GILDED CAGE

LILIANA'S POV

I lie there long after the door slams, the echo still vibrating in my bones.

The sheets smell like him. Expensive cologne and smoke, faint leather and gunpowder, as if even the fabric knows it belongs to a man like Dante Moretti. I hate it. I hate that the scent clings to me now, burrowed into my skin like a bruise I can’t scrub away.

My wrists ache where he pinned them, red marks blooming like flowers on pale flesh. His weight still lingers on me, phantom heat, the press of his knee between my thighs. I hate that my body remembered it even when I’m trying to forget.

“Fuck,” I whisper to the ceiling, voice trembling.

I want to scream. I want to rip the silk sheets apart, claw at the walls until my fingers bleed. But I can’t, not here, not in his cage where he’d only laugh at me. He’d like it too much.

He already does.

I curl onto my side, pulling my knees to my chest. My dress is torn, ruined, the last remnant of a wedding that never was. A wedding that was nothing but a setup, a performance, a leash around my throat.

Ethan.

My chest aches at the thought of him. He promised he loved me. He kissed my forehead and told me I was “the only one.” But Dante’s words keep slicing through me like knives: He only wanted what you could give him.

Shares. Power. Merging companies until he sat on top of the world.

And me?

I was never the prize. Just the dowry.

My stomach twists. Tears blur my vision, and I press my face into the pillow, muffling the sob that escapes. I can’t cry loud. He’ll hear. And if Dante hears, he’ll come back. He’ll feed on it.

I don’t even notice I’ve fallen asleep until the nightmares hit.

I wake up to hands on me.

Strong, cold hands.

I jolt upright with a strangled scream, but it’s only Luca, one of Dante’s men, standing by the bed with clothes in his hands. His expression is flat, bored, like he’s done this a thousand times before.

“The boss says you’re to get dressed.” He drops the bundle on the mattress, his eyes flicking over me once, judging, calculating, before he turns away.

“What if I don’t?” My voice cracks, but I force the words out.

Luca shrugs. “Then I’ll dress you myself.” His smirk makes bile rise in my throat. “Wouldn’t mind.”

I yank the bundle closer, glaring at him. “Get out.”

Another shrug, but he obeys, leaving me in silence.

I unfold the clothes. Black silk slip. Thin straps. Barely decent. Definitely not mine.

“Of course,” I whisper bitterly, sliding it over my body. The fabric clings to me, makes me feel naked. He wants me like this—fragile, exposed, humiliated.

When I catch my reflection in the mirror, I don’t recognize myself. Pale skin. Red eyes from crying. Collarbone jutting sharp under the silk. I look small. Weak.

But my mother’s voice echoes in my head: You were the mistake. The child that ruined me.

And Ethan’s: Why can’t you be more like your sister?

Something snaps inside me.

I square my shoulders, lift my chin. I might look weak, but I won’t let Dante Moretti see it. He already takes too much.

I won’t give him my shame.

---

They bring me downstairs.

The house is vast, marble floors, tall ceilings, gold chandeliers—but it feels like a mausoleum, cold and suffocating. Guards stand at every doorway, their eyes crawling over me like I’m prey.

And then there he is.

Dante.

Sitting at the head of the long table, black shirt open at the collar, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He looks carved from shadow and arrogance, his dark eyes finding me the second I enter.

“My doll,” he murmurs, lips curving.

The name slams into me. Doll. Always doll. He says it like it’s truth, like I was never Liliana Crawford at all.

“Don’t call me that,” I snap, my voice sharper than I expect.

His grin widens, slow and dangerous. “Feisty this morning.”

He waves me closer, and when I don’t move fast enough, Luca shoves me forward. I stumble, catching myself on the edge of the table. Dante chuckles, swirling his whiskey.

“Sit.”

I don’t. “Why are you keeping me here?”

He studies me, eyes dark and unblinking. “Because you’re mine.”

“I’m not yours,” I spit. “I’ll never be yours.”

The glass slams against the table, liquid spilling. I flinch, but I don’t look away. His jaw tightens, and for a heartbeat, the air feels like it’s been sucked out of the room.

Then he stands.

Slow. Deliberate.

The kind of movement that makes every muscle in my body scream run.

He comes around the table, towering over me, and I tilt my chin up to meet his eyes even though my knees shake.

“Not mine?” His voice is low, velvet and venom. He grabs my jaw, fingers digging into my skin until it hurts. “Everything in this house belongs to me. That includes you.”

I try to wrench away, but his grip only tightens. My breath stutters. His eyes burn into mine, and the truth hits me: he’s not bluffing. He really believes it.

“You’ll learn, doll,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “You’ll beg for the chains you’re fighting now.”

A shiver runs through me, unwanted and terrifying.

I hate him.

I hate him.

So why does part of me, very deep and broken thrill at the danger in his voice?

---

The day drags. He keeps me close, like a fucking pet. If he works in his office, I sit in the corner. If he eats, I sit across from him, picking at food I can’t taste. If he speaks to his men, they look at me with questions in their eyes, but none of them dare say anything.

It’s suffocating.

Every time I breathe, I feel his gaze on me. Even when he’s not looking.

By evening, I can’t take it anymore. I wait until Luca steps out to answer a call, then I move. Fast. Quiet.

Through the hall. Past the staircase. Toward the heavy front doors that promise freedom.

I make it three steps before a hand fists in my hair and yanks me back.

I scream, twisting, but I know who it is before I see him.

Dante slams me against the wall, his body caging mine, his breath hot against my face. His eyes are fire, his grin pure sin.

“Running already?” he growls. “And here I thought you’d last at least a week.”

“Let me go!” I claw at his chest, but he catches my wrists easily, pinning them above my head.

“Not a chance.” He presses closer, his thigh between mine, his body crushing me into the wall. “You think you get to leave? You think you get to choose?”

Tears sting my eyes, but I bite them back. “You can break me, but you’ll never own me.”

For a second, silence. His eyes search mine, dark and endless. Then he laughs, low and cruel.

“Oh, doll. You’re already mine. The only question is how long it takes before you admit it.”

His mouth hovers over mine, not kissing, just stealing my air. My heart hammers, fear and fury and something else I don’t want to name.

I hate him.

I hate him.

So why does my body burn under his touch like it’s starving?

---

He doesn’t kiss me. Doesn’t need to. He lets me go suddenly, so fast I almost collapse.

“Run again,” he says softly, deadly. “And I’ll chain you to my fucking bed.”

Then he walks away, leaving me shaking against the wall, breathless and broken.

And for the first time, I realize....

This isn’t survival anymore.

This is war.