Chapter 2

Virelli gave a faint smile after seeing my signature clearly written at the bottom of the contract. It wasn’t a happy smile, nor was it friendly. It was a smile of victory—the smile of someone who had just secured something he wanted and made it officially his.

I was still holding the pen when he moved from behind the desk. His steps were calm, measured, full of confidence. There wasn’t the slightest hesitation in the way he walked. Meanwhile, my own heart was beating irregularly, as if it were trying to leap out of my chest.

He stopped right behind me.

I could feel the warmth of his body close to my back. The scent of his expensive, sharp, masculine cologne wrapped around my senses, making the atmosphere feel even more suffocating. My breathing grew shorter without me realizing it.

His hand rested on the back of my chair, then slowly moved to the nape of my neck. His touch wasn’t rough, but it was firm enough to make me freeze. My entire body tensed. I didn’t dare to move.

His breath felt warm near my ear.

“You look handsome and tempting, Dante. I like puppets like you.”

His low voice sounded so close, so commanding. He didn’t speak loudly, yet the meaning behind his words made my stomach churn. The word puppet reminded me again of my position—not as a partner, but as something that could be controlled.

Before I could process anything, he turned my body to face the desk. The files on top were pushed aside carelessly, several sheets falling to the floor. The sound of paper sliding and dropping echoed clearly in the silent room.

I was pressed forward until the back of my hand touched the cold, hard surface of the desk. My heart pounded violently. My breathing was uneven.

He stood in front of me now, so close that there was barely any space between us. His gaze traced my face with an intensity that made me feel examined, evaluated, and measured.

I realized how small I was in front of him—not only physically, but in terms of power. He was a man used to commanding, used to owning, used to controlling situations.

His hand lifted and brushed my lips with the tip of his finger. The touch was light, yet it sent a sharp current through my nerves. I had never been in a situation like this before. I had never been this close to another man.

“You know, I enjoy playing with rabbits like you.”

The sentence was delivered almost casually, yet the dominance within it was unmistakable. I knew he was reinforcing my position—fragile, easily controlled, beneath him.

Then he kissed me.

It was my first kiss.

It wasn’t filled with tenderness or love. It wasn’t born from mutual desire. It felt like a mark—a claim—like he was ensuring I understood whose territory I had stepped into.

My mind went blank instantly. My body stiffened. I didn’t know how to respond. My heart was beating so fast that my head felt light. I could only stand there, accepting the reality that the most dangerous man in the city was kissing me.

He pulled away slowly, studying my face, which must have looked confused and tense.

A complicated mix of emotions stirred inside me—fear, embarrassment, shock, and somehow… curiosity. Not because I wanted him, but because I realized this was a world entirely foreign to me. A world where power and intimacy walked side by side.

Virelli removed his jacket calmly and placed it on a chair. He loosened his tie slightly, maintaining that unshakable confidence. Every movement showed that he was used to being in control—including controlling people.

He took my hand and placed it against his chest, still covered by his shirt. I could feel the firm strength beneath the fabric. His heartbeat was far steadier than mine.

The contrast made me even more aware of how unprepared I was.

He didn’t need to say much. That gesture alone was enough to demonstrate dominance and control. It was as if he was teaching me to get used to his presence, to this closeness, to my new role.

I swallowed, trying to calm myself.

In my mind, my mother’s image surfaced again. Her pale face in the ICU. Her weak body with medical tubes attached to her chest. I remembered why I was here.

I was doing this for her.

Not for pleasure. Not out of curiosity. Not because of any feelings toward the man standing in front of me.

I was doing this to save her life.

Slowly, I tried to ease the tension in my shoulders. I realized that if I continued to show fear, he would only sense the imbalance more clearly. I had to learn to control my expression. I had to learn to endure.

Virelli eventually released my hand and stepped back. His gaze remained sharp, as if measuring my reaction.

He returned to the side of the desk, tidying the files he had pushed aside earlier. His demeanor shifted back to cold and professional, as if what had just happened was merely part of a selection process.

Briefly, he explained that starting tonight, I would stay in one of his apartments. Everything would be provided. My clothes would be replaced. My appearance would be arranged. I would be prepared to stand beside him—whether publicly or discreetly—according to his interests.

Every word he spoke sounded like an order that could not be negotiated.

I realized that the contract I had signed was not merely a financial agreement. It was an entry into a world that was harsh, cold, and calculated.

Yet beneath the fear tightening in my chest, there was one thing that kept me standing straight.

Hope.

Hope that the money he promised would truly save my mother.

If the price I had to pay was my freedom, my pride, and my comfort—then I had to be strong enough to bear it.

When his assistant returned to escort me out, I glanced at Virelli one last time before leaving the room. He was already seated behind his desk again, focused on the documents in his hands, as if I were only a small piece of a much larger plan.

As I stepped out of that room, I knew one thing for certain.

I had entered Leonard Virelli’s world.

And starting today, my life no longer fully belonged to me.