A guest

Isla~

It's been two days. Two days since I've been locked up in this room. All I did was cry myself to sleep and thrash various objects in the room.

It was all my fault. My brother was dead because of me.

Maybe if I wasn't trying to run from my fate or fight it, I wouldn't be in this mess right now. I had lost both my brother and my freedom.

A series of knock suddenly came from the door and I already knew who they were. Apparently, Dante had hired an entire posse of personal attendants to look after me. I was however unmoved by this gesture.

"Mrs Moretti?" A voice called out from outside and I frowned.

That name. I was now bearing the surname of my brother's killer. It made me feel like every bit of a murderer as Dante is, and I hated that feeling.

I tightened my grip on the bedsheet as they continued to knock and call for me.

"Mrs Moretti, please let us in."

"Go away!" I screamed at them, sinking further into the king-sized bed.

I didn't want to be around anyone right now. Why can't they just leave me alone?

"Please, ma'am. We have instructions from Boss Dante." They continued.

"We have to dress you up for dinner tonight."

I tensed up.

Dinner?

The very idea of sitting at a table with Dante made my stomach churn. I wanted nothing to do with him, wanted nothing to do with this forced marriage. But deep down, I knew I wasn't going to get much of a say.

Still, I had no intention of making it easy for him.

"I’m not hungry," I muttered, pulling the sheets over my head. I felt like a child hiding under the covers.

Silence was all I heard, then a sigh.

"Ma’am, Boss Dante was very clear. You don’t have to eat, but you must attend."

Of course, he was. He wasn’t going to let me rot away in this room forever. That would be much too merciful.

Before I could argue again, the door creaked open, and I sat up in alarm. A group of women entered, led by a stern-looking older woman with dark hair pinned into a bun.

"Boss Dante said if you wouldn’t come willingly, we should make you."

I barely had time to react before hands grabbed at me, pulling the sheets away.

"Let me go!" I thrashed against them, but they were strong and clearly experienced in this.

"Hold still, ma’am," one of them scolded as they hauled me out of bed and dragged me toward the en-suite bathroom.

I kicked and shoved, but my energy was nothing compared to their sheer numbers. They maneuvered around me like they had done this before, stripping me of my oversized shirt and forcing me into the warm bath they had already prepared.

I gasped at the sudden sensation of hot water against my skin. "I hate you all," I hissed.

The older woman, clearly the head of this little operation, sighed. "That’s nice, dear. Now, hold still."

I gritted my teeth as they scrubbed me down, washed my hair, and carefully dried me off. Then came the dressing.

The dress they chose was unsurprisingly expensive. It was a deep red silk gown that clung to my body, with thin straps and a slit up the thigh that made me feel exposed.

"No!" I snapped, trying to yank it off.

"Yes." the woman said flatly, pulling my hands away. "It’s what Boss Dante requested."

Of course, it was.

I bit the inside of my cheek as they brushed my red hair, styled it into soft waves, and applied subtle makeup. By the time they were done, I barely recognized myself.

I looked… stunning. But it wasn’t me.

It was her. Dante’s wife.

A doll dressed up for his amusement.

When they finally stepped back, the older woman inspected me with a sharp gaze. "Perfect. Now, let’s go."

She gestured toward the door, and the other attendants backed away, watching me expectantly.

I could refuse.

I could throw another tantrum.

But Dante would drag me down himself if I pushed him far enough.

With a deep breath, I forced my shoulders back and stepped forward, my heels clicking against the floor as I walked past them.

***

The dining room was grand, intimidating. A long mahogany table stretched across the center, adorned with elegant silverware and flickering candlelight.

Dante sat at the head of the table, swirling a glass of wine between his fingers. His gaze swept over me with slow, calculated intent, a flicker of satisfaction in his dark eyes.

"You clean up well, wife," he mused.

I gritted my teeth, ignoring him.

A waiter pulled out a chair for me, and this time, I sat, only to get this over with.

I expected Dante to start his usual game of torment, but instead, he turned toward the entrance.

"We have a guest joining us tonight," he said casually, like he hadn’t just upended my entire life.

I stiffened. A guest?

The double doors to the dining hall opened, and footsteps echoed against the marble floor.

I reached for my glass of water, not really caring who it was...until I heard his voice.

"Mr. Moretti?! Sorry I'm late."

The glass slipped from my fingers.

That voice.

That smooth, familiar voice that used to whisper my name in the dark.

My head snapped up, my breath hitching as I took in the man standing at the doorway.

Jake.

My Jake.

The man I had loved. The man I had waited years for. He didn't know I was married now.

And by the look of shock flashing across his face, he wasn’t expecting to see me here either.

Dante, of course, smirked, lifting his wine glass.

"Mr. Pennings!" he drawled. "Meet my wife, Isla."

Jake’s entire body went rigid. His sharp brown eyes flickered between me and Dante, realization dawning like a slow-moving storm.

I could only sit there, frozen, drowning in a silence so thick it felt suffocating.

This was definitely going to be a long night.