Valeria

I stood in my room, my heart racing from Elena’s icy threat, calling me a slave and claiming she was Dante’s woman. My hands shook with rage, my mind replaying her cold smirk, her words cutting like a knife. “She’s delusional,” I thought, pacing the small space, my bare feet cold on the wooden floor.

Dante’s voice echoed in my head, calling me his queen, his woman, like I was his property. It made my blood boil, my fists clenching tight. I thought about Paolo, his ...