The devil's signature

The air inside Elysium Lounge was thick with wealth, exclusivity, and the unspoken power that pulsed through its dark marble walls. Tucked away in the heart of Manhattan, this wasn't just any private club—it was a sanctuary for the elite. Gold-accented chandeliers dripped from the high ceilings, casting amber light across velvet chairs and polished obsidian floors. Jazz music hummed low in the background, seductive and sharp like expensive perfume.

But none of that glamour touched Anastasia.

She sat rigidly in one of the lounge's VIP chambers, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. She was tired—tired of fighting, tired of losing. The deep emerald walls, the hand-painted Italian art, even the private bar gleaming with rare liquor behind her… none of it mattered anymore.

Across from her, Dante sat in a tailored black suit, the kind that molded to his frame like second skin. He looked completely at ease, lounging on the velvet sofa as if he owned the world—and in some ways, he did.

"Well?" he asked, voice low and smooth, but sharp enough to draw blood. "Have you made up your mind?"

Anastasia's throat was dry. She stared at him, at the arrogance carved into every inch of his face, and finally let the last bit of resistance crumble inside her. What was left to fight for?

Her voice came out soft, bitter. "Fine," she muttered. "Bring the damn contract."

Dante's mouth twitched, not quite a smile. He reached into a sleek black folder resting on the side table and pulled out the document. Thick, cream-colored paper. Formal. Legal. Binding. He slid it across the mahogany coffee table with two fingers, the motion precise, controlled.

Anastasia looked at it like it might burn her.

The low hum of jazz was the only sound as she flipped the folder open. Her eyes scanned the first page, then the second. The silence stretched long—until she suddenly snapped upright.

"What the fuck?!"

Dante didn't even flinch. "Something wrong, sweetheart?"

She jabbed a finger at the page. "You actually expect me to work for you? Are you really serious"

"As serious as hell"he muttered

"You'll be involved in operations," he added calmly. "It's only logical."

"I'm not your damn intern, Dante!" Her voice was sharp enough to make the nearby club steward stiffen. "I'm Anastasia Laurent. Heiress to the Laurent estate. I was born to take over Laurent Corp. I'm supposed to be a CEO—not someone buried in your schedule like a glorified secretary!"

His eyes stayed locked on hers, unreadable. "You can't be both."

Her breath caught. "What?"

"You can't run your family's company and belong to me."

The final word landed like a gunshot.

Belong.

She slammed the folder shut, face flushed with rage. "You don't own me."

Dante leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, his dark eyes boring into hers. "Don't test me, Anastasia. I told you the terms. You sign it. Or you walk out."

She bit her lip so hard it nearly bled. Her nails dug into her palm as she picked the pen off the table. Every part of her screamed not to do it. Every rational thought begged her to run.

But she signed.

The pen scraped against the paper like a blade carving into her future. Her signature was bold, defiant—but powerless.

It was done.

Anastasia shoved the folder back toward him and rose from the velvet couch, her heels clicking furiously against the obsidian floors. She stormed out of the chamber into the gold-lit hallway of the lounge, weaving past servers in white gloves and women draped in diamonds. But she didn't stop.

Her mind spun.

She could still make it out. She would take the first flight back to Paris. She wouldn't leave a note. No calls. No goodbye. Just—

A shadow loomed behind her.

"You really thought you could run from me again, Anastasia?"

The voice was low. Calm. Lethal.

She froze.

Her breath caught as she slowly turned—and there he was. Dante. Towering. Imposing. More dangerous than the night.

Her back hit the wall, cool and merciless against her spine. Her pulse pounded as he stalked forward, each step like a countdown to something irreversible.

"I-I'm not—" she began, her voice trembling.

His fingers reached out and tilted her chin, forcing her to look at him.

His eyes weren't just angry—they were wounded. A storm lay inside them, dark and unrelenting.

"You didn't just break my heart," Dante said, his voice thick. "You shattered it."

Her throat tightened.

"And now," he continued, his face inches from hers, "you'll pay for it."

Her breath hitched as he leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear like silk and steel. "Congratulations, Anastasia," he whispered. "You just became my wife."

The words echoed louder than any gunshot.

She blinked at him, stunned, fury and confusion clashing violently inside her. "I already signed the damn contract, Dante. What more do you want?"

He stepped back just enough to give her space—though the weight of his presence never left. "You clearly didn't read the whole thing."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Page thirteen. Sub-clause four."

She stormed back into the chamber, her heels clicking furiously across the private lounge floor. Snatching up the contract, she flipped through the pages with growing rage until she found it.

Required Cohabitation Clause: Effective immediately, Ms. Laurent will reside with Mr. Montgomery until the formal public wedding.

Her eyes bulged.

"You manipulative son of a—"

"It's in the contract," Dante interrupted smoothly. "You agreed. So, you'll be staying with me."

"In your house?!"

"No," he said, sliding his phone from his pocket, "in the Montgomery estate."

"You're fucking insane."

"You're my wife now. Get used to it."

She trembled with frustration as Dante placed a call. He turned away slightly, speaking with his usual calm authority.

"Ethan. Start fixing everything. I want all necessary arrangements in place. I'll be there in a few."

He ended the call and tucked the phone back into his jacket. Before Anastasia could scream again, the door opened behind her. A tall man in a crisp black suit stepped inside. No introduction. No words. Just the unmistakable aura of security and silence.

Dante glanced at the man. "Escort Ms. Laurent to the Montgomery estate. Make sure she's comfortable."

Her eyes widened. "You're serious about this ?!"

"I have a company to save have you forgotten?," Dante replied coolly. "We'll be seeing a lot of each other soon."

"Dante!!"

He winked.

She glared at him like she could burn a hole straight through his chest.

But it was done.

And now, there was no turning back.