Despite the grandeur and beauty surrounding me, there was an undercurrent of tension in the air, a sense that nothing here was quite as serene as it appeared. Yet, no matter how hard I looked, I saw no one else—only shadows and the distant, muffled sounds that hinted at life beyond these walls. We reached the end of the hallway, stopping in front of a pair of imposing dark oval doors. The man turned to me with a courteous nod, gesturing toward a set of chairs positioned against the wall.

  "Please have a seat," he instructed politely.

  I obliged, smoothing the fabric of my dress as I settled into one of the chairs. The cushion was firm yet comfortable, upholstered in rich, dark leather that matched the opulent decor of the house. The man approached the doors and opened one just wide enough to slip through, offering me a brief glimpse into the room beyond. I caught sight of four men dressed in dark suits, their postures rigid and expressions unreadable, before the door closed again with a soft thud.

  Left alone in the quiet hallway, I took a deep breath, attempting to steady the nervous energy swirling inside me. My mind raced with questions and uncertainties, but I knew that soon enough, I would have to face whatever awaited me beyond those doors. For now, all I could do was wait and try to maintain the composure that had carried me this far. The silence enveloped me once more, broken only by the distant tick of a grandfather clock.

  A man’s shrill cry of pain jolted me to my feet, the sound slicing through the heavy silence. My pulse quickened as I took an instinctive step back, every nerve in my body screaming to retreat from whatever was happening in the next room. Before I could take another step, both doors swung open with a force that made the chandelier overhead tremble, and the man in question was unceremoniously shoved into the hall.

  He landed on his knees with a sickening thud, his disorientation evident as he wobbled, trying to regain his bearings. His once immaculate suit was now a crumpled mess, one cufflink torn away, dangling uselessly from his sleeve. I couldn't tear my eyes away from his hand, which was desperately cupping a bleeding nose, the bones beneath the skin twisted into an unnatural angle that made my stomach churn.

  Mateo emerged from the room like a dark specter.

  His expression was infuriatingly calm, almost indifferent, as he looked down at the man.

  "Get him out of my house," he commanded, his voice a quiet yet authoritative force that left no room for argument.

  Two of the men I had glimpsed earlier stepped forward without hesitation, each grabbing an arm and beginning to drag the man down the hall. His feet scraped against the polished floor, leaving faint streaks of blood in their wake. The third man, the one who had stayed back, gave Mateo a tight-lipped smile, though the fear in his eyes was palpable. He muttered something unintelligible under his breath before scurrying after the others, his anxiety evident in every hurried step.

  I stood frozen, still staring down the empty hall long after they had vanished from sight, the remnants of the scene playing on a loop in my mind.

  “Elena.”

  My name, spoken softly, snapped me out of my daze. Mateo’s voice was gentle, yet it carried an unspoken command that drew my gaze back to him. He stood there, composed, as if what I had just witnessed was nothing more than an everyday occurrence—a man completely in control, even amid violence. Our eyes locked, and for a brief moment, I was acutely aware of the vast chasm between us.

  “I didn’t expect you to be awake so soon. I apologize for the mess.”

  The mess. Not the fact that he’d just shattered a man’s hand and nose before discarding him like yesterday’s garbage. Then again, for someone like Mateo, that probably was nothing more than a love-tap. His bright smile, aimed directly at me, did little to diminish the unease twisting in my stomach, but it was disarming enough to make me pause. He wasn’t dressed in the sharp suit I’d grown accustomed to seeing him in.

  Instead, he wore a simple black button-down, the sleeves partially rolled back, revealing the edges of that intricate tattoo winding up his forearm. The slacks he paired with it were tailored to perfection, emphasizing his lean, powerful build. Somehow, he looked even more dangerous—more alluring—than he had the night before.

  I bit back the urge to ask what I had just witnessed, knowing better than to let those words slip out. It wasn’t my business, and the rules of this world were clear: keep your mouth shut and your eyes averted. Before my sister and I were sent away, we’d been raised around men like Mateo—men who dealt in shadows and made their own rules. My mother and father may have lavished me with love and affection, but they were far from angelic. I remembered a scene like this one unfolding outside my father’s office when he thought Eva and I were fast asleep.

  It was when he realized we’d seen what happened a lesson was ingrained in me—see nothing, say nothing. Of course, he was also extremely apologetic, unlike Mateo.

  His eyes roamed over me from head to toe, taking his time as he absorbed every detail. His gaze was heated, reminiscent of the night before, and it brought everything we had done rushing back into sharp focus. The way his hands had moved over my body, the way his voice had sometimes softened just for me—it all came flooding back in a dizzying rush.

  The contrast between the tenderness he’d shown me and the brutality I had just witnessed was impossible to ignore. Mateo was a man of many faces, and I was only beginning to understand the depth of that complexity. I held my ground, meeting his gaze with as much composure as I could muster. His eyes darkened as they continued to roam over me, a small smile curling at the corners of his mouth.

  "You're even more beautiful in the morning light," he murmured, stepping forward with a quiet confidence that sent a shiver down my spine. His hands settled on my hips, firm but not forceful, drawing me closer until there was barely any space between us.

