THE CONTRACT
1997 Words
Selene’s POV
“No.”
The word shot out of my mouth before I could even think.
Dante didn’t so much as blink. My father, though? He bristled.
“Selene—”
“No.” I looked straight at Dante this time. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
He just stood there by the bar, fussing with his cuff like my whole life wasn’t on the line.
“You don’t have many options,” he said.
“I’ll make my own.”
Now I got a real look from him. Not amused. Not cold. Just… curious. Like he was weighing whether I was brave or just plain stupid.
Honestly? Even I wasn’t sure.
From across the suite, Matteo let out a hard laugh. “You think she’s going willingly?”
“She doesn’t need to go willingly,” my father snapped. “Just quietly.”
I turned toward him, slower than I meant to. That hurt most of all. Not the scandal, not Matteo, not waking up in a stranger’s bed. My father. He stopped pretending.
Suddenly I felt gutted. The kind of tired that sinks into your bones.
Dante calmly shrugged on his jacket, unfazed.
“We’re leaving,” he said. Not asking—deciding.
My anger sparked, sharp and immediate. “You don’t own me.”
His gaze met mine. “Not yet.”
The room went stone still. Even Matteo looked startled.
Heat rushed up my neck, not embarrassment—rage.
“Go to hell.”
Dante moved toward me, slow and steady. No threat, no hurry. Somehow, that made it worse.
When he stopped in front of me, I had to tilt my chin up to meet his eyes.
“You know what’s waiting outside this hotel right now?”
“I don’t care.”
“You should.” His voice was so calm it scraped. “The press already has your face, Selene. Every camera in Rome’s downstairs. And by tonight, every family in Italy’ll know your fiancé found you in my bed.”
I swallowed, hard. Because he wasn’t wrong.
He leaned in, just a fraction.
“And Matteo?” He barely glanced in his direction. “He’ll spend the next month dragging you through the mud just to restore his pride.”
Matteo smirked, didn’t deny it—of course he wouldn’t.
I hated all of them.
“Congratulations,” I muttered, bitter. “You’re all insane.”
The corner of Dante’s mouth almost lifted. “Probably.”
That tiny flicker of humor irritated me more than anything.
My father let out a breath, exasperated. “This is pointless. Selene goes with Dante until we handle this.”
I had to laugh—disbelief, mostly. “Handle it? You’re talking like I’m part of a hostage swap.”
Matteo’s voice cut through, smooth as ever. “Hostages usually have more value.”
I moved before I thought. Dante caught my wrist mid-swing.
Fast. Strong.
My heart thudded. Not because it hurt, but because he held my entire wrist like he might crack it if he wanted.
His eyes darted to my mouth.
“Violence won’t help you,” he said.
Matteo scoffed. “Neither will murder. And I’m considering it.”
Dante let go of my wrist—slowly. Then he turned to Matteo.
“Careful.”
That single word, low and sharp, made everybody freeze.
Christ. How did he pull that off? No yelling, no posturing—just pure constant pressure.
I suddenly understood why people feared him more than men twice as violent.
Because Dante De Luca looked like the type of man who already knew exactly how your funeral would happen.
My father checked his watch sharply.
“We’re wasting time.”
Dante nodded once toward the guards.
“Clear the lobby.”
The men moved instantly.
I stared at them.
No hesitation.
No questions.
Just obedience.
The realization hit me hard:
Dante wasn’t simply feared.
He was followed.
There was a difference.
Matteo walked toward me again, slower this time.
“You should’ve just behaved,” he said quietly.
I looked at him in disbelief.
“Behaved?”
“Yes.” His jaw tightened. “You had one responsibility.”
“To marry you?”
“To obey the arrangement.”
Arrangement.
Not relationship.
Not engagement.
Arrangement.
I felt sick again.
“You don’t even hear yourself.”
His eyes hardened.
“You think love matters in our world?”
“No,” I said honestly. “I think basic humanity should.”
That landed harder than I expected.
Because for one second, Matteo actually looked angry.
Not offended.
Angry.
Like humanity itself insulted him.
Dante watched us carefully.
Studying.
Always studying.
Then he looked at me.
“Come with me willingly, Selene.”
I blinked.
The sentence sounded strange coming from him.
Almost reasonable.
“What happens if I don’t?”
Dante answered immediately.
“Matteo retaliates publicly. Your father buries the scandal by forcing the marriage anyway. The media tears you apart for months.” His expression didn’t change. “And eventually someone decides your humiliation is useful politically.”
Cold.
Practical.
Brutally honest.
No fake comfort.
No lies.
That somehow made it worse.
Because part of me believed him.
My father crossed his arms.
“You don’t have another choice.”
I looked at him for a long second.
Then finally nodded once.
Not agreement.
Surrender.
“I hate all of you.”
Matteo smirked.
Dante didn’t.
For some reason, that mattered.
—
Rome blurred past the tinted car windows in streaks of gold and rain.
Nobody spoke.
I sat in the backseat beside Dante while two black SUVs followed behind us.
Security.
Of course.
My head still hurt.
My shoulder still ached from my father grabbing me.
And every few minutes flashes from last night kept hitting me randomly.
Music.
Champagne.
Dante’s hand against my lower back.
A deep voice near my ear.
Then nothing.
I hated not remembering.
The silence in the car stretched too long.
Finally, I looked at Dante.
