Chapter 7

• VALENTINA
• ~•~
• I stood in front of the mirror, fingers brushing the velvet fabric that wrapped around me like it had a mind of its own. Deep red, bold, too loud. It clung to my waist, pulled tight across my hips, and dipped too low at the chest—just enough to make me pull my arms in and fold them across myself.
• I leaned forward, looking closer at my reflection. The makeup changed everything. My lips were red—bolder than they’d ever been, my lashes curved like they belonged to someone else, and my cheekbones stood out sharper.
• I wasn’t like the old me, the girl had rules and lines she wouldn’t cross.
• Still… I couldn’t lie. I looked good. No, not good. Beautiful. Dangerous. The kind that made men lose control. The kind that came with a cost.
• And yet, all I could think was how I got here.
• In a stranger’s mansion. Wearing a dress I didn’t choose. About to eat dinner with the man who ruined my father’s life and bought mine like it was on sale.
• I stared at myself harder. I almost wanted to cry. But then I thought of Luca instead. My baby brother, finally sleeping peacefully in that hospital bed. The doctor said the transfer went through. Now he had full care, doctor’s constant inspection and a private ward, all because of one thing—money. Gustavo’s money.
• No matter how much I hated him, no matter how badly I wanted to throw this dress into the fire and walk out barefoot… I couldn’t. I had already made my choice.
• A knock at the door startled me. My hand jumped to the edge of the dresser.
• “Who is it?” I called out.
• “It’s me, miss,” came Elira’s voice.
• I breathed out slow. “Come in.”
• The door opened, and Elira stepped in carefully. She always moved like she was walking across glass. She didn’t look up, standing there quiet with her hands folded tight in front of her.
• “You okay?” I asked, folding my arms tighter over my chest. “You look nervous.”
• She didn’t answer right away. Her voice came out soft. “The boss has requested you come to him. Now. He… doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
• I rolled my eyes. “Of course he doesn’t.”
• She didn’t respond. Her eyes stayed down, her shoulders stiff.
• I watched her for a second, then asked, “You sure you’re alright? You look like someone yelled at you.”
• “I’m fine,” she said quickly, but then hesitated. Her eyes flicked to the door.
• Then she stepped closer, voice dropping even lower. “Miss… if I may say something—please don’t ever call him by name.”
• I frowned. “What? Why not?”
• “It’s not safe,” she said, barely moving her lips. “Just say ‘sir’. He expects it. And… it’s better that way. Trust me.”
• I stared at her, completely confused. “Okay, but that’s weird, right? I mean… I’m not his employee.”
• “You’re in his house,” she said. “That’s enough.”
• I felt something sink in my stomach.
• I swallowed and looked away. “Does he always do this? Dress girls up and demand dinner like some twisted fairy tale?”
• She didn’t answer.
• “Elira,” I said again, a little firmer. “What kind of man is he? Really?”
• She looked at me then, just for a second. Her eyes didn’t have answers. Just warnings.
• “You’ll see for yourself,” she whispered. “But whatever you do… don’t test him.”
• That scared me more than anything she could’ve said. She turned and opened the door, motioning for me to follow.
• I hesitated, glancing back at the mirror one last time before stepping into the hallway beside Elira. The carpet beneath our feet was soft enough to silence every step.
• Outside, the garden glowed.
• It wasn’t just pretty—it was unreal. Too perfect. Like a movie set designed by someone who had too much money and not enough real problems. Marble statues stood in pairs along the walkway like guards. Roses climbed along iron arches, blooming bigger than any I’d ever seen in real life. A fountain bubbled softly in the middle of it all, surrounded by lanterns that flickered like they had fire caught inside them.
• And right there, at the center of it all, sat Gustavo DeLuca.
• He didn’t move when he saw me. Just sat there, one leg crossed with a glass of red wine in his hand, like he was already the king of whatever moment he was building. That lazy, smug look that told you he already owned the whole table—and now he was working on owning whoever walked into his sight.
