The rain had stopped by the afternoon, leaving behind a cold, clinging fog that crawled over the cliffs of the Moretti estate.
Elena stood in the center of the vast, minimalist bedroom, looking at the black box Maria had left on the bed. Inside was a dress—midnight blue, heavy silk, and cut so perfectly it looked like it had been molded for her. There was no note. Only a set of diamond earrings that caught the dim light like shards of ice.
"He expects you downstairs in twenty minutes," Maria said from the doorway. Her voice was flat, but her eyes lingered on the bruise-colored circles under Elena's eyes. "The gala at the Savoy. Everyone who was someone to the Vances will be there."
Elena's heart skipped a beat. A public appearance. This was the second part of the debt—not just staying in his house, but being paraded in front of the people who had cheered for her family's downfall.
"I can't go," Elena whispered, her fingers trembling as she touched the silk. "They'll... they'll tear me apart."
"Mr. Moretti doesn't accept 'can't'," Maria replied, then turned and left, the click of her heels sounding like a countdown.
The lobby of the Savoy Hotel was a cathedral of gold leaf and champagne bubbles. As Elena stepped out of the black sedan, the flashes of the paparazzi hit her like physical blows. She felt exposed, a sacrificial lamb in midnight blue.
Then, a heavy, warm hand settled on the small of her back.
Dante was standing beside her, looking lethal in a bespoke tuxedo. The scar on his jaw seemed sharper tonight, a stark reminder of the violence he had survived. He didn't look at her, but his grip was firm, grounding her.
"Chin up, Elena," he murmured, his voice a low vibration near her ear. "Don't give them the satisfaction of seeing you shake. You're with me now."
The ballroom fell silent as they entered. It was a vacuum of sound, followed by a tidal wave of whispers. Elena saw them—the faces of her father's former board members, the socialites who used to beg for an invite to her birthday parties. Now, their eyes were filled with a mixture of pity and malicious curiosity.
"Is that... Elena Vance?"
"I heard she was sold at an auction. Look at who she's with."
"Moretti. The dog finally came back for the bone."
Elena felt the blood drain from her face. She tried to pull away, to find a corner to hide in, but Dante's hand tightened on her waist, pulling her flush against his side. The heat of his body was the only thing keeping her from collapsing.
"Dante, please," she breathed, her voice cracking. "Let me go."
"Never," he replied, his eyes scanning the room with a predatory calm.
A man approached them—Julian Vane, the son of the man who had bought most of the Vance assets for pennies. He had a glass of scotch in one hand and a sneer on his face. He had asked Elena to marry him three years ago; she had laughed at the proposal.
"Dante Moretti," Julian drawled, eyes sliding over Elena with insulting slowness. "I see you've picked up some vintage luggage. Though I heard the Vance name is a bit... tarnished these days. How much did she cost? I might have outbid you if I knew she was on the market."
Elena flinched as if he had slapped her. She waited for Dante to laugh, to join in on the humiliation. Instead, the air around Dante seemed to solidify into ice.
Dante took a slow step forward, forcing Julian to retreat. He didn't raise his voice, but the weight of it silenced the nearby guests.
"Julian," Dante said, his voice dangerously smooth. "The difference between you and me is that you look at her and see a name. I look at her and see something you will never be able to afford."
Dante reached out and slowly adjusted Julian's silk tie, his knuckles grazing the other man's throat. Julian turned pale, his hand shaking.
"If you speak her name again with that mouth," Dante whispered, "I'll make sure your father loses the rest of those assets by sunrise. Do we have an understanding?"
Julian scrambled away without a word. Elena stared at Dante, her breath hitching. For a second, she saw it—not the vengeful master, but the protector who used to stand outside her bedroom door.
"Don't get the wrong idea," Dante said, his voice dropping back into that cold, detached tone as he turned to her. "You're my property. And I don't like other people touching my things. It's bad for business."
He led her toward the dance floor. The music was a slow, haunting waltz. He pulled her into his arms, his hand splayed across her back, his other hand gripping hers with a strength that bordered on painful.
"Why are we here, Dante?" she asked, her head resting near his chest. She could hear the steady, powerful thrum of his heart.
"To remind them," he said, his eyes fixed on the crowd. "To remind them that the Vances are gone, and the Morettis have arrived. And to remind you..."
He spun her, the midnight blue silk flaring out like a dark cloud. As he pulled her back in, his lips brushed against her temple, a touch so light it could have been an accident.
"To remind you that you belong in my world now, Elena. No matter how much it hurts."
As the dance ended, a waiter approached Dante and whispered something in his ear. Dante's expression shifted, his brow furrowing. He looked at Elena, then at the door.
"Wait here. Don't move. Don't talk to anyone," he commanded, his voice sharp.
He disappeared into the crowd. Elena stood alone, the whispers rising again like a swarm of bees. She felt a hand on her arm—not Dante's. She turned, expecting a reporter, but instead saw a woman she recognized. It was her mother's former secretary, her face pale with terror.
"Elena, you have to leave," the woman hissed, shoving a small, crumpled note into her hand. "The auction... it wasn't just about Dante. There was someone else bidding. Someone who wanted you dead. Dante didn't just buy you, Elena. He hid you."
Before Elena could ask a question, the woman vanished into the crowd. Elena opened the note, her heart hammering.
Ten million wasn't a bid. It was a ransom. Run.
She looked toward where Dante had disappeared, her mind a chaotic blur. Was he her captor, or the only thing keeping her alive?