Chapter 10: the price of survival

Serena’s POV

“Did you just say… marry you?”

The words leave my mouth slowly, like my tongue doesn’t trust them. Like if I say them too fast, they’ll become real.

Marriage.

The word echoes in my head, bouncing off everything that’s still bruised and raw inside me. My chest tightens, sharp and immediate, and for a second I forget about the IV in my arm, the dull ache in my ribs, the way my body still feels like it doesn’t fully belong to me.

I stare at Dante.

I’m certain I misheard him.

I search his face desperately, scanning for something… anything that tells me this is a joke and that he is bluffing, probably this is a dark humor. A moment of insanity brought on by guilt because his car hit me.

I find none of it.

His expression is calm, somewhat Steadying and almost patient.

He doesn’t take it back.

The silence stretches, thick and unbearable, until my heart starts pounding so hard it hurts.

“I…” My voice cracks. I swallow and try again. “I just escaped one marriage.”

The words come out harsher than I mean them to, but I don’t soften them, I can’t be seen as vulnerable . My hands start shaking on top of the thin hospital blanket, and I curl my fingers into the fabric like it’s the only thing anchoring me.

“I was just divorced,” I say, forcing myself to look at him. “Do you have any idea what that did to me?”

My throat burns.

“I trusted him,” I continue, the memories rushing back without permission. “I defended him when people warned me. I stood beside him while he planned my humiliation like it was a business deal.”

My chest tightens, breath shallow now.

“He called me useless,” I say quietly. “He casually said I was bike and a disposable .”

The words taste bitter and tears rolled down my cheeks.

“And now you’re asking me to marry you?” I shake my head, a short, sharp movement that makes my temples throb. “How can you ask that of me now?”

I feel cornered, truly cornered. Like the walls of the room have shifted closer without me noticing, like there’s no air left to breathe.

Dante listens without interrupting.

That somehow makes it worse.

He doesn’t rush to reassure me, he doesn’t even tell me I’m wrong. He just watches, eyes steady, like he’s weighing something far heavier than my fear.

When he finally speaks, his voice is calm and gentle. The kind that makes my heart flutter.

“You don’t have to love me.”

The words land wrong taking me Off-balance. My stomach twists.

“This isn’t romance,” he continues evenly. “It’s protection , an arrangement.” He said coldly.

“An arrangement?”

I let out a shaky breath, my mind scrambling to catch up. “That’s supposed to make this better?”

He doesn’t react to the edge in my voice.

“You won’t be touched unless you want to be,” he says simply.

I freeze.

The room feels colder all of a sudden.

I don’t know if that makes it better or worse. The idea of a marriage without love, without intimacy, without warmth? it chills me in a way I can’t explain. It feels less like safety and more like being sealed inside glass. Protected, yes!! But it feels like I’ll be watched and Contained.

Dante’s gaze doesn’t waver.

“This isn’t about what you want,” he adds quietly. “It’s about what you need.”

My heart stutters.

“And what if I say no?” I ask, my voice barely holding together.

He doesn’t answer right away.

Instead, he says, “Your mother won’t survive without me.”

The words aren’t cruel. That’s the worst part.

They’re actually the truth.

He talks about timelines. About specialists already waiting. About how delays complicate things, how fragile windows close fast in medicine.

My throat closes.

I see my mother in my mind, pale against white sheets, her hand cold in mine. I hear the doctor’s voice again, measured and detached, explaining costs like they’re discussing a broken machine instead of a human life.

I feel the walls closing in.

This isn’t just about me anymore.

Anger flares suddenly, sharp and desperate.

“So this is leverage?” I snap. “You save her if I give you what you want?”

Dante’s eyes darken…not with anger, but something colder.

“I’m not threatening you,” he says evenly. “I’m explaining reality.”

I hate that part of me understands him.

I hate it even more that he’s right.

My chest aches, the pressure unbearable now. Tears burn behind my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. I won’t cry in front of him. Not again. I already feel stripped bare.

“What do you get out of this?” I ask suddenly.

The question surprises even me.

“Why me?” I continue, the words spilling out. “Why now?”

I gesture weakly at myself. “I’m ordinary. I’m broke. I’m…” My voice falters. “I’m broken.”

I look at him directly. “What do you gain from marrying me?”

For the first time since this conversation began, something shifts in his expression. Just slightly. His gaze sharpens, like I’ve finally asked the right question.

He doesn’t answer immediately.

The silence stretches, long and deliberate, and my heart pounds harder with every second that passes.

Then he stands.

The movement is unhurried, controlled. He straightens his suit jacket, the picture of composure, while I sit there feeling small and exposed in a hospital bed that suddenly feels more like a cage.

“You don’t have to answer immediately,” he says.

Relief flickers, brief and fragile.

“But not too much time,” he adds calmly. “Your mother’s condition is urgent.”

The relief shatters.

“I’ll return,” he says, already turning toward the door. “Soon.”

Soon.

The word echoes long after he leaves, long after the door clicks shut behind him.

I’m alone.

The room feels too quiet now, the steady beeping of the machines suddenly unbearable. I stare at the ceiling again, my body aching, my mind racing in tight, frantic circles.

Marriage!!!

Protection!!

My mother!!!

Antonio’s face flashes through my mind, followed by Isabella’s smile, followed by the bank teller’s pitying eyes. I think about the road. The headlights. The moment I stepped forward because I couldn’t see another way out.

I close my eyes, a tear finally slipping free.

I realize, with sickening clarity, that survival has a price.

And it’s my freedom.