Deal
1263 Words
Late into the night, the snow finally ceased.
The bedroom was bathed in the soft glow of a dim wall lamp. The sheets, warmed by the stove’s heat, smelled faintly of wine and incense.
Alessia stirred awake, leaning against the headboard. Her fever hadn’t fully broken, but her mind was clear.
He hadn’t gone to the party. He really had stayed. Even brought her the medicine himself and fed it to her—though his tone remained icy.
Alessia didn’t dare read too much into it.
She had endured too many moments like this—times when she was about to slip away, and he’d hand her a sip of water, pulling her back. Not out of mercy. Because he refused to let her die.
His possessiveness was a purist’s obsession, allowing her to live only within the script he wrote.
Dante emerged from the bathroom, damp hair tousled, loosely tied robe clinging to him. He approached the bed and looked down at her.
“Feeling better?” he asked.
She nodded faintly.
“If you’re done with that,” he half-crouched beside her, voice low and rough, “let’s talk about your ‘refusal to come with me.’”
Her nerves tensed, and she instinctively shrank back. But he suddenly pressed a hand on the edge of the sheet by her thigh, slowly lifting it.
“Don’t do this,” his voice soft yet chilling, “haven’t you always needed me?”
“Needed you?” she murmured, throat dry.
He leaned close, lips brushing her ear, voice almost a whisper against her skin. “You only signed that support contract for your brother, didn’t you?”
She stiffened sharply.
It was the one truth she never wanted to admit—but also the line she clung to.
She lifted her head, eyes clear, voice low and steady. “You’re right. I do need you.”
“From the very beginning.”
“I’m with you not because I like you, or trust you. I’m… trying to save my brother.”
She stared at him, her voice edged with a cold, new boundary.
“You’re the only lifeline I could reach for. Even if you were fire, I’d still jump in.”
“Do you think I obeyed because you’re charming?”
“No, Dante.” She spat his name like a knife, delayed but cutting. “Because you have the money.”
His gaze darkened.
The air froze.
Dante stood, looming over her, expression devoid of any warmth.
After a tense silence, he sneered, eyes flashing with a dangerous glint.
“I get it.”
He bent down, hands on either side of her, like a predator cornering its prey.
“You never meant to stay, did you? You’re just waiting for your brother to die, waiting until you don’t ‘need’ me anymore—then you’ll run.”
She clenched her jaw, silent.
That silence was sharper than any confession.
His eyes darkened further. Then he ripped open the neckline of her robe, fingertips tracing the red marks under her collarbone, voice nearly cruel.
“Too bad that face, that body, haven’t been ‘yours’ for a long time.”
He leaned into her ear, voice a low murmur—half whisper, half blade.
“You want to leave? Alessia, you’ll never leave.”
“Think I care if you love me?”
“Love or hate—doesn’t matter. As long as every morning you wake to me, every night remember I touched you—I win.”
“That’s the cost of your defiance.”
He said this as he grabbed her chin, forcing her face toward his. “You say you need me for money.”
“Fine—then tonight, use your mouth to properly ‘thank’ your benefactor.”
Alessia’s pupils shrank; her face drained of color.
She struggled, but his hand pressed down on her shoulder, forcing her face into the pillow.
She barely caught her breath.
His breath brushed her ear, cold and sharp.
“Aren’t you afraid of being seen as her replacement?”
“Tonight, I’ll show you—you're not her replacement at all.”
“You’re my choice, Alessia.”
“Trained by me.”
“Forged in a cage of death, money, and desire... the prettiest bird I ever raised.”
Pressed into the pillow, the heat of his breath traced from her shoulder blade down her spine—not a kiss, but a marking of ownership long claimed.
“Don’t play dead.” He whispered with a mocking smile, voice sharp as a blade. “Your body is far more honest than your mouth.”
Alessia’s fingers clenched the sheets, pale knuckles trembling. No fight—just stiff submission. A silent protest louder than resistance.
He could feel it.
And that only excited him more.
“Do you know when I like you most?” he murmured, tracing the slender line of her spine like admiring a trophy. “Not when you glare at me.”
“When you bite your tongue and refuse to beg—just like now.”
Her robe lay in tatters, buttons falling to the carpet with dull thuds—like the slow progression of a ritual.
He lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. Her pale, beautiful face looked like fragile porcelain shattered.
“Tell me, Alessia.” His voice was low. “What are you to me?”
She clenched her teeth, lashes trembling, eyes burning with unbearable hatred and humiliation.
Suddenly he laughed, pushing her down harder, pressing closer to her lips, voice almost melting into her bones.
“You can’t even say ‘I’m your plaything’?”
“Too bad you won’t say it—I won’t let you go.”
She couldn’t hold back a bitter laugh.
“You’re in such a hurry, Valtierri.”
Her voice was hoarse, laced with deliberate mockery.
Dante stared at her, that stubborn, pale face almost translucent in the amber light. His hand brushed her cheek, fingertips trembling with a touch that almost felt gentle.
But inside, a storm raged—chaotic, heavy, nearly insane.
He knew—she was still gambling with her life.
But she didn’t know the stakes were already gone.
Her brother… had died.
Three months ago, in a quiet private hospital room, the boy closed his eyes—no tears, no struggle—just quietly slipped away.
He was the one who signed that death certificate with his own hand.
He was the one who sealed off every piece of news, forged the doctor’s voice recordings, doctored every lab report—each lie meticulously crafted.
All to keep Alessia believing she still had something left to fight for.
She was never the type to beg for mercy.
Once she decided there was no way out, she would destroy the path herself.
So he bore the entire lie—just to keep her tethered to life by a single thread of hope.
Even if it meant she woke every day living inside a carefully constructed dream.
Even if it meant—
That tiny flicker of hope in her eyes was one he had forged himself.
Dante’s hand tightened unconsciously, palm pressed against her burning face.
She still stared at him, eyes cold as snow, no effort to hide the hostility and sarcasm.
Suddenly, he felt a vulnerability he’d never known before.
Not because she could fight back—but because one day, she would see through him.
And that day would be his true downfall.
- Writer
