“Married to the Cruel Tycoon”

The hospital doors slid open behind Selene with a hushed hiss, but the chaos outside detonated like a bomb.

Flashbulbs exploded. Voices collided. The chill in the early evening air was nothing compared to the cold slap of reality.

They were waiting for her. All of them.

Reporters. Gossip hounds. Parasites with microphones.

A woman lunged forward, phone in hand. "Selene! Over here! Look this way—"

"Is it true you tricked Dante into marrying you?"

"Does Claudia still have his heart?"

"What's it like being the second-best bride in Italy's most scandalous love triangle?"

The questions kept coming, sharper, meaner.

Each syllable cut like glass.

Selene froze, the world tilting at a sickening angle. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe. The shouts twisted around her like a noose.

Homewrecker.

Gold-digger.

Pawn.

The words bled into each other, an avalanche of accusations. Cameras flashed, catching her flinch, her hesitation. She stepped back too fast, heel catching the edge of the curb.

She nearly fell.

That's when she felt it.

A presence.

Powerful. Cold. Familiar.

The crowd quieted in a single breath, like prey sensing the arrival of a predator.

Dante Salvatore emerged from a black town car like a blade unsheathed. Long black coat. Sunglasses off. Jaw locked.

He didn't say a word at first.

He didn't need to.

The air warped around him.

Silence rippled through the reporters, the type that came before a thunderstorm. One woman visibly recoiled when his gaze landed on her, as if she could feel the weight of his fury behind those glacier eyes.

He stepped in front of Selene and raised one hand—casually, commandingly. His arm locked around her waist, yanking her flush against his side.

She stiffened, every nerve on fire at the contact.

But she didn't pull away.

She couldn't afford to.

Not when the world had its claws sunk into her.

"She's my wife," Dante said, his voice like crushed velvet—low, brutal, final. "You will speak to her with respect. Or you will not speak at all."

A collective gasp passed through the crowd. A murmur of shock. But no one dared challenge him.

He turned to Selene, hand still gripping her hip possessively. "Get in the car."

And she did.

Because in that moment, he wasn't a man.

He was a storm wearing a suit.

And no one disobeyed a storm.

---

Inside the Car

Silence.

Selene sat in the passenger seat, stiff as stone, her knuckles white against the hem of her coat.

The smell of leather and Dante's cologne filled the car—something expensive, sharp, intoxicating. She hated that her body still recognized it.

Still remembered him.

He drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gearshift like a loaded gun. The tension was thick. Coiled.

She should thank him.

She knew that.

But the gratitude sat like a stone in her chest.

Heavy. Unswallowable.

"Why did you come?" she asked, voice hoarse, barely audible above the hum of the tires against asphalt.

He didn't look at her.

"You shouldn't have gone alone. The media's been hunting for blood since the wedding."

Selene snorted under her breath. "Didn't realize you cared."

Dante's knuckles flexed.

"I don't."

A pause.

"But I own the name you now wear. And I protect what's mine."

Mine.

That word again.

Not partner. Not wife.

Property.

She looked away, eyes stinging.

Outside, the city blurred. Flashing lights. Concrete shadows. The world felt like a prison, and she couldn't tell whether Dante was the cell—or the lock.

---

At the Mansion

Back inside the Blackwell's estate, silence didn't comfort. It loomed.

Selene stepped out of her shoes and walked through the grand hallway like a ghost. The opulence—gilded chandeliers, Italian marble, priceless art—felt colder than winter.

She heard Dante remove his coat behind her. Every movement calculated. Controlled.

She turned suddenly, unable to hold it in.

"You didn't deny the rumors."

He didn't flinch. "Which rumors?"

"Claudia," she snapped. "The photo of her holding your hand. The way she looked at you like—like she still owns you."

Dante set his watch on the marble console. "It was a wedding. People pose for pictures."

"That wasn't posing," she hissed. "That was marking territory."

His eyes narrowed, voice dropping into a quiet threat. "Why does it matter, Selene? Are you jealous?"

She froze.

He stepped forward.

Predator again.

"You knew the terms. This wasn't a fairytale. You were never promised love—only my last name."

"And what am I supposed to do with that? Smile like it's enough?"

"No," he said, voice steel. "You wear it. Like armor. You stand beside me. You play the role I gave you. Because I gave you a crown, Selene. And queens do not flinch. They do not break."

Her voice cracked. "And what if I already am?"

He stepped so close she could feel the heat of him.

"Then I'll piece you back together. Whether you like it or not."

His hand touched her jaw.

And for one dizzying second, she saw something in his eyes.

Not love. Not tenderness.

But something dark. Possessive. Obsessive.

She yanked away.

"Go to hell," she whispered.

"You brought hell to me the day you came back," he said simply.

And walked away.

---

Later That Night

Selene sat on the edge of her bed, still wearing the same coat. She hadn't moved in an hour.

Outside her window, moonlight bathed the gardens in silver. Too beautiful. Too still.

She thought of her sister's voice. The questions Lila would ask one day.

Why did you stay?.

She thought of Claudia's perfect smile. The way she'd looked at Selene on the wedding day like she was already planning how to take Dante back.

She thought of Dante's hand on her waist. The way the crowd had obeyed him like a god.

She was suffocating.

But not from fear.

From fury.

She rose, barefoot, and padded down the hall. Her fingers trailed the cold marble walls, grounding herself in something solid.

The door to his study was ajar.

Inside, firelight flickered across the room.

Dante stood near the hearth, glass of whiskey in hand, his back to her. He didn't move as she stepped inside.

"Can't sleep?" he asked without turning.

She didn't answer right away.

When she spoke, her voice was steel wrapped in velvet.

"Why did you defend me?"

He turned slowly.

Their eyes met.

"Because you're mine," he said.

Not a hint of softness in the words.

And then—

"No one insults what's mine."

Selene didn't blink.

Didn't flinch.

But inside—something cracked.

Not from the venom.

From the truth.

She turned and left without another word, the door clicking softly behind her.

In the hallway, she paused, placing one hand over her racing heart.

The pulse wasn't fear anym

ore.

It was something darker.

A shift.

Not surrender.

Not survival.

Something was changing inside her.

Something sharp.

Something royal.

She wasn't going to break under this crown.

She was going to become it.

Even if it destroyed them both.