Anastasia felt like her brain had been wrung out, twisted, and shoved back into her skull. The moment she closed the last file, her fingers cramped from signing, organizing, and typing all damn day, she barely had the strength to breathe. Her first day as Dante Montgomery's personal secretary had been nothing short of brutal. The work had come in endless waves—reports, files, meetings, calls. She hadn't even gotten a chance to catch her breath after that measly takeout lunch.
By the time the office lights dimmed and the rest of the staff began to pack up, she was still behind her desk, staring blankly at the final document, her temples throbbing.
And there he was. Cool, composed. Dante. Leaning by the glass wall of his office, checking his watch like she hadn't just worked herself into the ground under his name.
Anastasia slammed the file shut and stood. She didn't say a word as she stalked after him, but the fire in her eyes was enough to speak volumes. Dante didn't look back, didn't even flinch at her seething energy. Of course he didn't.
By the time they reached the underground private parking, the sleek black luxury car was already waiting for them. The driver stepped out and opened the door with a quiet bow. Dante entered first without so much as a glance at her. Anastasia followed, slipping into the seat beside him.
Silence blanketed the car like a thick fog.
Anastasia turned her face to the window, arms crossed, jaw clenched. She didn't want to look at him. Not right now. Not when every part of her body was aching from overwork and her mind was on the edge of snapping.
The ride back to the Montgomery estate was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that made every tick of the car clock feel like a countdown to an explosion.
By the time they reached the estate, she didn't wait for the driver to open the door. She stepped out, walking briskly toward the massive mansion with her heels clicking sharply against the stone driveway.
"Anastasia—"
She ignored him.
The second they were inside, she took the stairs two at a time, heading toward her room—the one next to his, unfortunately. She was halfway up when his voice came, calm and commanding.
"We're having dinner. Together."
She paused on the steps, her back stiff, her hand gripping the railing so tight her knuckles turned white.
She didn't respond. Didn't look back.
The sound of the door slamming shut behind her echoed through the quiet mansion.
Inside her room, she leaned against the door, her chest rising and falling. Her fingers brushed her forehead as she whispered to herself.
You can survive this. You're Anastasia Laurent. You've survived worse. You can survive him.
But the truth was—she wasn't sure. Every day with Dante felt like being caught in a storm with no shelter in sight.
Still, she pulled herself together and walked back down a few minutes later. If nothing else, she was starving. And if Dante thought she'd skip dinner to make a statement, he didn't know her well enough yet.
She entered the grand dining hall to find him already seated at the head of the table, wine glass in hand, an untouched plate before him. Anastasia didn't wait for pleasantries. She sat, grabbed her fork, and began to eat. She needed strength more than pride right now.
Dante watched her in silence for a moment before finally speaking.
"Our contract is due," he said smoothly.
Anastasia didn't look up. "I know."
He set his wine glass down with a soft clink. "Which means in one week, we're getting married. The announcement will go out tomorrow. Preparations begin immediately."
She froze, her fork still halfway to her mouth. She blinked, once, then slowly looked up at him.
"You're joking."
"I never joke."
She stared at him like he'd lost his mind. "What the hell is the wedding for? Isn't this contract enough? I signed it. Isn't that enough proof of your control?"
"This isn't about control," Dante replied coldly. "This is about presentation. Image. Legitimacy."
"It's choking me." Her voice was low, shaking. "I can barely breathe with the weight of this contract. And now you want to parade me in front of the world as your wife?"
He didn't answer.
She slammed her fork down, the clatter loud in the room. "Haven't you done enough?"
Dante leaned back in his chair, as calm as ever. "You agreed to this. Don't act like the victim now."
She opened her mouth, fury blazing—but he clapped his hands once, sharply.
The butler appeared almost immediately at the doorway.
"Bring the contract file from my study," Dante ordered, voice smooth as ice.
Anastasia narrowed her eyes. "What now?"
Minutes later, the butler returned, placing a thick file on the table.
Dante pushed it toward her.
"This is the contract you signed. I suggest you read it thoroughly—every single word." His gaze sharpened. "Because the next time you breach any part of it… it won't end as simply as tonight."
Then he stood, walked around the table, and without another glance, left the dining room.
The doors closed behind him with a soft thud.
Anastasia stared down at the file in front of her. Her pulse thundered in her ears. Her hands trembled as she touched the edge of the document. It wasn't just ink and paper.
It was a cage.
And Dante Montgomery held the key.