“Did you leak the story?”
His gaze stayed on the road ahead.
“No.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Yes.”
I frowned.
That confidence irritated me.
“Then how did the press find the hotel room?”
“Someone wanted them to.”
A chill crawled slowly down my spine.
Someone.
Not him.
That changed everything.
Because until now, I’d assumed Dante used the scandal strategically.
But if he didn’t—
Then someone else planned this.
Someone who wanted maximum damage.
Valentina’s face flashed through my mind instantly.
No.
Not just Valentina.
Someone bigger.
Someone organized.
Dante finally looked at me.
“You were meant to be seen leaving that room.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“I haven’t figured that out yet.”
That answer scared me more than if he’d lied.
Because Dante De Luca didn’t seem like a man who enjoyed not knowing things.
Rain tapped softly against the windows.
I stared outside quietly.
The deeper we drove into northern Rome, the emptier the roads became.
Then the gates appeared.
Massive black iron gates surrounded by stone walls and armed guards.
My pulse stumbled.
“This is your house?”
Dante glanced at me briefly.
“No.”
I blinked.
Then he added:
“It’s one of them.”
Jesus Christ.
The gates opened slowly.
The estate beyond them looked less like a home and more like a private kingdom hidden inside Rome.
Dark stone.
Towering windows.
Security everywhere.
Men with guns stood near the entrance like statues.
I suddenly felt very, very trapped.
The car stopped near the front steps.
One guard rushed forward immediately to open Dante’s door.
Again—
instant obedience.
Dante stepped out first.
I stayed inside for a second longer.
He noticed.
“Selene.”
“I changed my mind.”
“No, you didn’t.”
I glared at him.
“You’re extremely annoying.”
“That isn’t new information.”
I hated that tiny almost-smile again.
Absolutely hated it.
Still, I stepped out.
Cold air hit my skin instantly.
The estate loomed above me like something out of a nightmare rich people probably enjoyed.
One woman stood waiting near the entrance in a black dress.
Older.
Elegant.
Sharp eyes.
The second she saw me, her face changed.
Fear.
Real fear.
Then she lowered her gaze quickly.
Too quickly.
My stomach twisted.
Dante noticed too.
“Maria.”
The woman straightened immediately.
“Yes, sir.”
“Prepare the east wing.”
Her eyes flicked toward me again.
And for one strange second, she looked almost shaken.
Like she recognized me.
That made no sense.
“Yes, sir,” she repeated quietly.
I watched her disappear inside.
“What was that?”
Dante removed his gloves slowly.
“What was what?”
“She looked at me like she’d seen a ghost.”
“She’s old. Old people are dramatic.”
“Wow. That was a terrible answer.”
This time, Dante actually smirked slightly.
It changed his entire face for a second.
Made him look younger.
More dangerous somehow.
A guard approached quickly.
“Your office is ready, boss.”
Office?
I narrowed my eyes immediately.
“No.”
Dante looked at me calmly.
“No what?”
“No secret meetings. No weird mafia plotting. I’m tired, confused, and wearing yesterday’s dress. I’m not doing mysterious rich-people nonsense right now.”
One of the guards coughed suddenly like he was hiding a laugh.
Dante’s eyes flicked toward him instantly.
The man straightened so fast it was almost funny.
Almost.
Dante looked back at me.
“You’re coming to the office because this situation requires rules.”
“I don’t like rules.”
“I noticed.”
He started walking inside.
And somehow, I followed him anyway.
The office was massive without trying too hard to impress people.
Dark shelves.
Large windows.
Expensive whiskey.
Locked cabinets.
Dante removed his jacket and tossed it across a chair.
Then he looked directly at me.
“We’re getting married.”
I stared at him.
Excuse me?
“No.”
“One year.”
Still calm,
Still terrifyingly serious.
“You’ve officially lost your mind.”
“This protects both families.”
“I don’t care.”
“You will.”
I folded my arms tightly.
“No.”
Dante opened a folder on the desk.
Inside sat legal documents already prepared.
My blood ran cold.
“You planned this.”
“No.”
“You have paperwork ready!”
“I adapt quickly.”
Psychopath.
He slid the papers toward me.
“One-year marriage contract. Public loyalty at all times. No public humiliation toward the De Luca name.” His eyes lifted toward mine. “No running.”
I laughed once in disbelief.
“Running?”
“If you disappear, people ask questions.”
“You sound insane.”
“You’ll sleep in my room whenever public appearances require it.”
I stared at him.
Actually stared.
“That sentence alone deserves prison time.”
Dante ignored that completely.
“In return, your reputation remains protected. Matteo loses his claim over you. And nobody touches you without consequences.”
The room fell quiet for a second.
it wasn’t awkward,
Because buried underneath all the control and arrogance—
there was truth.
That was the dangerous part.
I looked away first.
My eyes drifted across the office absently.
Bookshelves.
Liquor cabinet.
Framed documents.
Then I noticed the photograph half-hidden beneath a folder near the edge of the desk.
My breath caught.
I walked toward it slowly.
Picked it up.
And froze.
It was me.
Years younger.
Maybe eighteen.
Standing outside a bookstore in Rome.
Laughing at something off-camera.
The photo had clearly been taken without my knowledge.
A cold feeling slid down my spine slowly.
I turned toward Dante.
He had gone completely still.
“What,” I whispered, “is this?”
- Writer
