Chapter 21: Prelude to the Fall

DANTE

The silence in my office wasn’t peaceful. It pressed in, tight and heavy, wrapping around me like smoke I couldn’t escape. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Marisol.

She wasn’t supposed to matter. This was supposed to be business. But the storm I’d been holding at bay was closing in, and somewhere deep inside, I already knew the move I’d have to make.

I traced the edge of the desk. The cool mahogany steadied my hand, but it didn’t touch the war unraveling inside me.

This wasn’t just about her. It was about Marcos Montoya, the man who ruled through blood and fear. He’d take this union as a challenge, maybe even a declaration of war. He wasn’t the kind to back down.

But danger circled from both sides. Marisol was already hunted. Already marked. Tying her to me wouldn’t make her safe. But it might make them think twice.

Can I protect her? Can I survive it myself?

Even here, surrounded by steel and glass, she cracked through me in places I thought were sealed for good.

Those eyes. That fire.

My hands gripped the desk. My lungs stuttered around the truth I didn’t want to say. The memory of my mother, cold and still, rose like a ghost. 

My father’s voice followed, cruel and clear: Love is weakness. Love will destroy you.

And yet, beneath the fear, the pressure, the anger... the truth settled in.

There’s no other move left. I have to marry her.

A knock broke through the spiral. “Come in,” I said.

Maria entered with a sealed envelope. “A file from Señor Thompson,” she said, placing it in front of me.

“Thank you.”

She left, and the door clicked shut behind her. The envelope felt heavier than it should. Weighted with truth.

The file opened easily. Berklee College of Music. Bachelor of Arts in Music Composition. Honors. Perfect GPA. She hadn’t just escaped, she’d dominated. 

She planned this. Long before she ran. She wasn’t some frightened girl looking for a savior. She was already saving herself.

My fingers paused on the pages.

There’s more to her. So much more.

Then I saw the irregularities. Another false identity. Purchases, returns, deposits, all under a new name: Elena Reyes. She’d built her exit like a symphony, note by note, hiding her escape in plain sight.

Frowning, I picked up the phone.

“What’s the story behind these purchases?”

Thompson answered without pause. “High-end items. Returned or sold by her bodyguard, Esteban. He deposited the money.”

“And Esteban?”

A pause. Then caution. “Nothing, sir. He vanished the same time she did. He’s probably dead.”

The smirk that had threatened fell flat. Marisol wasn’t running from danger, she was pulling me into it. And the wolves from my side? They’d be just as ruthless.

The file still sat open, its contents bleeding truths I hadn’t been ready to face. Every line of her history, each forged signature, each altered record, was a revelation. Not just of her fear. Of her brilliance.

She hadn’t escaped her father. She’d outmaneuvered him. With grace. With calculation. With the kind of precision that demanded respect.

I could feel it, respect growing into something more dangerous.

Obsession.

She wasn't a girl in need of saving. She was a storm in a silk dress. A woman who’d carved her own way out of hell. And I... I’d been arrogant enough to think I was the one holding the reins.

I should’ve been furious.

Instead, I was undone.

I walked back to the desk and picked up the envelope again. My thumb dragged across her name, Marisol Montoya, burning it into my skin like it meant something more. Something irreversible.

I’d been built by discipline. Carved from rage. Love had no place in me. But this wasn’t love. It was gravity. Unforgiving and absolute.

My father would have called it weakness.

But he also died alone. Hated. Feared.

Feared, yes. But never remembered with warmth.

I didn’t want that kind of legacy.

My hand dropped from the windowpane. My reflection stared back, sharp suit, colder eyes, a mask of composure that no longer fit.

She’d already started rewriting me.

I turned back toward the desk, toward the path I’d already chosen. One that had no retreat.

I stared at the file, but all I could see was her.

What the hell is wrong with me? This was supposed to be clean. Efficient. Not... this.

I didn’t need love. I needed control. But her strength, her resilience, twisted something inside me. Clever. Resourceful. Unbreakable.

God, that fire… Imagine it unleashed in my bed.

Arousal tightened every muscle. When I took her, she’d be mine. Completely.

I moved to the window. Light spilled across the grounds, softening nothing. If forgetting her wasn’t an option, claiming her was the only one left.

She will be mine.

But the ache in my chest didn’t ease. This wasn’t love. It never would be, I told myself.

It was a practical solution. But the ache refused to let me lie.

And so did the way she was already breaking through the parts of me I’d buried to survive.

I pressed the intercom. “Maria, come to my office.”

She appeared moments later. “Yes, mijo?”

“Tomorrow I’m marrying Marisol. Everything needs to be perfect.”

Her brows shot up. Smile wide. “You’re really doing it? Oh, Dante, she’s good for you. I can tell.”

“It’s protection, not love.” The words scraped out, colder than I meant.

Maria arched an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. If you say so.”

I leveled a look. She didn’t flinch.

“Make sure she has everything. Clothes. Ceremony details. Whatever she needs.”

Maria softened. “She’ll have it.”

“Thank you,” I said, dismissing her. “Send Marisol to my office. I need to speak with her.”

When the door closed behind her, my spine straightened. My chest still felt tight.

It wasn’t business. It was redemption.

I couldn’t save my mother, but maybe I could save her.

She was already breaking through the walls I’d built to survive.

It was something raw. Real. And I didn’t have the defenses to stop it anymore.

I’d already made the move. Already invited the war. And the fall? It had already begun.

The marriage wouldn’t end the war. It would start it.

I still didn’t know if I’d survive what she was about to become, my wife.

And if I did... I wouldn’t come out the same.

Tomorrow, everything would change.

The door handle clicked.

My pulse spiked.

This was it. The moment before the storm.

And I was walking straight into it.