The dining room was bigger than her entire apartment.

Wider than necessary, colder than expected — like it was built for negotiations, not meals.

Lila sat at one end of the long, gleaming table, staring down the untouched silverware. Her reflection blinked back at her in the polished surface. Her cheap blouse looked worse under the chandelier’s brutal honesty.

He still hadn’t come down.

She checked her phone. 7:06 PM.

Not her fault.

She was ready at 6:50. Lip balm, hair tied, minimal makeup.

She didn’t come here to seduce him — she came to survive him.

The door clicked open behind her.

She didn’t need to turn to know it was him.

Dante Wolfe didn’t walk — he arrived.

She felt the shift in the air before she heard his voice.

“You’re early,” he said.

She didn’t answer.

He walked past her and sat at the opposite end of the table like this was a negotiation and not a meal. A housekeeper appeared like a ghost and served them both in silence — steak, potatoes, some vegetable Lila couldn’t name.

She was suddenly aware of every move she made.

Fork. Knife. Chew. Don’t stare.

“So,” he said finally, without looking up, “how’s your first evening in captivity?”

She cut her steak, slow and precise. “Fine. Comfortable bed. Plenty of space to feel like a well-fed hostage.”

He smirked, finally meeting her eyes across the table. “Sarcasm. Cute.”

“It’s a coping mechanism.”

He leaned back in his chair, swirling the wine in his glass like he was bored already. “You don’t have to act tough, Lila. I already know you’re desperate.”

Her grip on the knife tightened.

“I’m not here for pity,” she said calmly. “I’m here because life isn’t fair, and your money talks louder than my pride.”

His expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes.

“Smart girl.”

“Not smart. Just realistic.”

A beat of silence passed. Then he asked, “Did you read every clause?”

“Of course.”

“And you’re fine with them?”

Lila stared him down. “As long as you don’t touch me.”

Dante’s smile was slow, cold. “I’m not interested in touching you, sweetheart. I bought your time. Not your body.”

Her stomach twisted — not from shame, but from how his voice dipped low when he said it. Like he could touch her if he wanted to, but wouldn’t waste the effort.

“I’m not here to please you,” she snapped.

“No,” he said quietly. “But you will obey.”

Their eyes locked across the distance — hers full of fire, his carved from ice.

It was war, plain and simple.

And the table between them was too small to keep it clean.