6- The Silence Between Us

Elena’s POV

The door creaked open, and I tensed, sitting up straighter on the edge of the bed. My stomach had been gnawing at me for hours, and the scent of food from the tray sitting on the table still made my mouth water, but I couldn’t bring myself to eat. Every bite felt like I’d be giving in, like accepting what this place was.

The girl from earlier—quiet and ghostlike—stepped into the room again, a new tray in her hands. She didn’t look at me. Just set the tray down on the table next to the one from before and turned to leave without a word.

“Wait,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. She stopped, her hand on the door, but she didn’t turn around.

I swallowed, my throat dry. “What is this place?” I didn’t know why I asked. Maybe it was the silence. Maybe I just needed to hear something that wasn’t my own thoughts spiraling out of control.

The girl paused, but she didn’t answer. She slipped out, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving me with nothing but the distant hum of this massive house and the sound of my own breath.

I let out a shaky sigh, my hands gripping the edge of the bed. I was trapped here, that much was clear. There was no escaping this place. I had no idea where I was, or how far away the outside world even was.

The only thing I knew for sure was that *he*—Dante Ricci—was somewhere in this house. Waiting.

Watching.

The thought made my skin crawl.

I stood up, pacing across the room. The walls felt like they were closing in on me, even though the room was massive, almost luxurious. It didn’t feel real. None of this did. The opulence was nothing but a cover for the nightmare I’d stumbled into. A prison, no matter how beautiful, was still a prison.

I stopped in front of the window, pulling the curtain back just enough to peek outside. The grounds stretched out, dark and perfectly manicured, with high walls enclosing the estate. The iron gates were far in the distance. There was no way I could make it that far without being seen. No way I could escape.

I let the curtain fall back into place and turned around, hugging myself against the cold that seemed to seep into the room. I didn’t know what Dante wanted from me. He kept saying I had to prove myself, but I didn’t even know what that meant. How was I supposed to survive in his world?

My stomach twisted again, reminding me of the food on the tray. I hadn’t eaten since yesterday, and the gnawing hunger wasn’t going to go away just because I was scared. I took a hesitant step toward the table, eyeing the food. It looked good, too good for someone who felt like they were being held hostage.

The bread was still warm when I picked it up, the smell tempting enough to make me tear off a piece and take a bite. The taste was rich, the warmth spreading through me, but it didn’t do anything to settle the pit of fear in my stomach. I forced myself to take another bite, then another, chewing slowly as my mind raced with questions I couldn’t answer.

What did Dante expect from me? What was his plan? And why was he keeping me alive?

---

The door creaked open again, and this time, it wasn’t the quiet girl who entered. It was *him*. Dante.

My heart skipped a beat, and I instinctively took a step back from the table, my hands gripping the back of the chair so tightly that my knuckles turned white. He stepped into the room, his dark eyes locking onto me the moment he crossed the threshold.

I couldn’t read him. His face was a mask of cold indifference, but there was something in his eyes—something calculating, like he was trying to figure out what I was worth. Like he was deciding whether I was worth keeping alive.

"You're eating," he said, his voice as flat and emotionless as ever. It wasn’t a question. Just an observation, as if my survival instinct was nothing more than an inconvenience to him.

I nodded slowly, my throat too dry to speak. He didn’t move, didn’t break his gaze from mine. The room felt colder with him in it, like the air had been sucked out.

Dante took a step forward, his boots clicking against the polished floor, the sound sending a chill down my spine. He stopped in front of the table, his eyes flicking toward the untouched tray before returning to me.

"You’ll need your strength," he said quietly, almost like a warning. "Tomorrow starts the test."

My stomach dropped. "Test?" I repeated, my voice trembling. “What kind of test?”

Dante tilted his head slightly, his gaze sharp and unrelenting. "I told you. You need to prove yourself. In my world, only the strong survive. So I’m going to see if there’s anything in you worth keeping."

The words sent a bolt of fear through me, but I clenched my fists, trying not to let him see the panic rising inside me. "I—I don’t even know what that means. How can I prove myself if I don’t know what you want from me?"

Dante’s smirk was cold, devoid of any real amusement. "That’s the point. You either figure it out or you don’t."

I stared at him, my chest tightening with a mixture of anger and helplessness. He was playing with me.

That’s what this was. He wanted me to feel small, to feel like I had no control. And the worst part was, he was right. I didn’t. I was completely at his mercy, and there was nothing I could do to change that.

"I’m not like you," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I can’t survive in this world."

Dante’s eyes darkened, and for a moment, something flickered behind them—something cold and dangerous. "Then you die. It’s that simple."

The bluntness of his words hit me like a slap, and I felt the sting of tears burning the back of my eyes. But I blinked them away, refusing to cry in front of him. Not now. Not like this.

I took a step back, my breath coming in short, shallow bursts. "I don’t want to die."

"Then don’t," Dante said coldly, taking another step toward me. "Tomorrow, you’ll see what it means to live in my world. And if you can’t handle it, you’ll find out what happens to the weak."

His words hung in the air between us, heavy and suffocating. I stared at him, my heart pounding in my chest, but I didn’t know what to say. There was nothing I could say. Dante didn’t care about my fear, my confusion. To him, I was just another pawn in his game, another piece to be used or discarded.

He turned and walked toward the door, his footsteps slow and deliberate. Just before he stepped out, he glanced back at me, his expression unreadable.

"Be ready."

With that, he was gone, leaving me alone in the silence once again.

I collapsed onto the bed, my body trembling as the weight of his words settled in. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I would have to face whatever he had planned. And I had no idea if I was strong enough to survive it.

But one thing was clear: Dante Ricci didn’t give second chances.

I had to find a way to survive. Or die trying.