Chapter Three – Selena POV

The reception blurred into a haze of forced smiles and whispered threats. Champagne flutes clinked, men toasted alliances, and women paraded their diamonds like victory flags. Everyone seemed to forget there was a bride at the table. A bride plotting her disappearance.

I smiled when I had to. I kissed cheeks. I let my father’s hand rest on my shoulder like I was a prized possession he’d finally sold off. But beneath the table, my fists curled tight around the hem of my gown.

Every detail of my escape was etched into my mind. Midnight. The servants’ corridor. The back gate, where my forged passport and hidden cash waited with a driver I’d bribed weeks ago.

I would not wake up in Dante Moretti’s bed.

“Bored already, moglie?” His voice slid against my skin like smoke.

I stiffened. He’d appeared at my side without sound, his glass of whiskey half empty, his eyes half amused. Too close. Always too close.

“I’m not your wife,” I said softly, careful not to let my lips move too much in front of watching eyes.

His smile deepened, cruel and lazy all at once. “The rings on our fingers disagree.”

My pulse spiked, but I held his gaze, refusing to flinch. He thrived on weakness, on submission. I would give him neither.

When the celebration finally dwindled and the last guest left, I was escorted to our suite. The doors shut behind me with a heavy finality that made my stomach twist.

The room was a cage disguised in gold and silk. A massive bed draped in white sheets. A bottle of champagne waiting on ice. The faint scent of leather and smoke clinging to the walls.

I slipped out of my gown quickly, tugging on the black dress I’d hidden beneath the layers. Simple. Practical. Easy to run in. My veil hit the floor like a discarded mask.

I was ready.

Or I thought I was—until the door opened.

Dante.

He leaned against the frame, watching me with that maddening calm, as if he’d been expecting this exact moment. His gaze traveled over me, pausing on the black dress, and then back up to my face.

“Going somewhere, cara mia?”

My throat went dry. My hand instinctively brushed against the hidden knife strapped to my thigh. “Out.”

He pushed off the door, slow and deliberate, every step a reminder that the room wasn’t mine. It was his.

“Interesting choice,” he murmured, circling me like a predator. “Most brides spend their wedding night in lace. You prefer knives and lies.”

I forced steel into my voice. “Better than chains.”

For a heartbeat, silence stretched between us, taut and dangerous. Then, in one swift movement, he caught my wrist and pulled me flush against him.

His breath brushed my ear. “Run if you want, Selena. But remember this—no matter where you go, no matter how far—you’ll always be mine.”

My heart hammered, but I lifted my chin, forcing my voice steady. “Then catch me.”

And with that, I wrenched free and bolted.

Dante POV

She ran.

I almost laughed. The sound of her footsteps echoing down the corridor was reckless, desperate—like a caged bird flinging itself against steel bars. Did she really think I hadn’t seen this coming?

Selena Cruz had been planning to run from the moment she learned my name. I saw it in her eyes, felt it in the tension of her body every time she stood near me. She wore rebellion like perfume—sweet, intoxicating, impossible to ignore.

And now, finally, she’d given me the chase I wanted.

I followed, not rushing. No, I let her think she had the upper hand. Let her believe freedom was only a breath away. My footsteps were silent, measured, the way a predator stalks prey in the dark.

She darted down the servants’ passage, skirts gathered in her fists, hair spilling over her shoulders. The sight of her running for her life, fierce and beautiful, lit something savage in me.

At the back gate, a car idled—her getaway. Clever girl. She’d planned well. But not well enough.

Before she reached the handle, I stepped out of the shadows.

Her body froze, chest heaving, eyes wide with the wild fire that had lured me from the start.

“Going somewhere, moglie?” I drawled.

Her hand flew to her thigh, pulling the knife she thought I didn’t know about. The blade glinted under the weak lantern light. She held it between us, her grip tight, her voice shaking only slightly.

“Move, Dante.”

I tilted my head, studying her. Not fear—no, this wasn’t fear in her eyes. This was defiance sharpened to a lethal point. God, she was magnificent.

Slowly, deliberately, I stepped closer. The knife trembled, but she didn’t back away.

“Do it,” I whispered. “Stab me. Prove you’re not just fire and words.”

Her breath caught. For a second, I thought she might actually do it. And I almost wanted her to. The scar would have been worth it, just to feel her fury carved into my skin.

But she hesitated.

And that hesitation was all I needed.

In one swift move, I caught her wrist, twisted, and the knife clattered to the ground. My other arm wrapped around her waist, yanking her against me. She fought—God, she fought—but she was small against my strength.

Her breath was ragged, her lips parted in fury, her body burning against mine like sin itself.

“You’ll learn, Selena,” I murmured into her hair, holding her thrashing body with ruthless ease. “Running only makes me want to keep you closer.”

She cursed in Spanish, kicked at me, clawed at my chest. I let her. I savored it.

Because the harder she fought, the sweeter her surrender would taste.

And make no mistake—she would surrender.

To me.