As the car pulls up to the curb, Vierva glances out the window to see an elegant, upscale restaurant bathed in the warm glow of ornate lanterns and twinkling string lights. The building is a stunning blend of modern architecture and classic charm, with a grand entrance flanked by valets in crisp, tailored uniforms.
Of course he would choose a place like this, Vierva thinks to herself, taking in the opulent surroundings with a critical eye. A restaurant that screams wealth, power, and status. Just another opportunity for him to show off, to flaunt his success and importance.
She can already picture the scene inside - the hushed murmurs of admiration from his colleagues and peers, the envious whispers of the other diners as they catch sight of Dante with his stunning, if rather reluctant, date on his arm.
A trophy wife, a pretty ornament to hang on his arm and impress his friends, Vierva muses bitterly. That's all I am to him, isn't it? Just another status symbol, another sign of his power and influence.
The thought leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, but she swallows it down, pasting a brittle smile on her face as Dante rounds the car to open her door. She accepts his hand, allowing him to help her out of the low-slung vehicle, the cool night air a stark contrast to the stuffy, claustrophobic interior.
I will not let him see how much it bothers me, Vierva vows silently as she stands, smoothing the folds of her gown and adjusting the delicate straps of her heels. I will be the perfect picture of elegance and grace, just as he expects. And I will play my role to the hilt, until the very moment I can slip away and forge my own path.
With that thought in mind, Vierva places her hand on Dante's proffered arm, feeling the firm muscles beneath the crisp fabric of his suit jacket. She allow him to lead her towards the entrance, her head held high and her steps graceful and measured.
Smile, she coaches herself, feeling the stretch of her lips as she meets the curious and admiring gazes of those around them. Be charming. Be enchanting. Be everything he wants you to be...for now.
Dante's brow furrows as he notices the tightness of Vierva's smile, the forced quality of her laughter. He leans in close, his breath hot against her ear as he growls, "You're angry. I can feel it radiating off you in waves."
His hand tightens on her waist, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hip with a possessive grip. It's not painful, but it's firm enough to make his point, to remind her of the power he holds over her.
He's right, of course. I am angry. I am furious, Vierva acknowledges mentally, feeling the heat of it simmering just beneath the surface of her skin. I am angry at being reduced to a mere object, a trophy to be shown off and admired. I am angry at his arrogance, his assumption that he can use me as he sees fit.
But even as she thinks it, Vierva knows she can't let that anger show. Not here, not now. She has to maintain the facade, to keep up the charade of the perfect, adoring girlfriend. So she forces herself to relax, to lean into Dante's touch with a soft, almost imperceptible sigh.
"I'm not angry," she assures him, her voice low and carefully modulated. "I'm just...nervous. It's not every day I get to be in a place like this, with someone like you."
It's a lie, of course. A half-truth at best. But it's the truth he wants to hear, the reassurance he needs to believe in order to keep up his own facade of control and dominance.
And besides, Vierva adds silently, a flicker of defiance sparking in her eyes as she meets Dante's gaze head-on. Even if I am angry, what can I do about it? I am at your mercy, completely under your control.