Let's Play House
1734 Words
[Nico's POV]
The air shifted.
Colder.
Sharper.
Heavier.
Danger slithered around me like invisible chains as Dante stepped closer, each movement precise — deliberate — like a panther stalking its prey. His broad frame swallowed the distance between us until there was nowhere left to run, not even inside myself.
He scoffed — a low, bitter sound that scraped against my spine. “You want to succeed in this marriage?”
The question wasn't really a question. It was a blade — and I was bleeding on the edge of it. I couldn’t speak. My throat locked up, a tight knot of fear and confusion. I could only stare at him — this man, this stranger, this monster in a husband’s skin.
His voice dropped again, softer now. But it wasn’t gentle. No — it was like the calm before a hurricane.
“Fine then…”
His lips curled, not into a smile, but something far crueler. Something that knew it had the power to hurt and enjoyed it.
“Let’s play house, Nico.”
My breath caught in my lungs.
Play house?
What did that even mean?
Why did it sound like a game I wouldn’t survive?
He glanced past me, his voice curt. “Marco. Leave.”
His assistant—Marco—startled, clearly hesitant. His eyes flicked to mine, filled with something close to worry. But he nodded and turned to go, pausing only once to glance back before closing the door behind him.
And then—
The air snapped.
It wasn’t visible. But I felt it.
The shift.
A pulse of heat. Pressure.
Like the atmosphere had thickened and was now crushing down on my shoulders.
A sudden wave of pheromones burst into the air — and not the comforting kind. This wasn’t desire. This wasn’t intimacy.
This was dominance. Fury. Warning.
I flinched, gasped — the scent hit me like a freight train. To others, maybe it would’ve been intoxicating, clean and powerful, like fresh cedar and sharp musk.
But to me?
It felt like a tornado had wrapped around my throat and was squeezing. I stumbled back a step, then another, until my knees hit the edge of the armchair. I couldn’t breathe — couldn’t even think. My vision blurred, lungs burning as I clawed at the air.
He was still walking toward me.
Still calm.
Still lethal.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, voice low and mocking now. “Didn’t you say you wanted to succeed in this marriage?” He leaned closer, his pheromones curling tighter around my body like smoke — or chains.
“Then that means....you want to play the role of my wife, am I wrong?”
I collapsed to my knees with a soft thud, hands trembling against the floor. My whole body shook, my skin clammy, my lungs desperate for oxygen.
He just watched. Eyes dark. Amused.
Unmoved.
“What’s wrong?” His voice was low. Mocking. Dangerously calm. “Didn’t you say you wanted to succeed in this marriage?”
He leaned in. Closer.
His pheromones wrapped around me like smoke, thick and suffocating — tightening like a noose.
“Then that means…” His lips hovered near my ear, his breath hot. “You want to play the role of my wife, am I wrong?”
My knees buckled.
Thud.
I collapsed onto the floor, trembling. My palms scraped the hardwood, and my lungs screamed for air.
Everything inside me was shaking.
He didn’t flinch.
Didn’t blink.
He just watched, head tilted slightly, those dark eyes drinking in my helplessness like a twisted kind of entertainment.
Then, without warning, he crouched.
Too close.
Far too close.
His hand grabbed my collar, yanking me forward with startling force, and his other arm slid around my waist, lifting me just enough to pin me against his chest.
I gasped — not from pain, but from the overwhelming intensity.
His scent. His heat. His power.
It crashed into me like a tidal wave.
I clutched at his coat for support, panting, trembling.
Then—
In a moment of desperate confusion, I tilted my head up, lips parting. Maybe to speak. Maybe to plead.
Maybe… I don’t even know.
But before I could reach him— he pulled back with a cruel smile. “So desperate, huh?”
My hands curled tighter into his coat, eyes stinging, glossy with unshed tears. And then he reached out, thumb brushing slowly across my lips—A touch that should’ve been soft.
But wasn’t.
It felt like possession.
With one strong motion, he pushed me backward, and I fell onto the couch, breathless. He stood over me like a god — no, like a storm. He shrugged off his coat, then loosened his tie with a snap. One by one, his fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt, slow, deliberate, each pop echoing louder in my chest than in the room.
I shook my head, panic finally breaking through the fog.
“I… I didn’t mean this…” My voice cracked. Barely a whisper. “Please, Dante, I… I didn’t—”
He smirked, tilting his head.
“That’s not what you said earlier.” His tone oozed amusement — and something darker. “You said you wanted to be my wife.”
