The Montgomery Estate was silent when Dante finally returned.
Moonlight bathed the white stone exterior in silver hues, and the wrought-iron gates had long since closed for the night. As Dante stepped out of his black Aston Martin, the gravel crunched beneath his boots, the sound echoing against the stillness of the estate grounds. His suit jacket hung open, his shirt's top two buttons undone, revealing a thin chain around his neck that shimmered faintly in the dim lighting. The chain glinted like a secret he'd never tell.
The butler, already waiting, bowed respectfully. "Sir."
Dante didn't respond right away. His cold gaze lifted toward the grand estate, the same one that now housed her.
"Did she… complain about the room?" he asked, voice low, unreadable.
The butler shook his head. "No, sir. Miss Laurent—" He hesitated, then corrected himself. "—Mrs. Montgomery has not left the room since she entered."
Dante's jaw tightened. Without another word, he climbed the wide staircase, his steps sharp, echoing through the marble halls until he reached the second floor. Her door was the one right next to his—of course it was. He had arranged it that way.
He didn't knock.
With a twist of the handle, the door creaked open.
There she was—Anastasia Laurent Montgomery—curled up on the enormous bed, still wearing her dress, her heels carelessly strapped on, her body slack with exhaustion. Strands of hair clung to her cheek, her features soft with sleep. Her phone was still beside her on the bed, screen dark. Her brows were faintly furrowed even in rest, as if she were still carrying the weight of the last twenty-four hours.
Dante's cold mask faltered.
Just for a second.
He stepped inside, shutting the door quietly behind him. The room smelled faintly of her perfume—lavender and something soft, something painfully innocent.
He walked to the edge of the bed, eyes fixed on the heels that still adorned her feet.
Take them off, something inside him whispered.
His fingers twitched.
But he stopped himself, his jaw locking tight. Don't forget, Dante. Don't forget what she had done, how she had almost shattered you.
His hate clawed its way up again, wrapping around the hollow space where something else had tried to bloom. He turned away sharply, leaving the room as silently as he entered.
The door clicked shut.
---
The next morning, Anastasia stirred to the furious vibrations of her phone.
She groaned, arm flopping across the bed, eyes still shut. When she finally blinked into the morning light, her phone screen glowed with a barrage of missed calls—her mother, her grandfather Hugo, Caroline. Over twenty missed calls, all from last night.
She sat up slowly, her muscles aching. Her neck screamed in protest and her feet throbbed in their strapped prisons. Her dress was rumpled, makeup smudged, and the reality of her situation slammed into her like a truck.
You're married, Stassi. To Dante Alexander Montgomery.
She peeled the heels off her feet and winced. Sliding off the bed, she stepped onto the cool marble floors of the billionaire's master suite—her suite now, apparently.
When she entered the bathroom, her breath hitched.
The space was the size of a New York apartment. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors framed an Italian marble vanity. A freestanding black soaking tub stood in front of a wall of glass overlooking the gardens. Crystal fixtures. Touch-screen panels. Heated floors.
Everything screams luxury. But none of this feels like mine.
After a long shower that did little to wash off the exhaustion clinging to her bones, she stepped out to find two maids waiting for her, holding a delicate silk robe and accessories.
"No," she said sharply. "Thank you, but I'll dress myself."
They hesitated. She arched a brow.
The two exchanged looks and scurried out.
Anastasia rummaged through the closet—already full. He'd thought of everything. Designer dresses, rows of Louboutins, bags worth more than her college tuition. But she reached for a plain beige dress, nothing flashy, and a black Hermès handbag just to be petty.
As she stepped out, the heavy door opened to reveal a familiar face.
Dante.
Hair tousled. Top buttons undone again, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. A dark watch on one wrist, the silver chain still visible around his neck. The morning light caught the angles of his face, cruel and beautiful.
"Good morning, Mrs. Montgomery," he said with a mocking smile.
She blinked once, then looked past him.
"I'm not your maid, Dante," she said coolly. "Nor your slave. I can go wherever I please."
His grin widened. "That so?"
"I need to return to the Laurent Estate," she said, her voice tight. "And someone's going to have to break the news."
He didn't stop her. Just leaned against the doorway, watching her with that unreadable gaze.
She paused before walking away. Turned slightly.
"I'm still the heiress of the Laurent Corporation," she said sharply. "Even if you force me to be your secretary, don't think that changes anything."
Dante chuckled low in his throat. "You'll learn, wife, that nothing stays the same for long."
---
The Laurent Estate was buzzing with tension.
Genevieve Laurent nearly choked on her espresso when she saw her daughter walk through the grand front doors like nothing had happened.
Her usually composed self gone.
"You—What the hell, Anastasia?" she demanded, standing up from the couch. "How did everything go back to normal overnight? What did you do?!"
Anastasia didn't answer. She brushed past her mother and found her grandfather, Hugo Laurent, seated in his usual armchair in the sunroom.
"Stassi," he said warmly, rising to embrace her. "God, I was worried sick."
She didn't have the strength to smile. Just leaned into his hug for a moment.
Genevieve stormed in behind her. "Answer me, Anastasia! What did you do to change Dante's mind?!"
That was it.
"I did what you wanted me to do," Anastasia snapped, whirling around. "You pushed me to fix this. You pressured me. And now you're asking how I did it?"
Genevieve blinked. "I—I didn't mean—"
"I married him," she said bitterly. "I married Dante Alexander Montgomery."
Silence.
The kind that steals the breath out of a room.
Genevieve gasped, staggering back. "What?! Are you insane?! How could you—how could you marry him?"
"That was the only way to save Laurent Corp," Anastasia said, voice sharp.
Genevieve rubbed her temples. "No. No, it's fine. People get divorced every day. We'll file it quietly. End it before—"
"No," Anastasia cut in. "You don't understand. If Dante made me sign a contract, he'll find a way to make me do it again. I won't give him the satisfaction. Right now, I need to survive."
Genevieve fell quiet.
Then she exhaled slowly. "Fine. If you're so determined, then it's time you took over the Laurent Corporation."
Anastasia bit her lip.
"I can't," she whispered. "Not yet. I'll help. But I don't have the experience."
Her mother opened her mouth, but a new voice interrupted.
"Stassi!"
Caroline burst through the front doors, heels clicking furiously. "Oh, thank God. I came to check if you were alive! Do you know how fast Dante fixed everything? DuPont Real Estate is back. It's like magic. What the hell did—?"
She stopped.
Stared at Anastasia.
Then slowly, dramatically, pointed at her.
"Wait. Did you…? No. No way why do you look so no Stassi?."
Anastasia gave her a tired smile.
"I'm married, Caro."
Caroline's eyes widened.
"Oh my God, Stassi. This is insane!"
.