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.

Dahlia’s POV

I gasped from the pain and shock. His grip was tight, rough, like he wasn’t even trying to be gentle. I tried to pull away, but he didn’t budge. It was like trying to fight a wall. My voice caught in my throat; I wanted to scream, but no sound came out.

Then he shoved me—hard. My body stumbled backward until I hit the bed behind me. The mattress dipped under me as I landed, my breath leaving my chest in a quick gasp. My heart was pounding so fast it hurt. I could hear it thudding in my ears, loud and desperate, like it was begging me to run even though my body wouldn’t move.

I looked up at him, terrified, and for a second, I thought maybe he would stop. Maybe he would just walk away. But then he moved closer, climbing onto the bed. I shut my eyes quickly, tears spilling down my cheeks. My whole body shook.

Was this really happening? Was he really going to take advantage of me? The thought made my stomach twist. I could barely breathe as fear settled over me like a heavy blanket I couldn’t escape. I wanted to disappear—to wake up and realize this was all some terrible dream—but I knew it wasn’t. This was real. Too real.

He held my hands above my head, pinning me down with his weight. "Denise," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "Why are you feeling shy all of a sudden? Last time we met, you practically begged me to fuck you. So what's changed?"

"Please," I whimpered, trying to shrink back from him. "Please let me go. I'm begging you."

"Why should I?" he sneered, his eyes glinting with a cruel, hungry light. "Why shouldn't I fuck my own wife?"

I shook my head frantically, tears now streaming down my face. "Please," I begged again, my voice barely above a whisper. "Please don't do this. I'm begging you."

He just laughed, a harsh, cruel sound that sent chills down my spine. "Begging won't help you now," he sneered, his eyes glinting with a malicious light. "You are my wife and you now belong to me."

I knew I had to think of something, anything, to make him stop. My mind raced frantically, searching for an excuse, a lie, anything that might save me from what was about to happen. And then, suddenly, it came to me.

"I...I'm on my period," I stammered, hoping against hope that he would believe me. "I'm sorry, I should have told you earlier. But please, you can't...you can't do this to me right now."

For a moment, he just stared at me. His face didn’t show anything—no anger, no softness, nothing at all. I couldn’t even read what he was thinking, and that scared me more. My chest rose and fell too fast, and I held my breath without realizing it. I was praying deep inside, hoping he would believe my lie, even though a part of me knew it was stupid to think he would. He was a mafia don, not some regular man you could fool easily. People like him didn’t just stop because you begged.

The silence stretched between us, heavy and cold. My heart was beating so loudly it felt like he could hear it. I kept my eyes on his, waiting for him to get angry, waiting for him to do something worse.

To my surprise, he leaned away

But then, he leaned in close, his breath hot against my ear. "Don't think this is over," he whispered, his voice low and menacing. "You may have gotten lucky this time, but mark my words, Denise - I will fuck you soon. Hard. Whenever and however I like. And you will enjoy it because you belong to me. Every part of you. Your mouth. Your pussy. Your ass."

With that, he stood up from the bed, his movements sharp and angry. I watched him, frozen, my heart still beating too fast. He didn’t even look at me as he walked toward the door. His footsteps were heavy, echoing in the quiet room. Then he grabbed the door handle and slammed it shut so hard the walls seemed to shake.

I lay there for a few seconds, too scared to move. My body was trembling all over, and I could hear my own breathing—shaky and uneven. The room felt colder now, emptier, but his presence still lingered like smoke. I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to calm my heartbeat, but it didn’t help much.

His words kept replaying in my head, every tone, every look he gave me. It made me shiver again. But there was also this strange feeling in my chest—confusion. Why did he stop? Why did he let me go just because I said I was on my period?

If he was really as cruel and heartless as everyone said he was, then he wouldn’t have cared. He could’ve done whatever he wanted. So why didn’t he?

I wiped my tears with the back of my hand, staring up at the ceiling. Maybe he wasn’t as bad as they said. Or maybe… maybe he was just waiting for the right time.