Chapter 4

Elena's POV

The urgent board message arrived in my inbox at seven in the morning: Proof of living together required within two days.

Victor had pushed the new rule through two board members on his side, claiming a marriage on paper without sharing a home was grounds to review my trust fund early. By noon, Dante’s minimal luggage was sitting in the marble front hall of my penthouse.

I stood by the kitchen counter, arms crossed over my silk shirt as he set a worn leather bag near the coat rack.

"Let us set the rules right now," I said, my voice clear in the quiet apartment. "You have the east guest room. My bedroom and private home office are off-limits. No walking in without asking, no guests, and the rule of zero physical contact stands."

Dante hung his black jacket on the rack beside my coats. He turned, leaning back against the console table with his hands casually in his pockets.

"Understood, Miss Rostova," he said, his voice unhurried. "Anything else?"

"Do not mess up my routine. I work long hours, and I expect total privacy when I am home."

"A quiet house, strict boundaries, and no touching," Dante repeated slowly, a faint smirk touching his lips as he looked around the spacious living room. "Sounds less like a marriage and more like a high-end prison sentence."

"It is a business contract, Mr. Hayes," I reminded him coldly. "Treat it like one."

"Five million dollars to stay in my own lane," he said, taking a step toward his wing of the apartment. "You won't even know I am here."

He agreed easily enough, but as afternoon turned into evening, his presence filled my quiet space anyway. The subtle scent of cedar and rain hung in the hall. The heavy, steady sound of his footsteps echoed through the guest wing. Even sitting across the open living room later that evening in total silence, his calm, watching eyes pulled at my attention, shattering the solitary peace I had spent three years building.

By midnight, I retreated to my bedroom, exhausted from the tension of having him under my roof.

I fell asleep fitfully, tossing and turning until the unwanted flashback invaded my dream.

I woke up with a sharp, gasping breath, my chest burning with sudden anger. The memory was as clear as the night it happened three years ago—the heavy wood door of the estate suite, the quiet laughter in the hall, and Daniel’s mocking voice. He hadn't just cheated; he had laughed in my face, telling me he never cared about me as a person. To him, I was just a convenient tool to elevate his social status and access my family wealth.

Angry, bitter, and thoroughly restless, I pushed the silk covers off. I couldn't stay in that bed with my mind racing. I needed a glass of cold water to cool off.

I walked barefoot down the dark hallway toward the kitchen.

As I rounded the corner, I noticed the open living room was lit by the faint blue glow of a laptop. Dante sat on the leather sofa in a dark t-shirt, his hair falling slightly over his forehead. His long fingers were moving across the keyboard, but he closed the screen with a quiet click the moment my bare feet crossed the floor.

I stopped near the marble kitchen island, suddenly hyper-aware of my silk sleep shirt. I pulled my cold defense back over my face like armor.

"I thought you were asleep," I said, my voice tighter than I intended.

"I don't sleep much," Dante replied smoothly. He didn't ask annoying questions, nor did he offer fake pity for the fact that I looked visibly shaken.

He stood up, walked behind the marble counter, and poured a glass of cold water from the glass pitcher. He slid it across the stone surface until it stopped right in front of my hands.

"Drink," he said quietly.

I picked up the glass and swallowed the cold water, letting the chill settle the anger in my throat. I expected him to walk back to his laptop or retire to his room, but Dante pulled out a stool across the counter and sat down, leaning his forearms on the marble.

"Rough night?" he asked softly, his dark eyes fixing on mine in the dim light.

"Just thinking about work," I lied, setting the glass down.

"Liars usually look away when they lie, Miss Rostova," Dante murmured, his tone laced with a quiet, dangerous amusement. "You stared right at me."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "My personal thoughts are not part of our agreement, Dante."

"No," he agreed, leaning back slightly. "But watching you pace around at two in the morning like a caged animal is hard to ignore. If you're going to keep me up, you might as well tell me who made you this angry."

"Nobody made me angry," I snapped, though the heat in my face betrayed me. "I don't let people get close enough to affect me like that anymore."

