THE GILDED HANDCUFFS
1165 Words
CHAPTER TWO
The penthouse of the Moretti Tower didn’t feel like a home; it felt like an observation deck for a god. Floor-to-ceiling glass walls looked out over the sprawling anatomy of New York, making the yellow cabs below look like frantic ants. The air inside was pressurized and filtered, smelling of expensive leather and the ozone of a high-tech security system.
I stood in the center of the foyer, my heels clicking on the black obsidian floors. I felt small. I felt like prey that had walked willingly into the leopard’s lair.
"You’re forty seconds early, Elena. Anxiety is a poor look on an architect."
Dante was standing by a sleek, minimalist bar. He had discarded his tuxedo jacket and loosened his silk tie, the top buttons of his white shirt undone to reveal the hollow of his throat. He looked less like a businessman now and more like a predator at rest. He poured two fingers of amber liquid into a crystal glass and didn't offer me any.
"I’m not anxious," I lied, my voice echoing in the vast, quiet space. "I’m focused. I want the deed to the Heights, Dante. Now."
He turned, leaning his hips against the marble counter, his silver eyes tracking me with a slow, agonizing deliberation. "The Heights is a thirty-million-dollar asset. You’re asking for it in exchange for... what? A few sketches and a moral argument?"
"I'm asking for you to be a human being," I snapped.
Dante chuckled, a low, dark sound that didn't reach his eyes. "Human beings are inefficient. They are ruled by sentiment. I am ruled by results." He walked toward me, his footsteps silent on the stone. He stopped just inches away, his shadow swallowing mine. "However, I find myself in need of a very specific result. One that a girl with your... feistiness... is uniquely qualified for."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a single sheet of heavy, cream-colored paper. He didn't hand it to me; he held it up like a lure.
"My board of directors thinks I’m too detached. Too 'unstable' for the upcoming merger with the European markets. They want a family man. They want a man with a heart." He sneered the word as if it were a disease. "I need a fiancée. Someone believable. Someone who can stand by my side and look like they’ve tamed the beast."
My heart skipped a beat. "You want a fake engagement."
"I want a performance," he corrected. "Six months. You live here, in the guest wing. You attend every gala, every dinner, every board meeting. You look at me as if I am the center of your universe. In return, I sign over the deed to the Heights the morning our 'engagement' ends."
"And if I refuse?"
Dante’s expression didn't change, but his eyes darkened. "The demolition crews have their orders for 6:00 AM. By noon, your childhood home will be a pile of dust and memories."
The cruelty of it was breathtaking. He wasn't just asking for my time; he was asking for my dignity. He was asking me to lie to the world for the man who was holding a gun to my neighborhood’s head.
"Why me?" I whispered. "You could hire a supermodel. You could have any woman in that ballroom."
"Because they all want my money," he said, stepping so close I could feel the heat radiating from his chest. "But you... you hate me. There is a fire in your eyes when you look at me, Elena. On camera, that fire looks like passion. To the world, it will look like we are madly in love because we can’t keep our hands off each other."
To demonstrate, he reached out, his thumb grazing my jawline. His skin was warm, his touch surprisingly soft, but his grip was firm. I shivered, and he noticed. A small, triumphant smirk touched his lips.
"Six months," I repeated, trying to ignore the way my blood was beginning to hum. "No feelings. No... physical expectations."
Dante’s gaze dropped to my mouth. "I have no interest in your heart, Elena. I only need your presence. However..." He leaned down, his breath ghosting over my lips. "The world must believe we are inseparable. There will be touches. There will be kisses. There will be a level of intimacy that will make your skin crawl."
I looked into those silver depths and saw the trap closing. But then I thought of the families in the Heights. I thought of the park where I learned to ride a bike.
"Five million dollars," I added, my voice shaking. "In addition to the deed. If I'm giving you my life for half a year, I want enough to ensure my father never has to worry again."
Dante studied me for a long moment, a flash of respect—or perhaps just amusement—crossing his face. "A shark in a green dress. I like it."
He walked back to the desk, picked up a pen, and scrawled a figure onto the contract. "Deal."
I walked to the desk, my legs feeling like lead. I picked up the pen. The ink felt like lead. As I signed my name—Elena Vance—next to his bold, aggressive script, I felt a phantom weight settle around my neck.
"One more thing," Dante said as I put the pen down. He walked over to a safe in the wall, spun the dial, and pulled out a velvet box. He opened it to reveal a diamond the size of a bird's egg, surrounded by emeralds that matched my dress perfectly.
He took my left hand. His fingers were large, his touch possessive as he slid the heavy ring onto my finger. It felt like a handcuff.
"From this moment on, you belong to the Moretti name," he murmured, his eyes locking onto mine. "And Elena? If I find out you’re speaking to Julian Vane again... I won't just break the contract. I’ll break you."
I pulled my hand back, the weight of the stone dragging me down. "I'm your fiancée, Dante. Not your slave."
"In this world," he said, turning back to his drink, "there is very little difference. Get some sleep, Elena. Our first 'date' is a press conference at ten. Try to look like you’re happy. It’s what I’m paying you for."
I walked toward the guest wing, the emerald ring catching the light, feeling the gold band burning into my skin. I had saved the Heights. But as I looked at my reflection in the dark glass, I realized I had no idea who was looking back.
I was no longer Elena Vance, the architect. I was the Billionaire’s Ruthless Contract. And the six-month countdown to my ruin had just begun.
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