“Married to the Cruel Tycoon”

The photograph haunted her like a ghost that refused to stay buried.

Selene sat curled on the edge of the cold velvet chaise in her room, staring blankly at the floor. Thunder grumbled in the distance—soft now, like the dying echo of a scream. The storm had moved on, but something colder had settled in its wake.

Inside her chest, a war brewed.

She had studied that picture a hundred times already—its frayed edges, the muted colors, the ghost of a smile on her seventeen-year-old face. Her arms were wrapped around a child. A child she couldn't remember. A child who wasn't Lila.

But whose eyes haunted her nonetheless.

"What don't I remember?"

Her fingers clenched around the worn fabric of her robe. That question had gnawed at her since last night. Since Dante's voice—low, sharp, cutting—had slashed through the air behind her.

"You really don't remember, do you?"

No. She didn't.

And yet—something inside her whispered she should.

Her memories of that year were fractured. She remembered the crash. The blood. Her mother's scream. The sound of glass breaking and bones grinding. But everything after came in fragments—soft edges, muted voices, sensations that vanished like smoke.

Not once had a doctor said she suffered memory loss. Not once had her mother hinted at anything missing. And yet—

Was that a lie too?

The silence in the mansion had become unbearable. Even Dante's fury had vanished, replaced by something worse.

Distance.

He hadn't touched her in days. No growled commands. No possessive pull into his orbit. No threats murmured at her throat. He wasn't angry.

He was cold.

And that terrified her more than anything.

---

By morning, gray light crept through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long, hollow shadows across the room. Outside, the trees stood soaked and wind-stripped, their branches hanging like broken limbs. The storm had passed—but its ghost still clung to the air.

Selene didn't eat. Didn't shower.

She stood by the glass, arms crossed tight over her chest, her reflection staring back at her like a stranger.

Who are you?

What are you hiding from yourself?

A sharp knock at the door jolted her.

"Miss Selene," a guard called. "There's a call from the hospital. It's urgent."

Her blood turned to ice.

---

Everything after blurred.

She sprinted down the hallway barefoot, heart slamming in her ribs. The ornate stairs spun beneath her feet. Her lungs burned.

"Lila—what happened?" she demanded when she reached the guard at the bottom.

"They didn't say." His voice was flat. "Just that you need to come. Now."

She turned, frantically patting her robe pockets—no phone. No purse. No—

Her keys.

Gone.

A sick wave washed over her.

Dante had taken them.

That day in the car. After she screamed at him, after she said he didn't own her, after she spat the truth in his face—

> You're a monster, Dante.

He didn't argue.

He just confiscated her freedom.

"Where is he?" she barked at a maid hurrying by. "Where the hell is he?"

The girl flinched. "Office."

Selene didn't wait.

She shoved open the heavy double doors to his study, fury crackling in her voice. "I need my car. Now."

Dante was already on his feet, dressed in a black shirt unbuttoned at the throat, his sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looked powerful. Icy. Completely unreadable.

"The hospital called me too." He slid his phone into his coat. "Get your coat. I'm driving."

She stared. "You—what?"

"I said get your coat."

No bite. No venom. Just... control.

He walked past her, not waiting for a reply.

For the first time in days, he didn't look like her captor.

He looked like something far more dangerous:

Her only way out.

---

The ride was a void of silence.

Rain misted over the windshield like ghost-breath. The sky above was a bruise of ash and steel. Selene sat rigid in the passenger seat, knuckles white as she clutched the hem of her coat.

She didn't look at him.

He didn't speak.

But his presence filled the car like smoke—intense, suffocating, inescapable.

Why are you helping me now, Dante?

What changed?

And why do I feel like you're watching me more closely than ever?

She thought of the photo again.

Of the haunted look in his eyes last night.

And the way he'd said it—you really don't remember.

Not a threat.

Not an accusation.

A wound.

A truth.

The hospital smelled like antiseptic and fear.

Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as Selene tore down the corridor, her boots skidding on the polished floors. Her pulse thundered in her ears.

"Lila Hart" she gasped to the nurse behind the front desk. "Where is she?"

"Room 317. End of the hall."

Selene didn't wait for permission. She slammed through the corridor, heart climbing into her throat.

The moment she reached the room, her breath left her in a strangled gasp.

Lila lay motionless in the bed. Pale. Hooked up to wires. Oxygen tubes lined her nose. Machines beeped and blinked beside her, each one a reminder of how fragile that life was.

"No. No—" Selene whispered as she stumbled inside.

She reached for her sister's hand. Cold. Clammy.

A nurse appeared beside her, clutching a chart. "She collapsed during physical therapy. We stabilized her vitals, but..."

"But what?" Selene snapped.

"There was internal bleeding. We're running scans now. It could be a tear in her abdomen. We're not sure yet."

Selene's throat closed.

"She was laughing yesterday," she choked. "She was smiling—she told me she felt stronger."

"I'm sorry."

The nurse gently placed a hand on Selene's shoulder before leaving.

Selene turned back to Lila, lowering herself to her knees beside the bed. Her voice broke.

"Don't you dare give up on me, firecracker. Don't you dare."

Behind her, Dante stood in the doorway, silent. Watchful.

She didn't even glance at him.

This wasn't about him.

This was about the only person she had l

eft in the world who had never lied to her.

And then—something caught her eye.

Blood.

Dark.

Fresh.

A smear on the pillow beneath Lila's head.

Selene's scream tore through the ward.

---