Ch 5 - The Forbidden Door
1000 Words
The mansion was unnervingly quiet at night. Too quiet.
Elena turned restlessly in her bed, her throat dry. The bottle of water left on her nightstand had long since emptied, and her mouth felt parched. She hesitated at first—she hated the idea of wandering the endless halls alone—but thirst eventually forced her up.
The corridors were dimly lit by wall sconces, shadows clinging to every corner. She padded quietly through the hall, her bare feet brushing against the cool marble floor. Her heart raced faster than she wanted to admit.
Just the kitchen, she told herself. Just get some water, then back to bed.
But as she turned down a passage she hadn’t walked before, something caught her eye.
A door.
It was one she’d noticed during the day, tucked at the far end of the hall, always guarded by a servant or locked when she had passed by. She hadn’t thought much of it—until now. Tonight, it stood slightly ajar, golden light spilling out into the dark hallway.
Elena froze, her pulse leaping. The forbidden door. The one she had never been allowed near.
Her curiosity burned hotter than her fear.
Step by step, she moved closer, her breath shallow. She could hear faint sounds—maybe voices, maybe movement—seeping from within. If she leaned just a little closer, if she peeked through the crack, maybe she could finally learn something about Dante Luciano, something about herself.
But before she could even touch the doorframe—
A hand clamped around her wrist and yanked her back with such force she nearly lost her balance.
A sharp gasp tore from her throat. She whirled around, her wide eyes colliding with a storm.
Dante.
He towered over her, his face thunderous, his dark eyes blazing with fury. His grip on her wrist was iron, unyielding, and his presence swallowed the entire corridor.
For a moment, Elena couldn’t breathe. She knew instinctively—she was in trouble.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” Dante’s voice was low, quiet, but it vibrated with controlled rage, each word cutting like a blade.
Elena’s lips parted, but no sound came out. Her mind was blank, her heart racing too wildly to form an excuse.
He leaned closer, his jaw tight, his voice even quieter, more dangerous.
“That door is not for you.”
Her knees felt weak under the weight of his stare, under the realization that she had crossed some invisible line.
And for the first time since waking in this strange life, Elena felt true fear curl cold in her veins.
Elena barely had time to gasp before Dante’s fingers clamped like iron around her wrist, yanking her so hard her breath caught in pain.
“Dante—!” she tried, but her voice was swallowed by the darkened hall. He didn’t answer, didn’t even glance down at her. His stride was merciless, dragging her along the marble floor as though she weighed nothing. The light from the forbidden room disappeared behind them, swallowed by the mansion’s shadows, until all she could hear was the furious echo of his boots.
“Please—you’re hurting me,” she whispered, tugging against his grip. It was useless. His hand tightened, bruising, and for the first time since she’d met him, she felt as though she was being hauled by a storm itself—merciless, unstoppable.
When they reached her bedroom, he all but threw her inside. Elena stumbled, nearly falling, her palms scraping against the rug as she caught herself. Before she could regain her balance, the door slammed shut with such force the walls seemed to tremble.
She spun around.
Dante stood in the doorway like a shadow forged from steel, broad shoulders rising and falling with restrained fury. His eyes glinted in the dim light, sharp enough to cut.
“What the hell were you doing?” His voice was low, vibrating with suppressed violence, like a predator toying with the decision of whether to strike.
Elena swallowed hard. Her throat was raw, her voice trembling. “I wasn’t—I just wanted water. The door was open and I thought—”
“You thought?” he cut her off, stepping closer. Each step deliberate. Dangerous. “You thought you could walk wherever you pleased in my house? That you could stick your curious little nose where it doesn’t belong?”
Her back hit the wall. His shadow fell over her completely, the heat of his rage pressing against her skin. She tried to shake her head, words tumbling over themselves. “I didn’t mean—I didn’t know—”
His hand shot up suddenly, not to strike but to slam against the wall beside her face. The sound cracked like thunder in the silence. Elena flinched, her heart ricocheting inside her chest.
Dante leaned in, his voice colder than the marble beneath her feet. “You listen to me very carefully, Elena. There are rooms in this house that you will never enter. Secrets you will never touch. If you want to keep breathing in this mansion, you will remember that.”
She trembled, pressing herself tighter to the wall, her breath shallow.
His eyes flicked over her face, sharp, unreadable. Then he spoke, softer but deadlier: “Next time you step out of line, I won’t drag you back. I’ll bury you in it.”
He pushed away from the wall, his presence receding like a storm breaking—but the weight of his words lingered, heavy, suffocating.
Without another glance, Dante stormed out, the door slamming behind him like the final stroke of a gavel.
Elena slid down against the wall, her body shaking uncontrollably. Her wrist throbbed from his grip, her chest ached from the force of her heartbeat. For the first time since she had been brought here, she understood.
She wasn’t just a guest.
She was a prisoner.
Not his fiancé.
- Writer
