"My Father Sold Me to the Highest Bidder at the Altar. Then Chicago's Most Feared Mob Boss Walked In and Changed Everything."

"Welcome home, Mr. Romano. Welcome, Miss Whitmore," Silas greeted, his tone completely professional, though his sharp eyes flicked over me with a subtle assessment that recognized my distress without offering pity.

"Prepare the east wing suite," Dante instructed as we walked up the wide stone steps into a soaring, minimalist foyer dominated by dark marble floors and abstract modern art. "And have Dr. Hayes on standby to review Miles's updated chart from St. Jude's."

"Right away, sir."

I stood in the center of the cavernous foyer, still wearing the ruined, form-fitting designer wedding gown that felt like a lead weight dragging me down. My hair was half-unpinned, damp strands clinging to the back of my neck.

Dante noticed my hesitation. He stopped walking and turned back to face me, reading the exhaustion etched into every line of my face.

"You don't have to carry the weight of this dress anymore, Serena," he said quietly, walking back toward me. He reached out, his long fingers deftly unzipping the heavy hidden zipper running down the back of the white silk gown.

The gesture was shockingly intimate, yet entirely devoid of predatory intent. It was an act of liberation.

As the zipper parted, the heavy fabric loosened around my shoulders. I clutched the front of the dress instinctively, my breath catching.

"There's a housekeeper upstairs—Mrs. Gable," Dante said, stepping back to give me space. "She has clothes waiting for you in the suite. Take your time, wash off the day, and eat something. I have a few phone calls to make regarding your father's corporate assets."

"Dante," I called out softly before he could turn away.

He paused, looking back over his shoulder.

"Why?" I asked, the question burning my throat. "Out of all the people in Chicago, why did you walk into that church? You didn't owe me anything. You didn't even know me."

A complex shadow crossed Dante’s gray eyes—something dark, sharp, and ancient.

"Three years ago, Serena, your mother sat across from me in my office," Dante said softly, his voice carrying an unexpected weight. "She knew her health was failing, and she knew your father was already positioning to sell you off to the highest bidder when she was gone. She asked for a favor. A contingency plan. She made me promise that if the day ever came when you had no way out, I would be the door."

My knees felt weak. A fresh wave of tears choked my throat. "My mother... she knew?"

"She knew everything," Dante replied gently. "She just didn't live long enough to execute it herself. So, I finished what she started."

He turned and walked down the long, dim hallway toward his study, leaving me standing alone in the grand foyer with the heavy white dress slipping off my shoulders.

An hour later, I sat in front of a mahogany vanity in the east wing suite. I had stripped off the oppressive wedding gown, tossing it into the corner like a discarded skin, and changed into a pair of soft cashmere loungewear left out for me. My hair was brushed out, falling in dark waves past my shoulders.

A knock sounded at the double doors, and Mrs. Gable—a warm-faced woman with kind eyes and silver hair tied in a neat bun—entered pushing a silver trolley laden with roasted chicken, warm soup, and tea.

"Mr. Romano thought you might need nourishment, dear," Mrs. Gable said with a gentle smile, setting the tray down on a small table by the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the raging lake. "And he asked me to let you know that a secure tablet has been set up on the desk. You can video call your brother at St. Jude's whenever you're ready."

My heart leaped into my throat. "I can talk to Miles? Now?"

"Right now," she smiled warmly, leaving the room to give me privacy.

I didn't touch the food. I rushed over to the sleek desk, where a black tablet blinked softly with a green indicator light. My fingers trembled as I tapped the screen.

It rang twice. Then, the video feed connected.

The sterile white walls of a private hospital room filled the screen. And there, propped up against a stack of pillows, looking pale and thin but breathing easily without an oxygen mask strapped to his face, was my brother.

"Serena?" Miles’s voice was raspy, but clear.

A choked sob escaped my lips. "Miles! Oh, God, Miles—"

"Are you okay?" he asked immediately, panic flashing in his tired eyes. "I saw the news on the lobby TV downstairs. The wedding... everyone’s talking about how you ran out with Dante Romano. Did Julian hurt you? Are you safe?"

"I'm safe, Miles. I'm completely safe," I promised, wiping my tears as I leaned close to the camera. "I'm at Dante's estate. And more importantly, you're safe. You're receiving the best care in the country right now. You don't have to worry about the bills, the treatments, or Julian ever again."

Miles let out a shaky breath, closing his eyes in sheer relief. "I hated him, Serena. I hated that you were marrying that monster just to pay for my chemo. I would rather have died than let him own you."

"Don't ever say that," I scolded gently, though my voice broke. "We're going to get through this. Together. Just focus on getting better."

After we talked for twenty minutes, until Miles’s eyes drifted shut from exhaustion, I ended the call.

I sat back in the leather chair, staring out at the dark, churning waters of Lake Michigan. The storm outside was howling, throwing rain against the reinforced glass.

My father and Julian were out there right now, plotting, screaming, pulling every corrupt string they had left to destroy me and get their hands on Dante.

Let them try.