THE BRIDE HE NEVER WANTED

ELENA

The reception was a blur of fake smiles and champagne I couldn't taste.

Dante kept his hand on the small of my back the entire time, guiding me through conversations with people whose names I immediately forgot. His touch was possessive, claiming, and I couldn't tell if it was for show or something else.

"Smile," he murmured against my ear during one particularly long conversation with a business associate. "You look terrified."

"I'm not," I lied.

His hand tightened on my waist. "Yes, you are. I can feel you shaking."

I forced myself to relax, to lean into him like a real bride would. His body was solid against mine, warm and overwhelming. He smelled like expensive cologne and something darker I couldn't identify.

"Better," he said, but his voice was cold.

We cut the cake. We had our first dance. We did all the things married couples were supposed to do, and the whole time I felt his eyes on me, watching, analyzing, looking for the crack in my performance.

"You dance differently than I expected," he said as we moved across the floor.

My heart stopped. "What do you mean?"

"Your file said you trained in classical ballet. But you move like someone who learned at parties, not in studios."

Because I had learned at parties. At college functions and friend's weddings. Not in the expensive ballet schools that Sophia had attended.

"I haven't danced in years," I said quickly. "I'm rusty."

"Mm." That sound again. Like he didn't quite believe me but was waiting to see what else didn't add up.

The song ended. Dante's hand slid from my waist to my hand, and he lifted it to his lips. The gesture looked romantic. But his eyes were ice-cold.

"Time to leave," he said. "My driver is waiting."

Leave. Right. Because we were married now. Which meant going home with him. To his house. Where we'd be alone.

I hadn't thought that far ahead.

Dante led me through the crowd toward the exit. People called out congratulations and well-wishes that I barely heard over the pounding of my heart. A car was waiting-a black Mercedes with tinted windows.

The same kind of car I'd ridden in this morning. Was that really only this morning? It felt like a lifetime ago.

Dante opened the door for me. I climbed in, the wedding dress bunching around me. He slid in beside me, and suddenly the spacious car felt tiny.

The driver pulled away from the estate without a word.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"My home. Did you expect a hotel?"

"I didn't expect anything."

"Clearly." He turned to look at me fully for the first time since the ceremony. "Take off the veil."

My hands trembled as I reached up and unpinned it. The fabric fell away, and suddenly there was nothing between us. No barrier. No protection.

Dante studied my face in the dim light of the car. His expression was unreadable.

"You're not what I expected," he said finally.

"What did you expect?"

"Someone more composed. The Sophia Laurent I researched was cold. Controlled. You're neither of those things."

"Maybe you didn't research well enough."

His eyes narrowed. "I research everything thoroughly. It's how I've survived this long." He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture was almost gentle. "So either you're hiding who you really are, or something else is going on."

I couldn't breathe. His hand was still near my face, close enough that I could feel the warmth of it.

"I'm your wife," I said, trying to sound confident. "That's all you need to know."

"Is it?" His thumb brushed across my cheekbone. "Because I think there's a lot more to know about you, wife."

The way he said that word made heat pool low in my stomach. This was dangerous. He was dangerous. And I was trapped in a car with him, headed to his home, with no way out.

The car pulled through a gate and up a long driveway. The house-mansion, really-was modern and imposing. All glass and steel and sharp angles. Nothing warm or welcoming about it.

Dante got out first and offered me his hand. I took it because I had no choice.

Inside, the house was exactly what I'd expected. Expensive furniture, high ceilings, art that probably cost more than most people made in a year. It looked like a showroom, not a home.

"Your room is upstairs," Dante said, already walking toward a staircase. "Second door on the right."

"My room?" I followed him. "Not our room?"

He stopped and turned to look at me. "Did you expect to share a bed with me?"

"We're married."

"We're in an arrangement." His voice was flat. "You play your role in public. In private, we maintain boundaries. Unless you'd prefer something different?"

The way he looked at me when he said that made my skin flush. Like he was daring me to say yes. Like he knew exactly what effect he had on me and was testing whether I'd admit it.

"Boundaries are fine," I said.

"Good." He continued up the stairs. "Your things have been moved from your father's house. Everything should be in the closet."

Sophia's things. Not mine. Clothes I'd never worn, shoes I'd never broken in, a life I was pretending to live.

He stopped at a door and pushed it open. The bedroom was huge. King-sized bed, sitting area, balcony overlooking the grounds. It was beautiful and impersonal and nothing like my cramped apartment back in the city.

"My room is at the end of the hall," Dante said. "If you need anything."

"I won't."

"We'll see." He stepped closer, and suddenly I was very aware of how much bigger he was than me. How easily he could overpower me if he wanted. "Get some rest, wife. Tomorrow, we start figuring out what's really going on with you."

"Nothing's going on."

"Liar." He said it softly, almost affectionately. Then he reached out and ran his thumb across my bottom lip. "You're a terrible liar. Your tells are everywhere. The way you hold yourself, the way you speak, the way you look at me like you're afraid I'm going to eat you alive."

"Are you?"

"I haven't decided yet." His hand dropped away. "Goodnight, Sophia. Or whoever you really are."

He left, closing the door behind him.

I stood there for a full minute, trying to get my heart to slow down, trying to process what just happened.

He knew. Maybe he didn't know exactly what, but he knew I wasn't who I claimed to be. And instead of confronting me directly, he was going to watch. Wait. Gather evidence until he had enough to prove it.

I was so screwed.

I pulled out Sophia's phone and stared at it. I should call someone. Do something. But who would I call? Sophia was gone. I had no friends here. No allies.

I was completely alone in a house with a man who was suspicious of me. A man who'd just touched my face like he owned me and promised to figure out my secrets.

My hands were still shaking when I started to unzip the wedding dress.

This was my wedding night. And I was spending it alone, terrified, in a stranger's house.

Tomorrow, Dante was going to start asking questions I couldn't answer.

I had no idea what I was going to do.