Chapter 6 - Shadows in the Library
Days turned into a blur of restless confinement within the cliffside fortress. Dante kept his word; he never forced her into submission, never locked her doors, and gave her free roam of the sprawling estate, including the massive private library that spanned two stories and smelled of antique leather and cedar wood. It was there that Sloan spent most of her time, losing herself in historical archives and rare manuscripts while ignoring the digital tablet Dante left on her desk every morning with messages she refused to answer. She was safe here—far safer than she had ever been in her father's glittering, hollow mansion—yet the golden cage weighed heavily on her spirit. She refused to wear the expensive designer clothes Mrs. Moretti kept leaving in her dressing room, opting instead for oversized cashmere sweaters and dark trousers she found tucked away in the back of the wardrobe. Late one evening, the heavy library doors creaked open, and Dante stepped inside, rolling up his shirtsleeves to reveal forearms corded with muscle and faint, jagged scars from past skirmishes. He looked tired, the hard lines of his face softened slightly by the warm glow of the reading lamp.
“You're still awake,” Dante noted, pouring two fingers of amber whiskey from a crystal decanter on the mahogany bar.
“I don't sleep well when I'm wondering if my father is going to sell the rest of my family's remaining assets to pay off another hidden gambling debt,” Sloan replied flatly without looking up from the old ledger she was examining. Dante walked over, setting the glass of whiskey within her reach before leaning against the edge of the desk.
“Your father has no assets left to sell, Sloan,” Dante said quietly. “Yesterday, I foreclosed on his logistics firm. His bank accounts have been frozen pending federal investigation into corporate fraud.” Sloan dropped her pen, her breath catching in her throat as she looked up at him.
“You destroyed him?”
“I dismantled him,” Dante corrected without a hint of remorse. “He traded his own flesh and blood to protect a failing empire built on sand. Men like Richard Hayes do not deserve to hold power over anyone.”
“He’s still my father,” Sloan whispered, a complicated knot of grief and lingering resentment tightening in her chest.
“He was your warden,” Dante countered sharply, his gray eyes locking onto hers with absolute intensity. “There is a difference. In this house, you answer to no one.” Sloan stood up, crossing her arms as she faced him down, refusing to shrink under his overpowering presence.
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“And what do I answer to you for, Dante? Am I your prisoner or your trophy?” Dante stepped closer, closing the distance between them until she could feel the heat radiating off his body, smelling of rain and cedar.
“You are my wife,” he repeated softly, lifting a hand to gently brush a lock of dark hair behind her ear. “And if you want your freedom, Sloan, all you have to do is look me in the eye and tell me to let you walk out those gates. But before you do... ask yourself if there is anyone out there waiting for you who actually cares.”
