CHAPTER THREE A Beautiful Lie
1310 Words
By the end of the week, I understood something terrifying.
I was good at pretending.
The ring on my finger felt heavy, but I smiled when cameras flashed.
I leaned into Dante when reporters watched.
I memorized the small details about his life so I would not embarrass him in public.
Favorite wine.
Board members’ names.
Charity foundations he funded.
I learned quickly because I had to.
Because every mistake felt like it would cost my father his freedom.
And Dante watched everything.
We attended a charity gala that Friday night.
The ballroom shimmered with crystal lights and polished floors. Women wore gowns that probably cost more than my father earned in a year. Men wore power like cologne.
I felt small the moment we stepped inside.
Dante must have sensed it.
His hand settled on my waist.
Not gentle.
Not rough.
Possessive.
“Smile,” he murmured near my ear.
I did.
“You look tense,” he added.
“I am.”
“Why.”
“Because I don’t belong here.”
His grip tightened slightly.
“You belong wherever I say you belong.”
The words should have comforted me.
Instead they reminded me of the cage.
We stopped near a group of investors.
Dante shifted smoothly into conversation.
Confident.
Charming.
Untouchable.
I stood beside him like a polished accessory.
Someone asked how we met.
Dante looked at me.
The smallest pause.
Testing.
“We met through mutual contacts,” he said.
His eyes held mine.
Your turn.
“At a fundraiser,” I added softly.
“For prison reform.”
A few eyebrows lifted.
Brilliant.
Controlled.
The irony almost made me choke.
Dante’s fingers pressed lightly at my back in approval.
Every touch from him confused me.
It felt protective.
It felt like ownership.
It felt like both.
Later, a woman approached us.
Tall. Elegant. Cold eyes.
“Dante,” she said smoothly.
He stiffened almost imperceptibly.
“Victoria.”
The name carried history.
She looked at me slowly.
Measured.
“So this is the new fiancée.”
New.
Like I was a replacement.
“Lina,” I said quietly.
Her lips curved.
“I’ve heard so much about you.”
I doubted that.
“Victoria Hale,” she added.
Recognition flickered in Dante’s expression.
Not warmth.
Something else.
Warning.
She stepped closer to me.
“You must be overwhelmed,” she said sweetly. “This world can be… cruel.”
“I’m adjusting.”
She smiled wider.
“Of course you are.”
Her eyes shifted to Dante.
“Your father would have loved this event.”
The temperature between them dropped.
“Do not,” Dante said calmly.
She tilted her head.
“Still sensitive?”
The word sensitive sounded like an insult.
I felt tension radiate through him.
His hand tightened on my waist again.
“Enjoy your evening, Victoria,” he said.
Dismissal.
She did not move.
Instead, she leaned slightly toward me.
“Be careful,” she whispered softly.
“Of what?” I asked before I could stop myself.
Her smile sharpened.
“Of believing everything you’re told.”
Then she walked away.
I felt Dante’s gaze on me instantly.
“What did she say.”
“Nothing.”
His eyes darkened.
“Do not lie to me.”
“She told me to be careful.”
Silence.
“Of what,” he asked again.
“She didn’t say.”
He exhaled slowly.
“Stay away from her.”
“Why.”
“She enjoys destruction.”
“Like you?” The words slipped out before I could stop them.
His jaw tightened.
“Do not compare me to her.”
“But you both want revenge.”
His gaze hardened.
“You do not understand her.”
“Then explain.”
He did not.
Instead, he guided me toward the balcony doors.
Away from the crowd.
Away from listening ears.
The night air was cool.
The city lights glittered below.
“You are not to speak to Victoria Hale again,” he said quietly.
“You can’t control who speaks to me.”
“I can control what happens after.”
There it was again.
The quiet threat.
“She knows something,” I said carefully.
“Everyone knows something.”
“About our fathers.”
His silence confirmed it.
“She was involved,” I pressed.
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
“Then why does she sound like she knows the truth?”
His hand gripped the railing.
Hard.
“Because her father was on the board the year mine was charged.”
My pulse jumped.
“And?”
“And he voted against reopening the investigation.”
The pieces shifted in my mind.
“Do you think he knew it was false?”
“I think powerful men protect each other.”
“And your revenge was aimed at the wrong family.”
His eyes snapped to mine.
“I am aware of that possibility.”
“Then why marry me before you were sure?”
The question hung heavy.
He stepped closer.
“You think I act without reason?”
“Yes.”
The word escaped before I could soften it.
Something flickered in his expression.
Not anger.
Something deeper.
“You were leverage,” he said quietly. “And you still are.”
The honesty stung.
“But,” he added slowly, “I am beginning to question who we are truly leveraged against.”
A chill moved down my spine.
Inside, applause erupted from the ballroom.
The world continued as if nothing was shifting beneath it.
My phone buzzed in my clutch.
I frowned.
No one had this number except my father.
I pulled it out.
Unknown number.
A message.
Do not trust Dante Vale.
My blood ran cold.
Another message followed instantly.
He knows your father is innocent.
I stared at the screen.
He knows.
My breathing quickened.
Dante noticed immediately.
“What is it.”
I turned the phone toward him slowly.
He read the message.
His expression did not change.
But the air around him did.
“Who sent this,” he asked quietly.
“I don’t know.”
His eyes lifted to mine.
Sharp.
Calculating.
“You gave someone this number.”
“No.”
“Think carefully.”
“I didn’t.”
His jaw tightened.
“Someone is playing with us.”
“Or telling the truth,” I whispered.
His gaze darkened.
“You think I would hide that from you.”
“I think you hide many things from me.”
The silence stretched tight between us.
Then his phone buzzed.
He checked it.
His expression shifted instantly.
Cold.
Focused.
“What.”
He showed me the screen.
A news alert.
Anonymous source claims Moretti case to be reopened.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
Reopened.
Without warning.
Without preparation.
Dante’s voice lowered.
“This is not coincidence.”
Fear flooded my chest.
“If the case reopens,” I whispered, “my father could go back to prison.”
“Yes.”
“And our marriage contract…”
“Still stands.”
I felt dizzy.
Everything was moving too fast.
The messages.
Victoria.
The photo.
The reopening.
“Someone wants chaos,” I said softly.
“Yes.”
“And they’re using us.”
His eyes met mine.
“And you are still the easiest way to hurt him.”
The words hit like ice.
Before I could respond, his phone buzzed again.
This time, his expression changed in a way I had not seen before.
Not anger.
Not control.
Shock.
“What,” I breathed.
He did not answer.
He simply turned the phone toward me.
It was a photo.
Taken tonight.
From inside the ballroom.
Of me.
Standing alone earlier near the staircase.
Below it was a message.
We have her.
- Writer