Dante studied me for a long, heavy moment. The silence between us stretched, thick with unspoken tension.

"Smart," he said softly, his deep voice carrying a strange weight that made my pulse jump. "Holding onto anger is safer than trusting someone. But keep that wall up too high, Elena, and you might suffocate behind it."

I stared at him, my breath catching in my throat. He was speaking with an unnerving level of insight, looking right through the cold shell I used to protect myself.

"I am perfectly fine," I said firmly, taking the empty glass and setting it in the sink. "Goodnight, Dante."

"Goodnight, my quiet wife," he replied, his voice trailing after me in the dark as I walked back to my room.

A cold wave of worry washed over me as I lay back down in bed, staring at the ceiling. It was easy to view men as disposable objects when they were cruel and greedy like Daniel. But Dante’s quiet, intense presence was far more dangerous. He wasn't just an accessory; he was a constant threat to the walls surrounding my heart.

The next morning came far too quickly.

I woke up early, dressed in a sharp navy suit, and tried to focus purely on the day ahead. But by nine o'clock, the real trouble started.

Uncle Victor had called a sudden emergency meeting in the main boardroom of Rostova Atelier. By the time I walked through the heavy glass doors, the long mahogany table was surrounded by the entire board of directors. Victor stood at the head of the room, looking proud and ready to claim his victory.

"Elena," Victor said, his voice holding fake care as I took my seat. "We were just looking at the company money records. It seems there are big problems in the overseas accounts you control."

He pushed thick folders toward the board members. "Millions of dollars are untraced. The board cannot hand over your trust fund when the company money is being handled so poorly just thirty days before your birthday."

Two older board members looked at me with cold disapproval. My hands closed into fists under the polished wood table. It was a complete setup—a fake paper trail meant to tie me up in company investigations until my birthday passed and my mother's shares went to Victor.

"These records are fake," I said coldly, standing up from my chair. "I personally checked and signed the supply accounts last week."

"The papers speak for themselves, niece," Victor smiled meanly, leaning his hands on the table. "You are too stressed. You lack the experience to run a company of this size alone."

Before I could tear his lies apart, the heavy doors at the back of the room swung open.

Dante walked in.

The talking stopped right away. He didn't look like a disgraced failure or a quiet trophy husband. Dressed in a sharp, custom suit with a dark tie, he carried a dangerous presence that took over the room. A black leather briefcase hung in his right hand.

"You are not allowed to be in this meeting," Victor snapped, his face turning red. "Security—"

"Security is busy," Dante said calmly, his deep voice cutting through the room.

He walked to the head of the table and set the briefcase down with a dull thud. Opening the latches, he pulled out a stack of clean, stamped money reports and tossed them right in front of Victor.

"Those are the real overseas records, checked by a private federal firm this morning," Dante said smoothly, stepping up behind my chair and leaning his hands lightly on the headrest. "They show the exact hidden accounts where that missing money actually went. Accounts registered right under your fake companies, Mr. Rostova."

Victor went pale, his mouth opening and closing without a word.

Dante reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out two smaller, sealed white envelopes. He slid them easily across the table toward the two board members who had backed Victor a moment earlier.

"And those are private tax secrets," Dante added, his voice dropping into a quiet tone that chilled the room. "I suggest you both read them before casting another vote on Miss Rostova."

The two board members opened their envelopes, their faces losing color in seconds. They shoved the papers back into their pockets, looking down at the table in complete, terrified silence.

I sat frozen in my seat, staring up at Dante in shock. He had completely destroyed Victor's trap in under two minutes using tools that my legal team had never even found.

Dante rested a heavy, protective hand on the back of my chair, looking down at my shaking uncle with a cold smile.

"This meeting is over," Dante said quietly. "My wife keeps full control of her company."

Sitting there beside him, my heart beat fast against my ribs with a scary thought. Dante had not just saved my job. He had openly declared war on my enemies, and he had done it completely on his own terms.