Chapter 3

Elena moved carefully through the dimly lit hallways of the Deveraux mansion, her bare feet making no sound against the polished marble floor. It was past 4 in the morning, and the house was cloaked in eerie silence. A normal person would have been asleep—but not her.

She hadn’t slept properly in years.

She was on her way back to her small, isolated room when she heard voices coming from her father’s office. That wasn’t unusual—her father often held late-night meetings. But then she heard her name.

She froze.

Pressing herself against the wall just outside the slightly open door, she held her breath and listened.

“She’s useless to us,” William Deveraux’s voice was sharp, laced with irritation. “She ran away once, and she’ll do it again.”

Elena’s heart pounded.

“She won’t be able to run anywhere if we get rid of her properly this time,” Genevieve said, her voice cold and void of emotion.

Elena’s breath hitched. Get rid of her?

There was a brief pause before her father let out a tired sigh. “Dante Russo would’ve been a better match. But since he’s not interested, at least his father is.”

Elena felt the ground beneath her shift.

“You think selling her to that old bastard is better?” a third voice joined in. Victoria.

Her elder sister sounded amused. Not shocked. Not horrified. Just… entertained.

Genevieve scoffed. “Why not? Lorenzo Russo wants a young wife, and she’ll finally be of use. It’s done, Victoria. We’ve already accepted his offer.”

Elena clamped a hand over her mouth.

Her father. Her mother. Her sister. They had sold her.

“She’ll be picked up any moment from now,” William added. “Our men are already looking for her. They’ll bring her here when they find her.”

Elena stopped breathing.

They were coming for her.

Now.

And if she didn’t run—if she didn’t do something—this time, she would never escape.

Elena didn’t think. She turned and bolted.

She had no plan, no idea where she would go, but she knew she had to get out.

Her legs carried her toward the back of the house, a different route from the one she used to escape last night, this time,where the servant’s entrance led to the garden. If she could just make it past the gates—past the walls—she could disappear into the night.

She reached the door, her shaking hands fumbling with the lock.

Click.

The door creaked open.

She barely took a step outside when a strong arm wrapped around her waist and yanked her backward.

A rough, gloved hand slammed over her mouth before she could scream.

“Elena, Elena, Elena,” a deep voice murmured in her ear. “Did you really think you could run?”

She thrashed, kicked, struggled. But the man holding her was too strong.

“I was told you might try this,” he continued, dragging her further into the shadows. “You should’ve just stayed put. Now you’re making my job harder.”

Elena bit his hand.

He cursed and loosened his grip just enough for her to break free. She sprinted toward the gates, heart racing—

But then another man stepped out from the darkness.

Before she could react, he swung.

Pain exploded in her skull.

The world blurred.

Darkness swallowed her whole.

~ ~ ~ ~

Elena woke up to the feeling of soft silk beneath her fingertips.

For a brief, blissful second, she thought she was home.

Then she opened her eyes.

The ceiling above her was unfamiliar—ornate, old, elegant. The air smelled of cologne and cigars.

This wasn’t the Deveraux mansion.

Dread pooled in her stomach.

Slowly, she pushed herself up, her head throbbing in pain. The room was too grand, too cold, too unfamiliar. And then—

The door opened.

“Ah,” a deep, smooth voice greeted. “You’re awake.”

Elena’s blood turned to ice.

Lorenzo Russo stood in the doorway.

He was tall, dressed in a dark suit, his salt-and-pepper hair neatly combed back. His eyes—nothing like Dante’s. He’s was filled with something crueler— it watched her with quiet amusement.

“You must be frightened,” he said, stepping inside.

Elena’s throat closed up.

"You’re safe here," Lorenzo continued. "You have everything you need at your disposal. You’re my wife now, and as long as you obey me, you’ll be treated well."

The word wife made her stomach churn.

“I—” she tried to speak, but her voice cracked.

He smiled. “No need to speak, my dear. You’ll have plenty of time to adjust.”

He stepped closer.

Elena’s body tensed.

And then—

The door slammed open.

Elena flinched as a woman stormed in, her heels clicking sharply against the floor.

Dante’s mother.

Her sharp, aristocratic features twisted in disgust.

"Her?" she spat. "This is the girl you brought here?"

Lorenzo sighed as if he had been expecting this. "Valeria—"

Oh, that’s her name.

Elena thought.

"After everything I did to be with you," Valeria hissed, eyes burning with rage. "You bring some—some filthy little girl into this house?"

Elena sat there, frozen.

Lorenzo’s expression darkened. "You forget your place, Valeria."

But Valeria wasn’t listening.

Her gaze was locked on Elena, filled with pure hatred.

And Elena realized then that she wasn’t just trapped with a monster.

She was trapped with two.