Page 37 of Made for Sinners

I clenched my jaw so hard it hurt, but I moved. One foot in front of the other, out of the car, past him, into the building where my fate had already been sealed.

The lobby screamed wealth: polished marble floors, towering ceilings, every inch designed to intimidate. The doorman nodded at Dante with the kind of deference that made my stomach twist.

This was his world.

And now, it was mine.

The elevator ride was silent, tension crackling between us. I stared at the glowing numbers, each one climbing higher, carrying me deeper into his world.

When the doors finally slid open, I hesitated.

Dante didn’t.

He stepped out, unlocking the penthouse door with an ease that sent another shiver down my spine.

I followed.

Because what choice did I have?

The penthouse was exactly what I remembered—immaculate, every inch of it designed for function over comfort. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city skyline, the lights stretching out like a sea of stars.

It should have been beautiful.

Instead, it felt like a cage.

Dante shrugged off his jacket, tossing it onto the back of a chair before turning to face me. "Make yourself at home."

I let out a bitter laugh. "Right. Because that’s exactly what this feels like."

He didn’t react. He just watched me, his dark eyes unreadable. "You’ll get used to it."

I met his gaze, my pulse thrumming in my ears. "And if I don’t?"

Dante stepped closer, slow and deliberate, until the space between us was nothing more than a breath. "Then you’ll pretend."

I hated the way my body reacted to him—the way my pulse betrayed me, the way my breath hitched despite the fury burning in my chest.

I hated him.

And I hated myself more for the part of me that still wanted to fight him, to push him, to see just how far I could go before he snapped.

I lifted my chin. "You think you own me now?"

Dante’s smirk was slow, dangerous. "I don’t think, princess. I know."

His hand lifted, fingers brushing against my jaw, tilting my face up just enough to force me to meet his gaze.

"You signed the contract," he murmured, his voice like silk and steel. "You said the vows."

His thumb traced the curve of my cheek, almost gentle.

"You belong “You’re mine now, Emilia. Every breath, every step—it all belongs tome.”

I swallowed hard, my nails digging into my palms. "You’re delusional."

Dante chuckled, low and dark. "Maybe."

His hand dropped, and just like that, the moment was gone.

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