongue felt dry, useless.

He moved before I could think. One sharp step, then another, and suddenly he was in front of me. His hand shot out, wrapping around my throat. The grip was firm—tight enough to make my breath catch, to remind me how easily he could crush me if he wanted to.

His face was close now, so close I could feel his breath on my cheek. It wasn’t fast or angry. It was calm. Too calm. That made it worse.

“You’ve been acting strange all day,” he said quietly, his eyes burning into mine. “Why?”

My heart was pounding so loud I could barely hear my own voice. “I—I’m just nervous,” I stammered. “That’s all.”

His fingers pressed slightly harder. “Nervous?” His mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “You should be.”

I swallowed hard, trying not to shake.

Then his eyes narrowed, and his next words sent ice straight through my veins.

“Where’s your sister?” he asked slowly. “Why didn’t Dahlia come to the wedding?”

For a second, my blood ran cold. But then—relief. If he was asking about Dahlia, he still thought I was Denise.

“She—she went off to college,” I said quickly, forcing the lie out before I could trip over it. “She couldn’t make it.”

He said nothing. Just stared at me. The silence stretched so long I could hear the soft ticking of the clock, the faint sound of the wind outside. My pulse thudded painfully in my neck where his fingers had been.

Finally, after what felt like forever, he released me. Slowly. Deliberately. His hand slid away, and I felt the ghost of his touch burning on my skin.

Without saying a word, he turned and walked to the chair near the corner. The way he moved—calm, controlled, like a predator that had already decided I wasn’t worth killing yet—made my stomach twist.

He sat down, poured himself a glass of whisky, and took a slow sip. The sound of the liquid hitting the glass was almost too loud in the quiet room.

Then he looked up at me again—those same cold, sharp eyes—and said, “Next time I give you an order, you’ll obey it immediately. Do you understand?”

I nodded quickly, too scared to speak.

He leaned back in his chair, still watching me. “Good,” he said softly. “Now, take off your clothes… Get on that bed. And spread your legs and don’t make me ask twice.”

The words weren’t shouted. They didn’t need to be. The quiet threat behind them was enough to make my knees feel weak.

For the first time in my life, I really understood what it meant to be trapped. There was no door to run to, no window to climb out from. Just me… and him. My hands were shaking so badly I could hardly breathe.

I reached behind me for the zipper of my dress, my fingers slipping against the metal. It took me a few tries before I finally caught it. I pulled it down slowly, every sound it made cutting through the quiet room like a scream. The dress loosened and slid off my shoulders, falling to the floor in a soft heap. Cold air hit my skin and I shivered, standing there in only my bra and panties.

I could feel his eyes on me. Heavy. Unblinking. Watching every tiny movement I made. My skin prickled under that stare, like invisible hands were touching me. I wanted to cover myself, to hide, but I couldn’t move.

My hands went to the clasp of my bra, and for a moment I froze. I bit down hard on my lip, tasting blood. I didn’t want to do it, but I knew I had no choice. He was watching, waiting for me to obey. With a shaky breath, I unhooked it. The straps slid down my arms and the bra fell to the floor. I quickly crossed my arms over my chest, my cheeks burning with shame.

I couldn’t take off my panties. I just couldn’t. It was the only thing left keeping me from feeling completely exposed. The only piece of myself I still had.

He had told me to get on the bed, but my legs wouldn’t move. They felt stiff, like they didn’t belong to me anymore. My knees trembled so badly I thought I might fall. My heart was pounding too fast, too loud. I was terrified of what he might do if I actually obeyed.

Before I could think of what to say, the chair scraped against the floor. The sound made me jump. He stood up slowly, towering over me. His footsteps were steady, heavy, almost lazy—but they made my chest tighten more with every step he took.

He didn’t look away. Not even for a second.

By the time he stopped right in front of me, I couldn’t even breathe properly. My chest rose and fell fast, and it felt like the air had gotten too thick to swallow. His face was so close now that I could see every line, every hard edge of anger in his eyes. They were dark and cold, the kind of eyes that made you feel like you were nothing. Like he could break you if he wanted to—and he wouldn’t even think twice about it.

Before I could even blink, his hand shot out and grabbed my arm.