Chapter 6

Dante woke with pain spreading from his waist down to the base of his thighs—a brutal reminder of what had happened only a few hours earlier.

He tried to move his body, but the silk sheets wrapped around his skin felt rough, like sandpaper scraping against open wounds. Dante looked at the other side of the bed. Empty. Only the faint imprint of a body remained, along with the lingering scent of masculine perfume, as if Leonard had intentionally left a trace of his presence to haunt Dante even after he was gone.

With difficulty, Dante forced himself to sit up. At the foot of the bed, he found a jet-black bathrobe. He put it on with trembling hands, tightening the belt as if the cloth could protect him from reality. His first thought was of his mother. He had to call the hospital. He had to make sure the surgery scheduled for this morning was going according to plan.

Dante walked toward the large mahogany door that separated the master bedroom from the outer hallway. But when he turned the knob, it didn’t move.

He tried again. Harder.

The knob was locked from the outside.

“Hello?” Dante’s voice was hoarse, almost gone. He knocked softly on the door. “Is anyone out there? Please open the door.”

No answer. The silence in the apartment felt suffocating.

Dante turned to another door—the one leading to the private balcony. The same result. Locked with an electronic system that required a fingerprint scan he didn’t have. Panic slowly crept up from his stomach, cold and sharp. He felt like prey that had wandered into a beautiful trap, only for the hunter to seal the final lock.

He paced around the large room until his eyes landed on a silver tablet lying on Leonard’s minimalist work desk. Beside it was a small piece of paper with neat but firm handwriting:

Don’t try to leave. You have no business outside. Everything you need will be brought by Marco. Stay here, stay clean, and make sure you’re ready when I return. Don’t disappoint me again, Dante.

Dante crushed the paper in his fist.

“Everything I need?” he whispered bitterly. “What I need is freedom—not this golden prison.”

He grabbed the tablet, hoping he could use it to contact the hospital. But the device had been specially programmed. There was no open internet, no social media. Only one communication app connected directly to Leonard and Marco, along with access to the hospital’s surveillance cameras—specifically the ward where his mother was staying.

Dante quickly pressed the camera icon.

The screen displayed a clear black-and-white image. There, behind advanced medical equipment, his mother was being prepared by a team of nurses to be taken into the operating room. Her face looked calm, as if all the burdens of her life had finally been lifted.

Seeing that sight, tears fell uncontrollably down Dante’s face. He pressed his palm against the cold screen, gently touching the image of his mother’s face.

“Just go through with it, Mom. Get better. Don’t worry about me,” he sobbed.

The relief of seeing his mother receiving the best treatment battled with the disgust he felt toward himself. He knew that every second of comfort she received now had been paid for with every inch of dignity he had surrendered to Leonard the night before. He had willingly become the sacrifice, but the pain was still real.

Footsteps sounded outside the bedroom door.

A moment later, an electronic beep echoed, and the door opened. Marco stepped inside with the same expressionless face as before. He carried a tray of luxurious breakfast and several boxes of clothing.

“Mr. Virelli ordered you to eat and prepare yourself,” Marco said flatly, placing the tray on the small dining table near the window.

“Marco, please,” Dante said, approaching him with red, swollen eyes. “I just want to go to the hospital for a moment. I want to see my mother before she enters surgery. Just ten minutes—I promise I’ll come back.”

Marco looked at Dante, but there wasn’t the slightest trace of sympathy in his eyes.

“Mr. Leonard’s orders are very clear. You are not allowed to leave this floor. You must always be available whenever he returns. He doesn’t like waiting, and he hates it when what belongs to him is somewhere it shouldn’t be.”

“Belongs to him?” Dante repeated painfully. “I’m a human being, Marco. Not a decorative item you can lock inside a cabinet.”

“In Mr. Leonard’s eyes, that line is very thin,” Marco replied coldly. “Eat. If you lose weight or look pale, I’ll be the one blamed.”

Marco turned to leave, but Dante grabbed his arm.

“How long?” Dante asked desperately. “How long do I have to stay locked up like this?”

Marco gently but firmly removed Dante’s hand.

“Until he gets bored. And judging from his obsession with you, I suggest you get used to the view from that window—because it will be the only world you’ll see for a very long time.”

The door closed and locked again.

Dante collapsed onto the floor, leaning his back against the cold door. He looked around the incredibly luxurious penthouse. Italian marble, abstract paintings worth millions of dollars, perfectly designed lighting. Everything here was meant to indulge the senses.

But to Dante, every object was a set of iron bars.

He tried to distract himself by eating, but the delicious food tasted like ash in his mouth. Nausea churned in his stomach. The memory of Leonard’s hands exploring his body the night before kept replaying in his mind like a horror film stuck on repeat. He felt dirty, as if no amount of soap in the world could wash away the traces of that man’s touch from his skin.

Time passed painfully slowly.

Dante spent the rest of the day staring at the tablet screen, watching his mother’s surgery that lasted for hours. When the operating room lights finally turned off and the doctor stepped out with his thumb raised toward the camera, Dante cried in relief.

He was grateful.

But at the same time, a new fear seized him.

The one main reason he had endured everything had now been fulfilled. His mother had survived.

Now he had to face the consequences of his contract—with no hope left for tomorrow.

The sun began to set, painting the sky with dramatic shades of orange and purple.

Dante took a shower, washing his hair over and over until his scalp hurt. He put on the clothes Marco had left behind—a thin pale-blue silk shirt and tailored trousers that fit his body perfectly. He felt like a groom being prepared for sacrifice.

He sat on the sofa, waiting in the darkness slowly filling the room. He didn’t turn on the lights. He wanted to hide in the shadows, hoping that if he couldn’t see himself, Leonard wouldn’t be able to see him either.

But that hope shattered when the sound of the apartment door opening echoed late that night.

The room lights turned on automatically, dimmed to an intimate glow. Leonard entered, looking tired, but his eyes lit up immediately when he saw Dante sitting on the sofa. He loosened his tie and tossed it aside.

“You waited for me,” Leonard said, his voice softer but carrying the same threat.

Dante didn’t answer. He only lowered his head, gripping the edge of his shirt.

Leonard walked closer, standing in front of him. He reached out and brushed Dante’s pale cheek with the back of his fingers.

“Marco said you tried to leave this afternoon.”

Dante trembled under his touch. “I just wanted to see my mother.”

“Your mother is safe. I already gave you what you wanted.” Leonard lifted Dante’s chin, forcing their eyes to meet. His gaze swept across Dante’s face, pausing briefly on his trembling lips.

“Now give me what I want. I came home with my head full of business problems, Dante. Calm me. Make me forget everything.”

“Leonard… I’m tired… my body still hurts,” Dante whispered, trying to plead for mercy.

Leonard smiled, but the smile never reached his eyes.

“That pain will remind you who owns you. I don’t want to hear complaints. I want obedience. Go to the bedroom.”

Dante stood with weak steps.

He walked toward the bedroom, feeling like a prisoner heading toward the gallows. As he stepped inside, he heard the apartment door lock automatically once again.

He was trapped.

On the fifty-fifth floor, inside this magnificent penthouse, his voice would never be heard by anyone.