  "How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice low, almost intimate.

  “Fine,” I replied, though the word felt inadequate, given the whirlwind of emotions still coursing through me.

  Mateo’s smile deepened, a flash of something darker flickering in his eyes. “Then I didn’t do a good enough job last night,” he teased, his tone smooth, but with a sharp edge that made my breath catch.

  A flush crept up my neck, heat flooding my cheeks as I tried to stammer out a response. “No, it was… it was good,” I managed to say, my voice faltering as I struggled to keep my thoughts in order.

  He watched me, clearly amused by my flustered state. "Good?" he echoed, his voice dripping with playful condescension. "Anjinho, I don’t settle for good. I demand more—much more. And I’m quite certain you can give it."

  The weight of his words, coupled with the intensity of his gaze, was almost too much. I needed to break the tension, to get my bearings before I completely lost myself in whatever this was.

  “I... I need to go home,” I blurted out, my thoughts snapping back to the reality I had left behind. I could feel my phone buzzing relentlessly in my pocket—texts from Melody and Peyton, missed calls from my grandmother and uncle. I needed to check in with them, to get back to some semblance of normalcy, no matter how fleeting.

  The playful light in Mateo’s eyes vanished instantly, replaced by something far more dangerous.

  His grip on my hips tightened, his fingers digging into my skin just enough to make his displeasure known. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice suddenly void. "You are home."

  I stared up at him, my heart pounding. "Mateo, I can't just stay here. I have a life outside of this…outside of you."

  His eyes narrowed slightly, and before I could continue, he hushed me with a gentle finger against my lips. "There's no need to ruin a perfectly good morning with unnecessary arguments. Let’s not start the day with tension." His tone was calm, but the underlying firmness made it clear that he wasn’t asking for my opinion. He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, and I knew better than to push the issue.

  “At least let’s have breakfast first,” he suggested, though it was more of a command than a suggestion. His hand remained on my hip as he guided me down the hall, his grip firm yet somehow reassuring.

  We walked in silence, the tension from our earlier conversation still hanging in the air, but Mateo’s demeanor had shifted back to something more relaxed, almost casual. He led me out a rear door, and we stepped into the fresh morning air.

  As we rounded the corner, the backyard came into view. The terracotta stone patio led the way to a sleek glass dining table, already laid out with an impressive spread. The table was set with fresh food—assorted fruits glistening with dew, warm pastries that filled the air with a buttery aroma, and a selection of cheeses and cured meats arranged artfully on a platter. It was the kind of breakfast that could have been pulled straight from the pages of a luxury magazine, every detail meticulously crafted.

  Mateo pulled out a chair for me, a small gesture that felt almost out of place given the gravity of our situation, but I accepted it and sat down.

  The serene setting was a stark contrast to the underlying tension I still felt, a reminder that despite the beauty surrounding me, I was not in control. He took his seat across from me, his eyes never leaving mine as if he could sense the turmoil simmering beneath my composed exterior.

  “You need to eat, anjinho,” he said softly, but there was an unmistakable firmness beneath the gentle words. He wasn’t just suggesting; he was telling me.

  Not wanting to push any boundaries, I reached for the bowl of fresh fruit, selected a few strawberries, and then moved on to a buttery croissant. The simple act of choosing food felt like a small victory in maintaining some semblance of control. As I took a tentative bite, Mateo reached for a decanter that sat on the table, filled with a rich amber liquid. He poured himself a glass of what I quickly identified as whiskey, the scent of it strong and smoky as he added a few ice cubes.

  “Drink?” he offered, his eyes not leaving mine as he raised his glass slightly.

  I shook my head, the thought of mixing alcohol with my medication once again, was enough to keep me from accepting. “No, thank you,” I replied, trying to keep my tone neutral.

  Mateo nodded, seemingly unbothered by my refusal. He took a slow sip of his drink, savoring the taste before setting the glass down. “Now, why don’t you ask me what you wanted to last night?” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “About our agreement.”

  The reminder of our earlier conversation hit me like a wave, and I realized there was no escaping this. I needed answers, and he knew it. I took another bite of my croissant, trying to buy myself a moment to collect my thoughts, but his unwavering gaze told me that time was running out. I swallowed and finally met his eyes. It was time to confront the reality of what I was getting into.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  I hesitated; the words caught in my throat as I considered how to phrase the questions swirling in my mind. Mateo’s presence was overwhelming, a constant reminder that the stakes here were high—too high for me to be anything less than direct.

  Finally, I took a deep breath and set down the croissant, wiping my hands on the linen napkin. “What exactly do you expect from me?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. “What does being your wife really mean? I need to understand what I’m agreeing to, Mateo.”

  He studied me for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as if weighing how much to reveal. The silence stretched between us, thick with tension, before he finally leaned back in his chair, swirling the whiskey in his glass as he spoke.

  “Being my wife means many things,” he began, his tone measured.

  “It means standing by my side, not just as a partner in name but as someone who understands the power and responsibility that comes with my world. It means loyalty, obedience, and knowing when to speak and when to be silent.” He paused, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that made my pulse quicken. “It means you belong to me, utterly and completely, in every sense of the word.”

