New Home

The car moves swiftly through the city streets, the sun glinting off the windows as they speed by the neon signs and towering buildings. Dante drives with a calm focus, his hands steady on the wheel, his eyes fixed ahead. He doesn't speak, and neither does Vierva. The silence stretches between them, thick and heavy, broken only by the low hum of the engine and the occasional whoosh of the wind outside.

Vierva stares out the window, watching the world go by in a blur of color and light. She doesn't fidget or squirm, just sits still and quiet, her hands folded neatly in her lap, the chain around her neck glinting occasionally as she breathes. Dante glances at her now and then, noting the way her hair falls in soft waves over her shoulders, the way her lashes cast shadows on her pale cheeks as she looks out at the passing scenery.

Still so beautiful, he thinks to himself, a sense of satisfaction and something darker, more possessive, curling in his chest. And all mine now.

He knows she's scared, can see it in the way she holds herself, in the tense line of her shoulders and the cautious way she keeps her eyes fixed ahead. But there's something else there too, a flicker of something he can't quite put his finger on. A spark of defiance, perhaps, or simply a quiet resilience that he finds oddly compelling.

As they leave the city behind and start to wind up into the mountains, the scenery shifting to towering pines and steep, rocky cliffs, Dante feels a sense of anticipation building in his chest. He's looking forward to getting Vierva to his estate, to having her all to himself. He has plans for her, ideas of how he can help her rediscover herself, help her become the person he believes she was always meant to be.

She won't be broken for long, he thinks to himself, a small, almost cruel smile playing at the corner of his mouth. Not with me. 

As the car pulls up the long, winding driveway, Vierva's eyes widen slightly as she takes in the sight of the grand mansion looming before her. The estate is a magnificent display of wealth and power, with its towering stone walls, soaring turrets, and sweeping arches. The architecture is a blend of classic and modern, with sleek, floor-to-ceiling windows contrasting beautifully with the ancient stonework.

Dante pulls the car to a stop in front of the imposing double doors, the engine falling silent. He glances at Vierva, noting her wide eyes and slightly parted lips as she stares up at the house. A small, amused smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"Welcome home," he says softly, his voice low and quiet in the sudden stillness of the car.

He steps out, closing the door behind him, and walks around to open Vierva's door. She hesitates for a moment before taking his proffered hand, allowing him to help her out of the car. Her fingers are slender and cool in his, her palm soft and uncalloused. He feels a sudden, inexplicable urge to keep holding her hand, to lead her inside and never let her go.

But he doesn't. Instead, he releases her hand once she's steady on her feet and gestures towards the house. "After you," he says, a hint of dark amusement in his voice.

Vierva takes a deep breath, her chest rising and falling beneath the thin fabric of her dress. Then, with a small, almost imperceptible nod, she starts to walk towards the house, the chain around her neck glinting in the sunlight.

Dante watches her go, his eyes tracing the sway of her hips, the delicate curve of her back. Mine, he thinks again, a sense of possessiveness and something darker, more primal, curling in his gut. All mine now.