Chapter 9: the offer that changed everything

Dante’s POV

“Go on,” I say calmly. “Tell me everything.”

I’m seated beside her hospital bed, close enough to hear the hitch in her breathing, far enough that she doesn’t feel cornered.

Serena looks breakable.

Not in the fragile, delicate way men romanticize but in the way something already shattered looks when you realize one more touch could turn it to dust.

She hesitates, then starts talking.

At first, it’s disjointed, half-finished sentences. She doesn’t look at me while she speaks. Her eyes stay fixed on the ceiling like she’s afraid that if she looks down, she’ll fall apart completely.

She talks about the divorce.

She goes on to talk about signing papers she didn’t understand because she trusted the man standing across from her and then realizing too late that trust had been a weapon used against her. Her voice shakes when she says his name “Antonio” and I take note of that.

She tells me how he humiliated her. How he made her feel small for asking questions. How he drained her savings and told her she should have been smarter.

I don’t interrupt.

I don’t nod. I don’t comfort her.

I let her talk.

When she mentions that all of her savings were gone…her hands curl into the sheets like she’s holding onto the last solid thing in the world. When she talks about the bank, her voice turns hollow, almost distant, like she’s watching herself from far away.

Then she talks about her mother.

That’s when her voice truly breaks.

“She needs surgery,” Serena whispers. “They said if we wait too long…”

She doesn’t finish the sentence. She doesn’t need to.

I watch her shoulders draw inward, like she’s trying to make herself smaller, like the world has already decided she’s taking up too much space.

I keep my face neutral.

Inside, something sharp settles into place.

She doesn’t realize it yet, but I’m already deciding.

When she finally stops talking, the silence stretches. Heavy. Charged. I let it linger just long enough for the weight of her words to sink in, for her to feel seen without being comforted.

Then I speak.

“They took everything from you,” I say quietly.

Her head turns toward me, slow and unsure.

I repeat it, slower this time. More precise.

“Your marriage, your money, your dignity.”

Her eyes widen just a fraction.

No one has ever said it that plainly to her. I can tell. People like Serena are used to being told to cope, to be strong, to move on. They’re rarely told the truth that they were stripped bare and left bleeding.

I let the silence do the work.

She swallows. Her breathing shifts. Something in her posture changes, subtle but telling. She’s leaning in…not physically, but emotionally.

I move closer.

Carefully.

I take her hand softly with a grin on my face.

“I can make it all stop,” I say.

Her gaze flickers, sharp and immediate.

“The fear,” I continue. “The waiting, helplessness, That constant knot in your chest.”

I don’t dress it up. I don’t exaggerate. I say it like a fact…because for me, it is one.

I see hope flicker in her eyes before she can stop it. She hates that it does. I can see the shame that follows, the instinctive recoil from wanting relief.

I tell her I can give her peace,Stability. A life where she doesn’t have to beg banks or plead with doctors. A life where no one can take from her again.

Her breathing grows uneven.

I watch her carefully as I deliver the deepest cut.

“Your mother will get the best care,” I say. “Immediately.”

Her head snaps up.

“No conditions,” I add before she can speak. “Private doctors. Whatever she needs. Nothing denied.”

Her hands clutch the sheets, knuckles whitening.

This is the strongest bait. I know it the moment I see her eyes fill, not with tears this time, but with something dangerous.

Hope.

I don’t stop there.

“I’ll retrieve what was stolen from you,” I say. “Every last cent.”

Her lips part slightly.

“Your ex-husband won’t walk away unscathed.”

I don’t threaten. I don’t raise my voice. I simply state it as inevitability.

I watch anger replace despair in her eyes. Not explosive rage—something quieter. Colder. The kind that roots deep and waits.

She doesn’t realize it yet, but she’s already imagining it. Imagining him losing control. Imagining balance being restored.

Then I straighten slowly.

I let the moment stretch.

“There’s only one thing I ask,” I say.

Her body tenses. She knew it was coming. People always do.

I hold her gaze.

I say it clearly but quite Calm. As if it’s the most reasonable thing in the world.

“Marry me.”

The words land between us, heavy and irrevocable.

I don’t explain.

I don’t soften it.

I don’t tell her why.

“All you have to do,” I say quietly, “is become my wife.”

And as I watch her stare at me in shock, I know for a fact ,without question that everything has just changed.