The car ri—ALESSIO'Sn in heavy silence. Not the soothing kind—this one felt cold and tight, wrapping around Elara like invisible chains. She sat in the back of a long black SUV, hands resting in her lap, wrists still raw from the silk restraints. She kept her back straight. No way was she letting anyone see how scared she was.
Two Valterra guards flanked her—hulking guys, all square jaws and hard stares, silent as statues. They didn't look at her or talk. Honestly, they barely seemed to breathe. Just shadows in bulletproof suits.
Up front, Alessio Valterra stared out the window, one hand on his knee, the other draped over the console. He hadn't glanced at her once since they left the auction.
Not a single look.
That did something to her—twisted her up, left her with a knot of irritation or maybe confusion. Hard to say. He'd just bought her for fifty million—a number that still didn't feel real—yet now he acted like she was nothing, just background noise.
Outside, the city smeared past in streaks of neon and rain. Midnight turned the streets slick and dark, everything reflected back in pools of oil-black water. Somewhere far off, a siren wailed, quick and desperate, not knowing what it passed by.
Elara breathed in through her nose. Steady. She'd survived worse. She wasn't going to break now.
Still, she couldn't ignore the weight crushing her. A new life, with a man whose name made grown men flinch. Alessio Valterra. The Serpent. Head of the Valterra family.
Her own father had done this. Sold her to the enemy.
Her enemy.
Her new… owner.
The word made her chest squeeze tight, but before she could get lost in it, the SUV slowed.
"We're here," one guard muttered.
The gates slid open, silent and smooth. Armed men waited on either side, cameras twitching and blinking like eyes.
She'd heard stories about the Valterra estate, but none of them came close. The mansion rose out of the darkness like something carved from black stone—sharp lines, towering pillars, windows glimmering like the eyes of some patient animal. Even the air felt different here. Charged. Humming with secrets.
The SUV rolled to a stop beneath a stone arch.
The guards got out first.
Then Alessio.
One guard opened her door.
Elara hesitated just a second.
Then she stepped out.
Cold air slapped her, sharp enough to steal her breath. She wrapped her arms around herself, the thin dress useless against the chill. Alessio didn't spare her a glance. He nodded once at the guards, and they melted away, silent as ever.
He started for the entrance.
She stayed put.
Not moving. Not yet. Not until she found her voice.
"Why me?" she asked, barely above a whisper, but the question stopped him.
Alessio paused, then slowly turned. For the first time since the Red Room, his eyes locked onto hers. Cold. Steady. Impossible to read.
"Elara," he said, low and sharp, "you'll figure out quick that I don't explain myself."
His words didn't need to be loud. They cut just fine as they were.
She lifted her chin a little. "You paid fifty million. That's not something you do on a whim."
Something flickered across his face—surprise, maybe even amusement—but it vanished too fast to catch.
His gaze went darker.
"You talk boldly for someone who was just sold."
"I talk because I still have a voice," she shot back.
He stilled. Something shifted in the air. A spark, or maybe a warning. He stepped closer—not quite touching, but close enough that she felt it, a pressure crawling over her skin.
"You're going to learn my rules," Alessio said, quiet and sure. "Every last one."
Her breath caught, but she kept her face calm.
"And rule number one is this:
When I claim something, it's mine.
Fully.
Irrevocably.
Completely."
Something hot twisted in her stomach—fear, yes, but something else too. Something dangerous.
"I'm not something," she whispered.
His jaw tightened. He looked at her like she was some puzzle he intended to solve.
"No," he murmured. "You're not. Which is why this is going to be... interesting."
He turned away.
"Come."
No room for argument.
She followed.
Inside, the mansion opened up into a vast hall. Marble staircase spiraled high above. The ceiling soared, dripping with crystal chandeliers. It was overwhelming—too much, too grand.
This wasn't a home. It was a kingdom.
And Alessio ruled it.
He didn't look back once, just walked on, certain she'd follow.
At the base of the stairs, he finally stopped.
"This is your home now," he said, waving a hand at the hall. "You'll eat here. Sleep here. Breathe here. And until I say otherwise, y"This is your home now," he said, waving her into the hall. "Eat here. Sleep here. Breathe here. And don't even think about leaving these walls alone until I say so."
She stared at him, voice barely above a whisper. "So I'm a prisoner?"
He didn't even pause. Just met her eyes and said, "Yes."
Her heart missed a beat.
Alessio watched her flinch. "But whether you stay a prisoner, or become something else… that's up to you."
She hated that her hands shook, even a little.
Of course, he caught it. His gaze swept over her, sharp as a knife—reading everything, right down to the smallest twitch.
"You're scared," he said. No mockery, just fact.
She lied. "No."
He almost smiled. "Good. Fear keeps you alive."
He drifted closer, raising his hand. He didn't touch her, but she felt the heat of his palm right there at her jaw.
"No lies between us. No secrets," he said, voice dropping lower, softer.
"Your father sold you to me. You belong to the Valterra family now. To me."
She tried to steady her breathing. Failed.
"That doesn't mean," Alessio went on, leaning in, "that I'll break you."
She blinked at him, not sure what he meant.
He straightened, face turning cold again. "Go upstairs. Last room on the right. Change. Rest." He pinned her with one last look. "Tomorrow, Elara Moretti… your real life starts."
Elara's heart hammered in her chest. She lifted her chin, fear burning into something sharper. She climbed the grand staircase, feeling his eyes on her back.
She didn't realize—he wasn't watching because she was his prisoner. He watched because, for the first time in years, something inside him shifted.
Alessio Valterra feared nothing. Except, maybe, losing control.