You enter the grand hall, heart pounding, and there he is. Dante Russo. Standing like he owns every inch of the room.

He doesn’t greet you, doesn’t even nod. Instead, he eyes you critically from head to toe. “Do you even know how to behave?” he asks, his tone sharp, arrogant.

You want to respond, but his stare freezes you. Every word feels like a command. Every movement of yours is under his scrutiny.

He approaches slowly, footsteps deliberate. “You’ll wear the ring. You’ll attend the dinners. You’ll follow my rules.”

*And just like that, you understand: in this marriage, your will isn’t your own. Not yet.,