Chapter Three— Bound By Thorns
1355 Words
The next morning, the Romano estate was a nest of whispers.
Servants walked on eggshells, the air thick with tension. Elena sat in the breakfast room, barely touching the toast on her plate. Her silver hair was pinned loosely, her blue eyes locked on the newspaper in her hand. The headline made her stomach twist.
> “Vincent Russo Engaged to Romano Heiress: An Alliance Forged in Silence”
A glossy photo accompanied the article—one she hadn’t even known was taken. In it, she stood beside Vincent at the boutique, her face expressionless, his hand at her back like he already owned her. The article praised the merger like it was a fairy tale. A union between two legacies.
But behind the smiles, behind the elegant wording and polished lies, was the truth.
She was being handed to the highest bidder.
“Elena.”
She flinched at the sound of her father’s voice. Alessandro Romano stood in the doorway, his face pale, the weight of shame still dragging at his shoulders.
She folded the newspaper without looking at him. “You really let the press turn this into a love story.”
He sighed and stepped closer. “It was Vincent’s doing. He wants the public to believe this is mutual. Clean. Elegant.”
“Elaborate fiction, you mean.”
“Elena, please…” His voice broke. “I know this is killing you. But I had no choice. If I didn’t offer you, he would’ve—”
She stood, her chair scraping against the tile. “He still might.”
Her father said nothing.
Because deep down, they both knew the truth.
---
Later that day, Elena was summoned.
Not asked.
Summoned.
A black car pulled up to the gates and waited without explanation. Her phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number, though she didn’t need to ask who it was.
Be ready in ten. Wear something formal.
She considered not going. She considered smashing the phone against the wall. But defiance wasn’t freedom—not yet. And the last thing she wanted was for Vincent to redirect his wrath toward her father.
She wore a sleek navy-blue dress that fell just past her knees. Modest, elegant, not for him. For herself. Her hair was pinned into a twist, soft curls framing her face. She looked like the kind of woman who belonged on a man’s arm.
But she didn’t feel like it.
She felt like a prisoner dressed for court.
---
The drive was long and silent. The driver, again, never spoke. But when the gates opened to reveal a towering, modern estate nestled in the mountains outside Milan, Elena’s stomach turned.
So this was his home.
It wasn’t a mansion. It was a fortress—glass, steel, and stone perched high above the world. Cold. Isolated. Intimidating.
Like him.
Vincent stood at the steps waiting, dressed in black slacks and a charcoal button-up shirt, sleeves rolled, sunglasses tucked into his front pocket. He looked every bit the tycoon—but today, less devil, more man.
“Come inside,” he said, already turning.
She followed without a word, her heels echoing softly through the marble halls. The house was vast and minimal, with art on the walls that cost more than her entire education. There was no warmth. No signs of life. Just expensive silence.
“Why am I here?” she asked when they reached a sitting room.
He handed her a small envelope.
“What’s this?”
“Tonight, we’re attending a charity gala,” he said. “You’ll be on my arm. I want the world to see you as mine.”
“I’m not yours,” she replied, but opened the envelope anyway.
Inside was a black card with cursive writing: Russo Enterprises Annual Foundation Gala. Formal Attire Required.
She glanced up. “And if I say no?”
He stepped closer. “You won’t. Because you’re smart enough to know the press will be there. And if you humiliate me in public…”
“What?” she whispered. “You’ll punish me?”
His gaze didn’t waver. “I won’t need to. The world will do it for me.”
She stared up at him, her heart thudding. There was no kindness in his expression. But there was control. And behind it—buried deep—was something else.
Something unspoken.
“Elena,” he said after a pause, his voice lower now. “If you’re going to survive this marriage, you need to understand something.”
She held his gaze. “What?”
“I don’t tolerate rebellion. Not in public. Not in private.”
“And I don’t tolerate threats,” she replied coldly.
Something like amusement flickered in his eyes. “Then we’re both going to suffer.”
---
That evening, she arrived at the gala beside him, dressed in a sleek black gown that clung to her curves like it had been stitched for sin. Her silver hair fell in soft waves. A diamond necklace—one she didn’t ask for—glinted against her throat.
Vincent, beside her, looked like he stepped out of a Vogue mafia fantasy.
Their entrance was a storm of flashing cameras.
“Elena! Over here!”
“Is it true you’re marrying next week?”
“How did you two meet?”
“Was it love at first sight?”
She didn’t speak.
She didn’t smile.
Vincent simply placed a possessive hand at her waist and whispered in her ear, “Smile, Elena.”
She gave the cameras a ghost of one—cold, distant, perfect.
Inside, the gala was a golden dream—crystal chandeliers, flowing champagne, violin music humming through the air. Powerful men and their wives mingled like royalty. Vincent navigated the crowd with ease, dragging her along like a polished accessory.
Until she met her.
A woman with long dark hair and a blood-red dress who made a beeline straight for Vincent.
“Vincent,” she purred, placing a hand on his chest. “You look… lethal.”
“Elara,” he said evenly. “Didn’t know you’d be here.”
“Of course I would. I always come when you're around.”
Her eyes slid to Elena, sharp and full of curiosity. “And who is this stunning creature?”
“Elena Romano,” Vincent said. “My fiancée.”
The woman smiled, lips curling like a snake. “How fascinating.”
Elena returned the smile. “It’s a pleasure.”
“Oh, I doubt that,” Elara replied sweetly. “But best of luck. You’ll need it.”
She walked away, hips swaying.
Elena turned to Vincent. “Ex?”
“Something like that,” he said, jaw tense.
“She seems nice,” Elena muttered.
“She’s not.”
Elena sipped her champagne and said nothing.
But she noticed the way Elara still watched them from across the room.
And she didn’t like it.
---
Hours later, after they’d fulfilled their roles as the glamorous couple and exited the cameras’ reach, Vincent drove her home himself. The city lights blurred through the windows.
“You played your part well,” he said suddenly.
She scoffed. “I’m not a puppet.”
“No,” he agreed. “You’re something much more dangerous.”
She turned toward him. “Is that why you really chose me? Not just for my father’s debt… but because you like the challenge?”
He didn’t answer.
Because they both already knew the answer.
When he pulled up to the Romano gates, he didn’t reach for the door. He simply looked at her.
“You impressed them tonight.”
“I wasn’t trying to.”
“That’s why you did.”
She stared at him, her chest tight.
There was something in the way he looked at her—like she was both threat and temptation. His hands never touched her, but she felt the heat anyway. Felt it in her chest. In her stomach.
“You don’t scare me,” she whispered.
He smiled, slow and dangerous. “You should.”
- Writer
