Beneath the Surface

Lyra had lain fixedly staring at that contract all night long, her eyes never budging from its letters. She tried sleeping to shut lids over her dry, worn eyes but every time she had, there was Dante's cold gaze before her, the words of bad omen swimming in her head. The die was cast; it was done. And she had signed to him, bound herself over, though marriage was what the contract spoke of, it was more than that.

She sounded to have just woken to the realization that she had become part of a much larger scheme, just a small pawn in this hide-and-seek game, whose rules were completely hidden from her.

The morning after, her window was bathed in sunlight, with long shadows strewn across the floor. But that chill within her chest could not be warmed by it. Her gaze dropped at the tenderly placed invitation card on her nightstand white with embossed gold lettering announcing her engagement to Dante Moretti. It was a sham, a beautiful veneer cloaking the darkness that lay in store for her.

"I can't do this," she whispered to herself, but it was a reality that hit her with growing deadliness with each second. She wasn't just marrying Dante; she was being consumed by him, swallowed into some dark games he was playing.

The knock at the door jerked her right up in her seat, muscles tensed. "Come in," she called, in a voice so much steadier than she felt.

The creak of the door was followed by the entry of her father, his face lined with more exhaustion than she had ever seen. There was something fragile about him now, something that tugged on her heart: not the man who was strong and confident enough to ride through storms in his business ventures, as she remembered growing up. Just a man broken from the weight of failure and desperation bound him.

"Lyra." he whispered, in the faintest soft voice full of contriteness.

She cut him off before he could say more. "Is this what you wanted for me, Father? To marry a man like Dante Moretti? To sell me into his world without so much as an ounce of care for what I want?"

Richard let out a deep sigh, his shoulders sagging further as he approached her. "You don't understand, Lyra. This isn't just saving our family. Dante. he's dangerous. You need to stay cautious.

Her eyes had widened at the admission, anger flaring in her chest. "So you know. You know what kind of man he is, and yet you handed me over to him like I was some. some piece of property!"

"Lyra, listen to me," her father pleaded, grasping her shoulders. His touch was tight but desperate. "Dante is powerful, way beyond what you can imagine. Had we not made this deal, we would have been ruined. Our name, our legacy. everything would disappear. This is the only way it can be."

Lyra wrenched herself from his grasp and stepped back, and the culmination of it all cracked her into tears. "And what about me? What about my life? Don't I get some kind of say in that?"

There was a long pause as Richard turned away, his face unable to meet hers. His silence was an answer to her question.

She whispered again, "I can't do this," this time to herself. She turned away from her father and tried to get the tears off her face, her hands shaking. She needed to keep strong, had to find a way out of this pit, but how? Dante was in possession of all the power, and her father had already given her away.

Just as she was lost in her thoughts, there was another knock on the door. This time, the person coming in was not one she had expected: a tall, elegant woman, hair dark and neatly pinned to the back of her head, exuding a kind of cold sophistication reminiscent of Dante.

"I hope I am not interrupting," she said in a voice as smooth as silk, but with an edge of steel left behind it.

Lyra scowled and took a step back. "Who're you?"

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I'm Bianca Moretti. Dante's sister."

Lyra's breath caught in her throat. Dante's sister? She had heard rumors about Bianca whispers of a woman just as ruthless as her brother, though in different ways. While Dante was known for a business acumen and cold manipulation, Bianca had a different kind of carte du jour in her hands: cunning, the way of getting her wishes no matter the cost.

"What do you want?" Lyra said, more warily.

Bianca stepped farther into the room, her gaze scouring the space in all their over the top grandeur. "I came to meet my future sister in-law to welcome you into the family, of course."

The words oozed insincerity, and Lyra could feel Bianca's eyes on her, weighing and measuring and judging.

"Why do I think that that's not all there is?" Lyra shot back, narrowing her eyes.

Bianca's laughter was low, almost predatory. "Smart girl. You are right. I am not here for the weather." A soft clicking of the tips of her heels against the tile floor as she moved closer. "I have come to warn you."

Lyra's heart skipped a beat, quickening a bit. "A warning?"

Bianca's smile expanded, and in her eyes was something almost cruel. "Yes. Dante. my brother, he does not play games. At least, not the kind you are used to. Whatever you think this marriage is going to be, you are wrong. You don't have a clue what you've just stepped into."

Lyra's stomach twisted, dread crawling up her spine. "What are you telling me?"

"I am saying he is a hell of a lot more dangerous than you think he is. You might think you can outsmart him, or out of this deal, but you are wrong." Bianca's voice had gone to a whisper, her eyes locking onto Lyra's with an intensity that chilled her to the bone. "When you're in his world, there's no way out. And if you try. Well, let's just say you won't like the consequences."

She felt the ground shift as her heart and brain were racing in unsteadiness, one from dread, the other from confusion. Good heavens, was Bianca just bluffing to intimidate her, or was this a warning on the level? If so, what did this augur for her future?

Before she could respond, Bianca turned on her heel and smirked. "Good luck, Lyra. You're gonna need it."

With that note, she vanished, leaving Lyra standing, her heart pounding hard in her chest. The door clicked shut, the sound echoing in the silence, and Lyra felt Bianca's words settle over her like a shroud. She didn't know what game Dante was playing, but one thing became crystal clear:. She was a little over her depth. The city lights outside her window flickered to life as Lyra's mind whirled with schemes of escape. How could she, though, when every door put her deeper into the darkness created by Dante? She was trapped, bound by him through some sort of contract that went way beyond paper and ink. But then, a glowing thought hit her mind-a ray of hope in the sea of despair. Maybe there was a way around it-a way to turn Dante around. She needed to find it. She would, no matter the cost. The door creaked open again as if it wasn't Bianca this time. A figure came into the room, splashing a long shadow across the floor. Lyra's breath caught in her throat when she recognized the silhouette. It was Dante. Miss me?" he asked, his voice laced with menace.