• When our eyes met, I felt my back straighten like it had a mind of its own.
• His gaze slid down over me like he had every right to look, slow and unbothered. He traced the dress with his eyes, pausing in all the places that made my skin crawl. And I hated that I could feel it. I hated that my skin reacted at all.
• I just moved past the last line of rose bushes, pulled the chair back, and sat down across from him.
• I grabbed the napkin, kept my posture straight, and pretended like this was normal.
• But then, his voice cut through the night—sharp and cold.
• “Did I give you permission to sit?”
• I blinked. My hands froze halfway through unfolding the napkin.
• His eyes weren’t lazy anymore. They were darker now.
• “I—I didn’t think—”
• “That’s right,” he said, voice flat. “You didn’t think.”
• He put his knife and fork down, each sound hitting the plate like it mattered. Then he leaned forward slightly.
• “That was your first mistake. You acted on your own. I hadn’t asked you to sit yet. I would have. Eventually. But you didn’t wait.”
• I sat there, jaw tight, trying not to show what I was really feeling.
• “I didn’t know I needed permission to sit at a dinner table.”
• “In this house,” he said calmly, “you need permission for everything. Sitting. Speaking. Eating. Hell, breathing if I say so.”
• My fingers curled around the edge of my chair.
• “That’s not dinner,” I said. “That’s prison.”
• He tilted his head, eyes glinting like he found that amusing.
• “No,” he said. “Prison is where your father is. This is paradise. You just don’t know the rules yet.”
• My heart kicked harder at the mention of my dad, but I kept my expression still.
• He leaned back in his seat, lifting the wine glass again. The smirk crept back into place.
• “But don’t worry,” he said, voice lighter now, like he was playing nice. “I’ll forgive this one. You’re new, ignorant.”
• I didn’t say anything. I just watched him, trying to keep the heat out of my face.
• “That’s what tonight’s for,” he went on, pouring another glass of wine. “A little welcome. A little lesson. Think of it as orientation.”
• He pushed the wine glass across the table toward me.
• “I’m a fair man, Valentina. I reward obedience. I take care of those who follow the rules. It’s simple.”
• I stared at the glass but didn’t touch it.
• “And what happens if someone doesn’t follow the rules?” I asked.
• He smiled wider. “They learn.”
• “Learn how?”
• “That depends on the mistake,” he said. “Some people need words. Some need silence. Some… need reminders.”
• The way he said that made my stomach twist. I forced myself to hold his gaze anyway.
• “I’m not one of your dancers anymore,” I said quietly.
• “No,” he agreed. “You’re not.”
• “Then don’t talk to me like I am.”
• He let out a slow breath, like he wasn’t angry, just amused. Like I was a child throwing a tantrum at a dinner party.
• “You’re in my house,” he said. “You signed my contract. You took my money. You wear what I give you. Eat what I serve. Sleep under my roof. Tell me, Valentina… what exactly do you think you are to me?”
• “I think I’m a woman who’s paying off a debt,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “One year. That’s the deal. I give you what you asked for. You keep your promise. That’s it.”
• “Hmm,” he said. “Is that what you believe? That it’s that clean?”
• “It is for me.”
• “Well, bambola,” he said, leaning forward again, “you might want to start adjusting that thinking. Because I don’t do clean. And this thing between us? It’s not just business. It never was.”
• I stared at him, my hands curled tight in my lap.
• “You don’t get to change the rules after the game’s started.”
• “I wrote the rules,” he said simply. “I can burn the rulebook if I want.”
• I wanted to walk out right then, but I didn’t because brother’s face flashed through my mind.
• “I’m not here to be broken,” I said. “You might control everything around me, but you don’t get to control me.”
• He took a sip of wine, slow and smooth.
• “Not yet,” he said.
• This wasn’t dinner. This was a warning. And I was in the middle of the fire.