CHAPTER 7: The Change

Her feet resounded down the hall as she walked away from Dante, her back to him, in some sort of defiance that silently screamed, "I've had enough."

But Dante was a man accustomed to having his every word obeyed and revered, and so he would have none of it; his voice boomed down the corridors like thunder, demanding attention, silencing all other sounds.

"Lyra, stop right there!" he yelled, the words hanging in the air like a challenge as his feet stamped upon the floor in that display of authority that seemed to shake the very foundations of the building.

Lyra stopped and squared her shoulders, the movement slow, as she slowly turned to Dante, flashes of anger mingling in her eyes, determination lighting them with every passing second. 

"No, Dante, I will not remain silent for your sake," she said calmly, resolute, without a note of quavering, like unshaken granite. "I blame my dad for everything," she said, the words spilling out like a confession, like a weight that had been lifted off her shoulders.

Dante's eyes slit, his gaze piercing as he took a step closer to Lyra; his movements fluid, calculated-the stalking of a predator. "You don't need to know the truth, Lyra," he said, low and even, but with an undercurrent of warning that seemed to vibrate through every cell in her body.

Lyra's eyes were afire, uncontainable like a wildfire. "Yes, I do need to know, Dante," she insisted, her voice rising to a crescendo, building like a wave in its strength and power. "I deserve to know the truth," she continued, her words tumbling out in a passionate cry, as if from a soul that had finally found its voice. 

"What's your interior motive, Dante?" she asked, not releasing her gaze from his, challenging him to tell her what he was keeping secret, like a puzzle she wanted to unscramble.

"Listen to me," Dante growled, his voice low and menacing, as he grasped Lyra's throat with his strong hand, lifting her off the ground with an ease that belied his rage. "You don't talk to the powerful Dante like that," he snarled, his eyes ablaze with fury as Lyra's feet dangled in the air, helpless and defenseless.

"Ahh, ehh, please put me down," Lyra begged in a trembling voice as Dante's grip tightened around her throat, managing to choke the life out of her. She struggled, trying to break free, but Dante's hands were like pincers-unyielding and merciless.

"Am sure you have forgotten that you are married to the powerful Dante?" he sneered, his lips curling into a contemptuous smile. "This is my house, and you shall listen to me, okay?" he bellowed, the voice echoing off the walls as he shook Lyra violently, her head bobbing up and down like a puppet on a string.

But Lyra didn't say anything, didn't nod her head in yes, didn't acknowledge him above her. She cried instead-great, racking sobs that shook her whole body, as if she was mourning the loss of her very soul.

Dante's face didn't soften, didn't change. If anything, his eyes turned harder, colder, as he stared at Lyra in a mixture of disdain and disgust. "I am not moved by your crocodile tears," he spat, his voice dripping with venom. 

"Say yes, Lyra," he shouted, his hand grasping into Lyra's hair, pulling her head back, forcing her to look up at him.

The words struggled to spill out her lips, and Lyra's voice sounded with a mix of fear and resignation: 

"Y…..e….s." to her, it was as if that admission was one of defeat, a surrender to the devil himself. Lyra felt the weight of her helplessness sink her heart and crush her soul as the truth truly hit her-she was married to the great, unscrupulous Dante, whose harshness and ruthlessness knew no limits and whose influence somehow filtered itself into every aspect of her being.

"Good girl," Dante said in a voice oozing condescension, as he released Lyra from his grasp, letting her slump to the floor, helpless and broken, her body wracked by pain, her mind reeling with the outcome of her actions.

It felt like the shockwave from her fall had sent ripples of pain through Lyra's body, the burning in her lungs from a fire that seemed to burn her very soul as she fought for a breath.

Dante's eyes remained fixed on Lyra a moment longer, cold and calculating, as if weighing options in his mind before turning away, leaving Lyra to pick up the shattered remains of her dignity, to wonder if she would ever be free from the suffocating grip of her husband.

 "You listen to me and no one else," Dante's voice echoed down the hall, a stark reminder of Lyra's precarious situation, a warning she would do well to heed.

With the door to Dante's room closed behind him, Lyra was left with her thoughts, her body wracked in pain and her mind reeling with the aftermath of the consequences of her actions, struggling to come to terms with reality.

Meanwhile, Dante was standing in front of the mirror, his eyes riveted on his own image, his brain racing with thoughts of Watson, a stranger who had innocently walked into his web of deceit and revenge, the only one now standing between him and the empire he had managed to build so carefully.

In the mirror that faced him, Dante was seething in his mind, full of anger, betrayal, and hurt as he replayed the events that had put him in this very place, his mind consumed with the treachery of Watson, the man who used to be his friend-a person whose betrayal had cut deep inside of him, leaving raw feelings of exposure and vulnerability.

That feeling of betrayal still smarted-a wound that did not heal-and the longer Dante thought about Watson's betrayal, the more his anger brewed in his gut, simmering, waiting to explode in a frenzy of fury and retribution.

"Watson betrayed me after everything I did for him," he shouted, his voice echoing off the walls, as he relived the pain of that betrayal, his heart heavy with the weight of his own wounded pride, his mind reeling with the implications of Watson's actions.

His eyes, as he paced from side to side in the room with thoughts of revenge in his head, seemed to burn internally, a fierce determination without which nothing would have brought it to a halt till it had destroyed Watson and ruined him, leaving a broken, shattered shell of a man.

"What do I do with him?" he exclaimed, his voice a low, tortured whisper, wrestling with demons of his own dark past, wrestling to come to terms with the reality of Watson's betrayal.

His footsteps echoed in the room as he walked, a steady, relentless beat that somehow seemed to keep time with the rhythm of his racing heart, while with every step Dante's anger grew, his determination hardening into a cold, unyielding resolve as he contemplated the ruin of Watson's life and reveled in the power he held over Watson's destiny.

"I should render him homeless," he thought, the smile on his lips cruel as he envisioned Watson, a broken and destitute man begging for leftovers on the streets. "Yes, that is what I shall do," he said to himself, malice oozing from every word as he was pleased with the power he enjoyed in the life of Watson.

But then, doubt, sudden and nagging, seemed to seep into his mind and shake all his resolutions, in the fear that even now Watson might get away from him and escape the vengeance Dante had stored for him.

"What if afterward he calls Lyra and tells her everything?" he wondered.