Arranged love

He snatches it from my fingers and puts it out on the railing.Copyright by Nôv/elDrama.Org.

“Hey!”

He grips my upper arm, pulling me from the balcony and through the open door into his bedroom. My eyes fall to the massive bed that sits up against the wall with its white comforter and burgundy sheets. And I think of how many women he’s had there, and I hate it. I hate that he makes me jealous and that he’s brought me here in the first place.

“Let go of me.” I try yanking my arm free of his hold, but he just grips me tighter.

He walks over to a door, yanks it open, and shoves me inside. I spin around to face him just as he shoves it closed in Nite’s face.

Fisting my hands, I turn to see we’re in a closet. He shoulders past me, walking down the short and narrow structure, then he takes a left and disappears. Rubbing my upper arm, I follow him. I’ve always dreamed of my things being in here Now I wanna burn my shit so I don’t have to fill it. We make the turn, and it opens to a large room. The left side is full of white shelves from the floor to the ceiling. Ahead of me are different-sized cubbies with rods to hang clothes on in various sizes. It looks the same but different.

In the middle is a silver dresser with a glass top. Running my hands over it, I smudge the glass with my fingers. We had sex on it once. It has three large drawers. Walking around the other side, I open the top drawer. It’s long but not very deep. It’s covered in black velvet, and the indentions let me know it’s for jewelry. I pause when I spot the Harry Winston three-carat emerald sitting in a platinum setting on the fifth row. It looks out of place.

My mouth instantly goes dry, and I take a step back, shaking my head slowly. Luca reaches in and grabs the ring and turns to face me. Tears sting my eyes as he grabs my left hand. I want to punch him. Fight him. I want to tell him that it’s ugly and over the top, but it’s really all I ever wanted.

He slides it on my finger, and a tear slides down my face. It fits perfectly, of course. He runs his finger over it before releasing my hand. It drops to my side like an anchor, the weight pulling my hand down.

I spin around to run, but something else stops me. My stomach drops when I see the black garment bag hanging from the rack. I take a step back, but my ass hits the dresser. “Is that …?” I swallow the knot in my throat. It’s a reminder of what this truly is.

A contract.

This isn’t love.

The ring. The dress. It’s all too much. Too fast. There has to be a way to stop it.

He comes up to me and places his hands on either side of my hips. I stiffen.

“Calm down, Haven,” he orders softly. “I can hear your heart pounding in your chest.”

I feel it may explode.

“This is your dress for our engagement announcement tonight.”

That doesn’t help me. Just because it’s not a wedding dress doesn’t mean it’s not just as threatening.

He runs his knuckles down the side of my face, smearing the single tear down my neck. He stops on my racing pulse, and I look up at him. “We can … You can call it off.” I stumble over my words. “It’s never too late.”

He arches a brow.

My heart pounds as my thumb runs over the platinum band of my engagement ring. “They don’t get to rule our lives. I know-”

“They?” he interrupts me.

Swallowing nervously, I add, “Our fathers.”

He gives me a smile that makes the hairs on my neck stand. He opens his hand and slides it into my hair, tilting my head back in the process. I hold my breath as he bends down and whispers in my ear, “This is all my doing, Haven. Make no mistake about that. I wanted you, and now I have you. Today, tomorrow, forever.” He kisses my forehead gently. When he pulls away, I feel another tear fall. His dark eyes watch it without any remorse. “Get in the shower. You smell like cigarette smoke. And Mrs. Brown will be here in an hour to help you get ready.” With that, he exits the closet.

The sound of the door shutting behind me has me falling to my knees.

HAVEN

I STAND IN the middle of the ballroom at Luca’s. He stands to my right, my father to my left. They both have smiles on their faces and laugh at the stupid jokes the men say.

I feel numb, completely and utterly numb. I’ve thought of taking one of the butter knives that the waiters carry around on their trays and stabbing myself in the chest just to see if I feel it. I wonder how long it takes a person to bleed out? Maybe my best option would be to go for a wrist. Would they be quick enough to stop me? Would they be smart enough to stop the bleeding? Most likely. Everyone knows to put pressure on a wound. But if I could cut it deep enough …

I’ve never contemplated suicide until tonight. But I have come to a point in my life when that may be the only way out. Death has always been this black cloud hovering over us all, but at this point, it may be my saving grace.

It’s our engagement party. The announcement of our engagement. Luca’s mansion is full of reporters, mob bosses, the Mafia, and my father’s clients. Complete strangers to me.

Jasmine isn’t here ’cause I haven’t spoken to her. And I haven’t had a chance to try to call Emilee again. I’m all alone.

“Haven?” Luca growls my name in my ear and tightens his hand on my hip. He’s had me glued to his side all night, showing me off like a trophy he won. “Mr. Ronald asked you a question.”

I blink. “I’m so sorry.” And fake a smile. I feel my face may crack due to how tight it is.

The man with the biggest gap I’ve ever seen between his teeth looks straight at my tits. I’m not surprised. Mrs. Brown did my hair and makeup, then dressed me in a pink Chanel dress that zips up the back. It comes up high on my neck like a noose but has a keyhole front, dipping low to show off my cleavage.

The dress Luca bought for me. I no longer have any say on how I look or what I wear.

Luca controls me. I’m his puppet. His toy. Something to show off in a forty-thousand-dollar dress. When he saw me, he said I looked absolutely stunning. Breathtaking. It makes me look like a fucking hooker. Not that I’m judging them. Just wish I was getting something out of this.

Mr. Ronald clears his throat, and the guy lifts his eyes from my chest. “Yes, my dear. I just wanted to congratulate you.” He holds out his right hand.

Thoughtlessly, I reach out and shake it. “Thank you.” My voice is monotone. He says a few more words to Luca and then walks away. My shoulders instantly sag.

“Can you be more … believable?” My father huffs, straightening his suit jacket.

My chest tightens at his words. What did I do to deserve this? Have I made him ashamed? Is this his way of forcing me to make something of my life? Or a way to further his career? He’s very successful. I thought he and Mr. Bianchi put this together, but Luca told me earlier today that it was all him. But it has to be more than that. My father wouldn’t throw me away like I’m nothing unless he had a hand in it.

“I need a drink,” I say, pulling away from between them.

“Nonalcoholic,” Luca warns.

I keep my expression blank, but I’m screaming at him on the inside. Lifting the hem of my dress off the floor, I make my way down the long hallway to the formal dining area. I pass through it to the back and look around before I push open the revolving door to the commercial-size kitchen.

Workers run around with trays in their hands. Cooks are standing at the massive grills. And there’s an assembly line of people preparing plates. I walk through, and nobody even gives me a glance, too busy with keeping up with Luca’s demanding orders. Shoving the back door open, I walk down the long and dark narrow hallway, looking over my shoulder to make sure I’m not followed. I come to the end and turn the handle. Closing it softly behind me, I flip the light switch that I know is on the wall, which lights up the staircase and room below.

I lift my dress once again and walk down the stairs, my heels clicking on the wood. I smile once I hit the landing. Going over to the bottles of wine, I pick the one I want and then turn to the cabinet that has a wine opener. After opening it, I don’t even bother to look for a glass. I tip back the bottle and down it like it’s a shot, not even caring that it’s warm.