Dinner with the Devil
596 Words
Elena stared at her reflection in the mirror, hands shaking as she smoothed the black silk dress laid out on her bed.
Not chosen by her, of course.
It screamed wealth and danger — just like him.
She hated how beautiful it looked.
The clock hit eight.
Her feet felt like weights as she walked into the dining hall — a room bigger than her entire house. A long, polished table sat in the center. Candles. Wine. Luxury she never wanted.
Lorenzo sat at the far end, like a king on a throne.
Suit jacket off now, sleeves rolled to reveal strong forearms.
Relaxed… except for the eyes that watched her every move.
“Elena,” he greeted, low and smooth.
She didn’t respond. Didn’t bow. Didn’t shrink.
He tilted his head, amused by her stubborn pride.
A man approached — tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in the same black suit as the guards — but younger, charming smile, curious eyes.
“This must be the lucky bride,” he joked lightly, offering his hand. “I’m Marco—”
Before she could shake it, Lorenzo’s voice sliced through the room:
“Don’t touch her.”
Marco froze.
Elena blinked.
Lorenzo didn’t raise his voice… he didn’t need to.
Control sat in every syllable like a blade pressing against a throat.
Marco awkwardly withdrew his hand and stepped back.
Elena glared at Lorenzo. “He was just being polite.”
Lorenzo’s jaw flexed. “He doesn’t get to be anything with you.”
“You act like you own me,” she snapped.
“I do.”
There it was.
No hesitation.
Not even a hint of doubt.
Elena’s breathing quickened — anger boiling too close to fear.
Dinner plates arrived.
She couldn’t eat.
Her fork shook in her fingers.
The room suddenly felt too large. Too cold.
Her chest tightened like something invisible was crushing her lungs.
Not now.
Not in front of him.
She tried to breathe but her breaths came too fast — panic rising like a wave she couldn’t stop.
Lorenzo noticed instantly.
His chair scraped back.
He was beside her in seconds — no guards, no arrogance, no distance.
“Elena,” he said, voice strangely gentle. “Look at me.”
She couldn’t.
Her vision blurred with tears she refused to cry.
His hand hovered near her arm, not touching… waiting.
“You’re safe,” he said quietly. “Breathe.”
She hated that his voice helped.
Hated that the fear lifted the moment those cold eyes softened.
“The world is not ending,” he murmured, steady and low. “You’re here. With me. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
She forced a breath.
Then another.
The panic slowly loosened its grip.
Finally, she looked up — straight into his eyes.
There it was again — that flicker of humanity he kept buried under rage and power.
A softness he clearly despised having around her.
He leaned a little closer, whispering just for her:
“This marriage may have been forced…”
His eyes burned into hers.
“…but your pain is not something I will ever allow.”
Her heart shouldn’t have jumped.
But it did.
And he saw it.
Which made him look away — too quickly — as if feeling anything was a crime he couldn’t afford.
Lorenzo stood, mask sliding back into place.
“Dinner is over,” he announced coldly.
He didn’t touch her.
But she shivered anyway.
Because his darkness wasn’t the scariest part.
It was the light he didn’t want to show.
- Writer
