Owned By the man that RUINED my family

Chapter 2

Dante

I didn’t bring Arielle Monroe into my house because I felt sorry for her.

I brought her because letting her walk away would’ve been a mistake I couldn’t afford.

She sat rigid in the passenger seat of my car, arms folded tight, staring straight ahead like if she didn’t look at me, I might disappear. Like she wasn’t currently riding across the city with the man she blamed for ruining her life.

I let her think that.

People made better decisions when they were emotional.

“You don’t have to talk to me,” she said suddenly, breaking the silence. “I know you’re only doing this to look good.”

I glanced at her. “If that were true, I’d have sent you to a shelter.”

Her jaw clenched.

“Then why?” she snapped. “Why me?”

Because you don’t know the whole story.

Because your father wasn’t innocent—but he wasn’t guilty the way they said either.

Because you were collateral damage in a war you never saw coming.

But I didn’t say any of that.

“You needed a place to stay,” I replied. “I had one.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s enough.”

The gates to my property opened as we approached. Tall iron bars. Security cameras tracking every inch. A house so large it didn’t feel like a home—it felt like a fortress.

Her shoulders stiffened.

“You expect me to live here?” she asked.

“Temporarily.”

She laughed bitterly. “You think I feel safe with you?”

I parked the car and finally turned to face her fully.

“You’re safer with me than without me,” I said evenly.

That was the truth.

Inside, the house was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that told people they were guests, not equals. She hovered near the entrance, unsure, like a stray deciding whether to bolt.

“Rules,” I said. “You’ll have your own room. No restricted areas. No questions about my business.”

“And in return?”

“You don’t leave without telling me.”

Her eyes snapped to mine. “I’m not your prisoner.”

“No,” I agreed. “You’re my responsibility.”

That did it.

She stepped closer, anger radiating off her. “You think you can just take my life and rearrange it like furniture?”

I didn’t move.

“I think,” I said calmly, “that you’re alive because I stepped in when I did.”

Her breath hitched.

She didn’t know how close she’d come to losing everything. How many men would’ve used her situation differently. How many doors I’d closed behind the scenes.

“You don’t own me,” she whispered.

I leaned in just enough for her to feel my presence.

“No,” I said. “But I will protect what’s under my roof.”

Her gaze dropped—for half a second. Enough to tell me I’d shaken her.

Good.

Because attachment was dangerous. For both of us.

I watched her disappear down the hallway toward the room I’d prepared—bare, neutral, untouched. Safe.

Or as safe as it could be with me nearby.

I pulled my phone from my pocket the moment she was gone.

“Yes,” I said when the call connected. “Change the timeline.”

A pause.

“No,” I corrected. “She’s here now.”

Another pause.

My jaw tightened.

“If anyone moves against her,” I said coldly, “I’ll bury them before they touch her.”

I ended the call and stared at the hallway she’d vanished into.

I hadn’t planned to get attached.

But the moment Arielle Monroe walked into my house…

the war stopped being theoretical.