Chapter Two – Selena POV

My heart was still racing long after Dante walked away.

Not from fear. I refused to admit that. No man—least of all him—would ever make me cower.

But the way he looked at me… like he could peel me apart with just his eyes, like he could taste every secret I’d buried deep… it made my pulse misbehave. And I hated him more for it.

I pressed my back against the wall, trying to slow my breathing. “You’ll be mine either way,” he had said. The arrogance. The certainty.

No. He might own the ring, the vows, the territory. But he would never own me.

I returned to the dining hall, my steps steady even though my insides felt like a storm. Eyes followed me, whispers trailing in my wake. They’d seen Dante pull me away, seen me return without him. And in their world, whispers were weapons.

“Everything alright, Selena?” my father asked too sweetly, though the sharpness in his tone warned me what my answer had to be.

I smiled with all the sweetness of poison. “Perfect, Papá.”

Later, in the privacy of my room, I locked the door and kicked off my heels. My red dress slid to the floor in a puddle of rebellion. I caught sight of myself in the mirror—lipstick smeared, hair tumbling like I’d been kissed rough. My jaw tightened. I refused to let him get into my head.

Still, when I closed my eyes, I felt his thumb brushing my jaw, his voice curling around me like smoke. I want your fight.

He didn’t deserve my fight. He deserved nothing but my hate.

I pulled out the hidden box from under my bed. Inside were the tools of my plan—cash I’d stolen in small amounts over the years, a forged passport, a burner phone, a folded map marked with a route. I had been preparing for this marriage long before I knew who the unlucky groom would be.

Tomorrow night, after the wedding, when the celebrations drowned everyone in liquor and laughter, I would vanish.

I’d rather burn in hell than wake up in Dante Moretti’s bed.

But as I tucked the box away, a shiver ran down my spine. Deep down, I knew one truth:

Dante wasn’t the kind of man you escaped from easily.

Dante POV

Most men dreaded their wedding day.

I looked forward to mine.

Not because I believed in vows, or happily-ever-afters. Those were fairy tales for fools.

No—this day was about power. Control. Binding the Cruz cartel to my family’s empire.

And then there was her.

Selena.

The woman who thought she could stare me down, slice me with her words, and walk away unscathed. She didn’t know it yet, but today was the day her war ended—and mine began.

I adjusted my cufflinks in the mirror. Black suit, black tie. A groom dressed for war.

My father entered without knocking. “Don’t underestimate her,” he said. “The girl has fire. Fire burns.”

I smirked. “Fire can also be contained.”

But his warning wasn’t wasted on me. I’d watched Selena carefully last night. The way her eyes darted too often toward the exits. The faint tension in her shoulders, as if she were carrying more than the weight of her defiance. She was planning something. Escape, most likely.

And that only made me hungrier.

No woman ran from me.

At the ceremony, she appeared in white—the same white gown I’d seen discarded on her bed when I visited her house weeks ago during negotiations. She wore it like armor, chin lifted, dark eyes daring anyone to look away. Every guest whispered about her beauty, her defiance. But all I saw was the flicker of rebellion pulsing beneath her calm exterior.

When she reached my side, her hand slid into mine. Cold. Rigid. Like a blade wrapped in silk.

“You don’t have to look so murderous,” I murmured under my breath. “We’re only promising each other forever.”

She didn’t glance at me, didn’t even twitch. “Forever is a curse,” she whispered back.

I almost laughed. God, she had no idea how much I enjoyed this game.

When the priest asked if she took me as her husband, she hesitated. The pause stretched long enough for the guests to shift uncomfortably, for her father’s glare to cut like a knife. And then, finally, she said the words.

“I do.”

A lie. I tasted it in the air.

I slid the ring onto her finger, watching her jaw tighten as though the band burned. Good. She needed to feel the weight of it.

The kiss was tradition, nothing more. But when I bent to claim her lips, she turned her head just enough that my mouth brushed her cheek instead. Gasps rippled through the crowd.

Defiance, even here.

I straightened, my smile sharp enough to cut. If she wanted war, she’d get it. But in the end, she’d learn one truth:

Selena Cruz belonged to me now.

And I would break her world apart before I let her go.