“Married to the Cruel Tycoon”

The word echoed in Selene's ears like a slap to the soul.

Wife.

It didn't matter that the ring on her finger was a lie forged in desperation. That the ink on the contract hadn't even dried yet. In that moment, under the sterile gleam of Blackwell Enterprises' obsidian lobby, she had become property. An asset with a heartbeat.

Dante's arm tightened around her waist—unyielding, commanding. Iron wrapped in silk. His hold didn't feel like comfort. It felt like branding.

The woman before them—Claudia, statuesque and sharp in a blood-red suit—froze mid-step. Her crimson lips parted with incredulous venom.

"Excuse me?" she hissed. "Since when do you have a wife?"

Selene's breath caught, but she refused to lower her gaze.

Dante didn't flinch. Didn't blink.

"I suggest you leave, Claudia," he said, voice like steel dipped in frost. "We'll talk later."

Her stilettos clicked sharply against the black marble floor as she advanced—every step laced with rage barely restrained.

"No. We'll talk now," she bit out. "I've waited for this merger for two years—two damn years of playing perfect at your father's dinner parties, parading on your arm at every society event, biting my tongue while your board courted foreign investors—"

"This conversation," Dante cut in, voice like a closing tomb, "is over."

He didn't need to shout. That tone—low, final, lethal—shut down nations. It silenced boardrooms.

But Claudia wasn't used to being dismissed.

Her furious gaze slid to Selene. "Did she trap you? Is this a blackmail stunt? A sympathy play? Does she even know who you are—who we are—"

"Claudia," Dante said, voice dropping an octave. "Don't make me say it again."

Selene expected him to explain. To deny. To unravel the chaos with corporate polish. But instead, he dragged her closer, flattening his palm against her lower back like a claim.

Mine, that touch said. Loud and ruthless.

Selene's breath stuttered. Her spine stiffened under his palm, but she said nothing. She couldn't afford to.

Claudia's facade cracked. Fury trembled behind her perfect lashes. But Dante didn't even spare her a second glance.

With one final poisonous glare, Claudia spun on her heel. Her heels struck the floor like war drums until the doors slammed behind her.

Silence fell like ash.

Selene slowly stepped out of his grip, spine rigid, voice brittle. "So… fiancée?"

"Ex," Dante said without looking at her.

"How recent?"

He finally turned his gaze on her. "Now."

Her laugh cracked like shattered ice. "You're unbelievable."

"I warned you this would be complicated."

"You didn't mention another woman—or another engagement."

His eyes flicked to her with glacial calm. "You're not here to be loved, Selene. You're here to be useful."

The word cut deeper than she'd expected.

Useful.

It echoed everything life had beaten into her—that survival came at the cost of dignity.

She swallowed the burn in her throat. "Then let's talk terms."

He watched her a long moment, as if weighing how far he could bend her before she broke.

"Conference room. Now."

—

The glass walls of the boardroom reflected the skyline like cold fire. A storm brewed outside—gray clouds strangling the light.

A black folder waited at the center of the sleek chrome table, the contract resting like a loaded weapon. Two silver pens gleamed beside it, precise and impersonal.

Selene's heels echoed as she entered. She crossed the room and sat, her hands shaking beneath the table, knees locked to still the tremor running through her.

Dante remained standing. A king surveying his captive.

"One year," he said, voice clipped and efficient. "You'll attend events as Mrs. Blackwell. Dress to standard. Speak only when needed. Smile on cue. No scandals."

Selene swallowed. "No affection in public?"

His gaze sharpened.

"None unless I initiate it."

Her lips parted, blood rushing to her cheeks. "And in private?"

He moved to the window, hands clasped behind his back like a general surveying a battlefield.

"There will be no intimacy between us. No expectations. No children."

Selene's pulse thudded in her throat. "Then why marry me?"

"Optics," he said. "Control. Leverage."

And, unspoken, punishment.

Her stomach twisted, but she forced her voice steady. "What if I want to leave?"

"You can't."

"What if I break a rule?"

He turned slowly, his eyes two shards of blue flame.

"Then I'll destroy you."

The words landed with terrifying calm.

Selene gripped the edge of the chair, her knuckles bone-white. "This isn't a contract," she whispered. "It's a prison."

Dante didn't blink. "Call it what you want."

"And my sister?"

"She lives."

"And me?"

His jaw flexed. "You survive."

The silence was thick enough to drown in.

Selene stared at the contract. The inked lines curled like claws across the page.

"If you break even one term," Dante added, tone deceptively soft, "I'll make you regret ever signing."

Her fingers hovered over the pen like it might burn her. She could still walk away. Still flee.

But outside these glass walls, her sister was tethered to a machine.

Time was dying. So was hope.

Selene picked up the pen.

Her breath shook.

One stroke. Then another. Her name, written not in ink, but in surrender.

And with that single signature, she condemned herself to a gilded cage.

A vow made not in love… but in debt.

Dante picked up the contract, folded it with surgical precision, and tucked it into his coat pocket.

He looked at her, gaze unreadable.

"We're having d

inner tonight."

Selene blinked. "Dinner?"

"My driver will collect you at seven."

She frowned. "Why?"

He smiled.

Not kindly.

"Your training begins now."