All Chapters of Silenced By The Billionaire : Chapter 1 - Chapter 5

POV: ElaraI am not supposed to be here, this looks like the wrong floor. The realization hits me the second the elevator doors glide open with a hushed whisper. The air shifts immediately thicker, colder, carrying the faint scent of aged wood, leather, and something metallic I can’t quite name.My pulse kicks up. I press the elevator button again, harder this time, but the panel stays dark. The doors have already sealed behind me with a soft, final click, trapping me in this unfamiliar hallway like a verdict.“Great,” I mutter under my breath, gripping my small clutch tightly. The sequins from my own design dig into my palm. I only wanted five minutes. Five minutes away from the pounding bass, the sweaty bodies rubbing against each other. As a 21 year old aspiring fashion designer still fighting for every break, I had jumped at the chance when my friend got me on the guest list for this high-end event on the upper floors of one of the city’s most elite skyscrapers.I told my friend

POV: ElaraSeven o’clock doesn’t arrive with a chime. It arrives with the sound of a deadbolt sliding open, a cold, mechanical reminder that my autonomy has been replaced by a schedule.Adriana, Dante’s household manager, stands in the doorway. She is the human personification of this penthouse: expensive, sharp, and entirely impenetrable. Dressed in a charcoal suit that looks like armor, she doesn’t use words when a cold stare will do. She was the one who received me when the guards dumped me here in the middle of the night, and she is the one who monitors my every breath now.“Mr. Moretti is expecting you in the dining hall,” Adriana says. Her voice is as thin and sharp as a razor blade.I’ve spent the last few hours doing more than just pacing. I’ve been mapping. I noted the frequency of the guards' rotations in the hallway, every fifteen minutes and the fact that the floor-to-ceiling windows are reinforced acrylic, not glass. You can’t break out of them, even if you had a chair he

POV: DanteI knew the second the air in the room changed. One moment, I was navigating Isabella Cruz’s thinly veiled insults; the next thing I felt the back of my neck prickled with a warning I’d learned to trust in the trenches of the underworld. I scanned the room. Luca was gone. Marco was looking toward the east hallway with a focused, lethal intensity. And Elara was nowhere to be seen.“Where is she?” I asked, my voice a low vibration that made the socialite next to me flinch.“She went to the powder room, boss,” Marco muttered, stepping into my shadow. “I lost eyes for five seconds. There was a distraction.”I didn't wait for him to finish. I moved through the crowded ballroom like a blade through silk. Every instinct I possessed was screaming. I didn’t care about the optics anymore. I didn’t care if the feds watching the house saw the mask slip. When I reached the east wing, the silence was too heavy. I found the study door ajar. Inside, the air smelled of ozone and the faint