He leaned down, the fabric of the couch creaking beneath his weight.
“This…” he whispered, brushing his lips near my ear, “This is what a wife is supposed to do. To serve his spouse.”
Something inside me shattered.
“No…” I whispered, fists clutching the fabric of my shirt, desperate to hold onto something — anything — that still felt like me.
His hand went to the last button.
And then—
KNOCK. KNOCK.
“Sir… Miss Sofia is here.”
Everything froze.
Dante’s jaw twitched. “…Tch. Wrong timing.”
Just like that —the pressure lifted.
The air cleared. I could breathe again.
Barely.
He stood up, running a hand through his hair in irritation.
And I ran.
I didn’t wait.
Didn’t think.
Didn’t breathe.
I stumbled off the couch, my legs barely working beneath me.
I fell once. Scraped my knee. But I didn’t stop. I dashed to the door, flung it open, and fled —Up the stairs. Anywhere. Away.
I passed Sofia — Dante's sister— standing at the entrance.
She looked at me, startled. Then her eyes narrowed — sharp with surprise, sharper with hate.
But I didn’t stop. Didn’t even look back. I reached the hallway, threw open my room door, slammed it shut, and locked it. Then I slid down against it, breath ragged, heart a broken drumbeat in my chest.
My hands were shaking.
I was still gasping for breath, curled against the cold floor when a knock broke the silence.
“Sir…” A maid’s voice came, hesitant. “Master Dante and Miss Sofia request your presence downstairs.”
I swallowed hard, my voice barely audible. “Five minutes… please.”
There was a pause, then, “Yes, sir.”
Her footsteps faded, and I slowly peeled myself off the floor. My legs wobbled beneath me, but I forced myself to stand and walk over to the mirror.
The face staring back at me was pale, eyes glassy, lips trembling.
“He’s… dangerous,” I whispered to my reflection, brushing damp hair back from my forehead.
I splashed cold water on my face and forced a smile — one I had perfected long ago in the Caruso house. Harmless. Innocent. Obedient.
“Still…” I murmured, “I have to survive. Or they’ll send me back to Caruso.”
I straightened my posture, adjusted my collar, and stepped out. The walk down the stairs felt endless. My heart beat against my ribs, a frantic warning drum.
In the living room, Sofia was already seated, legs crossed, poised like a queen surveying her kingdom. Dante sat beside her, cigarette between his fingers, smoke curling lazily around his sculpted jaw. His legs were crossed, his body draped in languid confidence — but his eyes, when they met mine, glinted like frost-edged steel.
“Take a seat,” Sofia said flatly.
I hesitated and instinctively moved to sit away from Dante.
“Beside him,” she added, not even looking at me. “Don’t forget — you’re married to him now. Your place is beside him… no matter how lowly you are.”
I froze… then gave a shallow nod. “Yes…”
I sat beside Dante. Too close. Too stiff. The heat of his body brushed against mine, a silent reminder of what had almost happened upstairs.
Dante smirked and stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. “So?” he drawled, lazily wrapping an arm around my waist, fingers resting with dangerous intent. “What brings you here, Sofia? You ruined a precious moment with my wife.”
I flinched as his hand tightened, his voice smooth and venomous. Sofia rolled her eyes. “Father wants you both prepared for the reception ceremony. He’s decided to officially introduce Nico to the world.”
The room fell into a thick, suffocating silence.
Dante’s smile died instantly.
His eyes turned glacial. “What?”
“It’s mandatory,” Sofia said, her tone sharp. “You already humiliated the family by not attending your own wedding. We need to clean up the mess. So you’ll attend the reception. Together. Like a real couple.”
Dante exhaled sharply, jaw ticking in frustration. Sofia then turned to me, expression empty of warmth. “And you — don’t embarrass us. Speak only when spoken to. Smile. Look obedient. We don’t need another scandal.”
I lowered my gaze and whispered, “Yes…”
The air felt heavier again, as if my very breath depended on how perfectly I played this role.
Sofia stood. “Good.”
She turned on her heel and left without another glance. I sat frozen beside Dante, his fingers still loosely curled around my waist — possessive, casual, terrifying. His silence was louder than any threat, heavier than any chain.
I dared a glance at him.
He was staring at me.
Smiling.
Not kindly. Not gently. But with something darker beneath — something that slithered beneath his skin like coiled tension, like hunger dressed in charm.
My breath caught.
What… what’s wrong with him now?
- Writer
