Kabanata 7

Sa loob ng madilim na opisina ni Dante, ang tanging nagbibigay ng liwanag ay ang baga ng kanyang sigarilyo at ang asul na ilaw mula sa kanyang computer monitor. But he wasn't looking at spreadsheets or bank accounts. He was staring at the small diamond earring on his desk, his mind replaying every second of the night before.

"A body that promised sin," he whispered to himself, his voice thick with a hunger he couldn't suppress.

Hindi siya makapag-concentrate sa trabaho. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her-the way her black silk dress clung to her curves, the way her skin felt like heated marble under his touch, and the way she looked at him with those eyes that were begging to be ruined.

He remembered the way she moved. It wasn't the practiced grace of a stripper or the artificial charm of the socialites he usually encountered. It was raw. It was desperate. Every inch of her body was a masterpiece of temptation, a silent invitation to commit the deadliest of sins.

"Boss, the files you asked for," Marco interrupted, placing a folder on the desk.

Dante didn't look up. He was too busy remembering the way her breasts felt in his hands-the weight of them, the softness, and the way her nipples hardened against his palms. He could still feel the phantom sensation of her nails raking down his back as she reached her peak.

He opened the folder. His heart, usually cold and steady, skipped a beat.

There she was.

Sa isang candid photo na kuha mula sa isang high-end gala, Elena Dela Vega was smiling, but it was a fake smile-the kind he had seen a thousand times on the faces of people trapped in their own golden cages. She was wearing a conservative white gown, looking every bit the "Golden Daughter" the media praised.

"Elena Dela Vega," Dante read her name, the syllables feeling like a forbidden prayer on his tongue. "The heiress of Dela Vega Shipping. Promised to Julian Monteverde."

Marco nodded. "It's a massive merger, Boss. The wedding is in a few weeks. It's the talk of the town."

Dante's jaw tightened. Julian Monteverde. He knew the guy-a weak, arrogant brat who spent more money on cocaine and models than on his father's business. The thought of that man touching her, of Julian's hands on the skin that Dante had just marked as his own, made his blood boil.

"She's a virgin bride being sold to a dog," Dante growled, his eyes darkening until they were almost black.

He stood up and walked to the window, the image of her body burned into his retinas. He remembered the moment he entered her-the tightness, the resistance, and then the way she opened up for him like a flower blooming in the dark. It wasn't just a one-night stand for him. It was a claim.

He could still feel her heat. He remembered the way he had pinned her wrists above her head, his large body overshadowing her small frame.

"Look at me," he had commanded.

And she did. She looked at him with a mixture of pain and pleasure that had nearly driven him insane. He remembered the sound of her moans-low, guttural, and filled with a need that matched his own. He had taken his time with her, exploring every curve, every secret place, until she was nothing but a shivering mess of desire.

His thoughts drifted back to the detailed memories of their intimacy. He remembered how he had flipped her over, his hands gripping her hips as he buried himself deep from behind. The way her back arched, the way her hair spilled over the black sheets like a silken waterfall. He had watched her reflection in the mirror, watching the way his dark, tattooed body collided with her pale, innocent skin. It was a sight of pure, unadulterated sin.

He had felt her walls clenching around him, pulling him deeper, demanding more. He had never felt such a connection with a stranger. It was as if their souls recognized the darkness in each other.

"She thinks she can just walk down that aisle and belong to someone else?" Dante said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

"Boss, the Dela Vegas and Monteverdes are powerful. Intervening could start a war," Marco warned.

Dante turned around, a slow, predatory smirk spreading across his face. "Marco, I don't just want her. I need to possess her. I need to make sure that every time Julian tries to touch her, she remembers my name. She remembers how it felt to be claimed by the Shadow."

He picked up the earring and put it in his pocket..

"Set up the surveillance. I want to know every detail of her schedule. The dress fittings, the parties, the moments she thinks she's alone," Dante commanded.

He wasn't just a stranger anymore. He was the architect of her ruin.

Elena Dela Vega thought she was escaping her father's contract by giving herself to him. She didn't realize that she had just signed a much more dangerous agreement-one written in blood, sweat, and the dark obsession of a man who never learned how to let go.

Her body had promised sin, and Dante was more than ready to collect.

As the sun began to set over the city, casting long, jagged shadows across his office, Dante poured himself another glass of whiskey. He toasted to the photo of Elena..

"See you soon, little girl," he whispered. "The boardroom might have decided your future, but I've already decided your fate."

The hunt was no longer just about curiosity. It was about possession. Dante Valez was a man who lived in the shadows, and he was about to bring Elena Dela Vega into his world-whether she was ready or not.