I wore the softest dress I could find, a pale rose slip that clung gently to my waist and flowed to my knees. My honey-blonde hair was twisted into a loose bun, a few strands were left out on purpose to soften the angles of my face. I wore no jewelry. Just a touch of lipstick. I didn’t want to look flashy, I wanted to look harmless because walking into a lion’s den as prey meant you had to look… unthreatening.

The drive to the family estate was long and silent, filled with too many thoughts I didn’t know how to say out loud.

Alex hadn’t touched me since that night. Not because he didn’t want to, I knew he did but something had shifted. His shoulders were tighter, his hands restless on the wheel. And his jaw. God, that jaw hadn’t unclenched once in the last twenty miles.

“Are they really that bad?” I asked quietly, finally breaking the silence.

“They’re not bad but they can be worse,” he muttered, eyes never leaving the road.

Great.

I tugged at the hem of my gown, “What if they don’t like me?”

“That is a given,” he said flatly. Then, when I looked at him, wounded, he added, “They don’t like anyone outside their circle”

That didn’t make me feel better.

The estate came into view a few minutes later. It wasn’t just a house it was a damn fortress. Tall iron gates. Cameras blinking like mechanical eyes. A gravel driveway lined with small statues that looked like they were judging me already.

“Jesus,” I whispered.

Alex reached over and squeezed my hand. “Breathe, Millie. You’re my wife now. They can’t touch you.”

I exhaled softly.

We parked in front of a stone mansion with ivy crawling up its bones like veins. A butler opened the door before we even knocked, and Alex stepped inside first.

I followed.

The air inside was colder than outside. Not temperature-wise just… colder. Like warmth didn’t live here. Like no one laughed in these halls unless it was at someone’s expense.

“Mr. Morales,” the butler said with a nod.

Alex just grunted in response and led me down a hallway that echoed with every step. Family portraits lined the walls, faces of stern-faced men and women with sharp cheekbones and colder eyes. No one smiled in the pictures. Not even the kids.

“Try not to look nervous,” Alex said under his breath.

“I’m not nervous.”

He looked at me.

“Okay, I’m terrified.”

“Good. That’ll keep you sharp.”

What kind of family needs you to stay sharp just to survive dinner?

We stopped in front of tall double doors. Alex hesitated for half a second barely noticeable but I caught it. He was nervous too. That scared me more than anything.

He opened the doors.

Inside, seated at the long mahogany table, were three people who had shaped Alex into who he was.

At the head sat Victor Morales his father. Impeccably dressed, with salt-and-pepper hair slicked back and a posture too upright to be anything but trained. His gaze held the same weight as a gun barrel.

To his left was Alessandra Morales, Alex’s mother. Her dark hair was pulled into a smooth chignon so tight it looked like it hurt. Her lips were painted the same deep red as the wine in her crystal glass, and she didn’t look up when we entered.

To Victor’s right sat Mateo, Alex’s cousin. Slightly younger, sharp-jawed with a smirk that moved too slow to be innocent. His eyes slid over me like I was a new car being inspected for flaws.

“Father,” Alex said with a slight nod.

“Son.” Victor replied, his eyes fixed on the steak he was cutting.

“And this is her?” the man said, tilting his head at me. “The girl?”

“I’m Millie,” I said, clearing my throat.

No one responded.

We sat.

No one spoke for a full minute. I could hear the clink of a fork on porcelain, the drip of water into a crystal glass.

Then his father spoke.

“You look small,” he said. “Fragile.”

There was a short silence as if no one dared to respond.

Then, his mother finally looked up. Her gaze was... clinical. Like she was dissecting me with her eyes.

“What are your intentions with our son?” she asked coldly.

“I—I didn’t have any. We...he helped me. That’s all.”

“Helped you how?”

My throat closed. “My dad. He was... dangerous.”

“And you let him hurt you?”

The question hit like a slap. I wasn’t expecting her to stretch this.

“She didn’t let him,” Alex snapped in to save me.

His father raised an eyebrow. “Careful, son. You sound emotional.”

“I married her. You can either accept that or not.”

The room went very still.

“Marriage,” the older man said, tasting the word like it was sour. “How convenient. The broken girl and the broken boy.”

“We're not broken, Father,” Alex growled.

I reached under the table and touched his leg. A silent please.

His mother leaned back in her chair. “She’s pretty. That much is true.”

“Pretty enough, I suppose,” Mateo added with a crooked grin. “More than the last one.”

I stiffened and glanced at Alex. Who was the last one? Were there many others before me that I didn't know of? A hundred? A thousand?

I took a sip of water.

We survived dinner barely. I didn’t eat much. Couldn’t. Not with their eyes crawling over me like ants.

As we stood to leave, Mateo stepped closer to me. He was close that I could feel his breath on my skin.

I could also see the tatoo that ran from the nape of his neck beneath his shirt.

“You ever need someone to talk to,” he said, brushing a knuckle down my arm, “I’m a good listener.”

That flirtatious smile sent a shiver down my spine. Ick.

Alex was across the room in seconds, shoving him back.

“Touch her again, and I’ll break your fingers.”

The man just laughed. “Relax man. I was just being friendly.”

“Everybody knows your kind of friendly gets people killed.”

"You're one to talk, Alex. As if you haven't killed more than me"

Mateo chuckled dryly and left us.

As we walked out, Alex didn’t speak. Not in the hallway. Not in the car.

It wasn’t until we were halfway home that he finally said something.

“You did good.”

“Liar,” I muttered.

He smiled, just barely enough for me to see how impressed he was at my composure.

I leaned my head against the window, the cool glass doing nothing to stop the tight knot forming in my chest. “Your cousin creeps me out.”

“Mateo’s always been slime and cunning,” Alex said, his voice sharper than usual. “Don’t worry. I won’t let him near you.”

I started to feel something colder settle into my bones.

Because maybe I hadn’t walked into safety.

Maybe I had just walked into a prettier kind of danger.

A smarter kind.

The Morales family didn’t need fists to destroy someone althoughthey also used that- guns even. They had money, power, and eyes that didn’t blink. They could ruin you with a sentence, break you with a look, and smile the whole time they were doing it.

And I wasn’t sure which was worse: Dan, with his brute rage, or Alessandra, with her velvet-coated threats.

What if, by marrying Alex, I had just painted a target on my back?

Because behind that mansion’s perfect walls and polite cruelty, I could already feel it in the hostility.

I was a complete stranger that they didn’t want me there.

And maybe they were even already planning to get rid of me.