  There was no sugar-coating, no attempt to make this seem like anything other than what it was—a binding agreement with a man who was accustomed to getting exactly what he wanted.

  “And in return,” he continued, his voice softening just a fraction, “I will give you what you seek. I will make sure you see your sister again, and I will protect you in ways you can’t even begin to imagine. But make no mistake, Elena—this is not a negotiation. This is your reality now.”

  I wet my lips and reached for my water.

  The deal was clear: my life, my freedom, in exchange for his protection and the promise of finding Eva. It was a terrifying proposition, but deep down, I knew there was no turning back. I didn’t dare ask if he would be loyal to me as well. The thought flickered briefly in my mind, but I quickly pushed it aside. This wasn’t a union of love or something born from a genuine relationship. It was an arrangement—a calculated move in a much larger game where emotions held little value.

  Mateo’s loyalty would only extend as far as it served his interests, and I knew that asking for more would be a mistake. In this world, trust wasn’t given freely; it was earned through power, control, and fear. Anything beyond that was a luxury, and luxuries weren’t part of this deal. I kept my expression neutral, refusing to let any doubt show on my face. If I was going to survive this, I couldn’t afford to reveal all of my weaknesses, especially in front of Mateo.

  He leaned back in his chair, his gaze steady on me as I took a few more bites of fruit. “Anything else?” he asked, his voice deceptively casual, though there was an undercurrent of something darker beneath. His eyes tracked every bite of the strawberry I brought to my lips, and I couldn’t help but notice that he wasn’t eating at all.

  I hesitated, feeling his scrutiny like a weight on my shoulders, before deciding to ask about something that had been nagging at me. “What about the living situation?”

  He didn’t miss a beat, his reply coming swift and sharp. “You have no reason to step foot in your old home again,” he stated. “But because I’m such a kind man, I’ll allow you to visit tomorrow. You can announce our engagement then before we hold a ceremony.”

  “Engagement?” The word throwing me off kilter.

  “Do I look like a man who would have a shotgun wedding at a courthouse?”

  “You don’t really look like the wedding type at all,” I replied honestly.

  “Why not? You think I look good in a suit, wait until you see me in a tux.”

  “A tux? Seems a bit too civilized for you.”

  He laughed lowly. “I know you’re not a morning person--..”

  “You couldn’t possibly--.”

  “I know more than you can imagine,” he cut me off. “And civilized isn’t the word I’d use, but I assure you, you’ll be wearing white, I’ll be in a tux, and at the end of the night, your dress will be stained red.”

  I stared at him, turning those words over in my head. He wasn’t talking about sex.

  “Anyways,” he reached for his drink. “I know you aren’t a morning person, but if last night didn’t put you in a good mood, I shouldn’t have gone so easy on you.”

  That was easy? I ached every time I moved, and there was a faint bruise around my throat from how hard he’d gripped it.

  “So, we’re going to do the whole engaged thing?” I changed the subject.

  He grinned at my obvious deflection, deepening his dimples. “We’ll be engaged, and then you’ll have a wedding fitting of your new name and of my bride.”

  I was quiet for a moment, trying to process the implications of what he was saying. This was spiraling into something far more serious than I had imagined. “This is for show, right?” I asked cautiously. “You don’t expect us to behave like an actual married couple?”

  “Do you have a problem with hearing or is it comprehension you’re struggling with?” he asked, his voice laced with mockery. “You will be my wife in the truest sense of the word,” he explained, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that left no room for doubt. “And in my bed every night.”

  “But what happens after you find my sister?” My voice trembling slightly despite my best efforts to remain composed.

  “You have my children,” he replied, his tone matter of fact as if discussing the most mundane of topics.

  The simplicity of his words hit me like a punch in the gut. There was no affection or romanticism in his declaration. The reality of it all settled over me like a cold, heavy weight. This wasn’t just about finding Eva. This was about securing a future—his future—through me. I was a means to an end, a vessel for his ambitions. Any remaining illusion I might have had about being anything other than a piece in his game was shattered.

  "We need to work on your poker face, anjinho," he said softly. "This isn’t a bad thing. I’m not the worst you could do. In fact, I’m quite the sought-after bachelor."

  I frowned, the urge to push back gnawing at me. "Yes, Pey—" I cut myself off abruptly, realizing I was about to mention Peyton. I wasn’t going to drag my friends any deeper into this.

  Mateo’s grin widened, his expression all too knowing. “Nice catch,” he murmured, clearly pleased with my slip.

  I ignored his comment, trying to steer the conversation back on track. "So, we can never divorce?" I asked, hoping there was some room for negotiation in this arrangement, some semblance of an escape plan.

  He tilted his head, studying me with that same unsettling intensity. "How about I have your grave dug as an early wedding present?" he suggested, his voice calm, almost gentle. "Whenever you decide to leave me, you can go there."

  I knew that wasn’t a bluff or empty words. He truly meant that.

  "I’ll join you soon after," he added before I could muster a response, his tone still deceptively soft. "I’ll make sure that when my time comes, you’re exhumed, and I’m added to your casket. Then we’ll be together again."