Chapter 3 Dinner with the Devil

The dining hall was cavernous, its high ceilings and grand chandeliers only amplifying the emptiness. A long, polished mahogany table stretched between them, set with fine china and gleaming silverware, as if this were a dinner meant for royalty. But there were only two people seated here-Alana and Adrian.

He sat at the head of the table, exuding effortless dominance, his sharp gray eyes watching her as she hesitantly took her seat at the other end. The silence was oppressive, thick with unspoken hostility.

"You're late," Adrian remarked, swirling the wine in his glass without looking at her.

Alana set her jaw, gripping the edge of the table. "I didn't realize this was a meeting where punctuality mattered."

His lips curled into something that was neither a smile nor a smirk. "Everything matters when you're under my roof."

She bit back the urge to argue, knowing it would get her nowhere. Instead, she turned her attention to the lavish spread before her-succulent roasted lamb, delicate truffle risotto, and a selection of dishes so extravagant they bordered on absurd.

Her stomach twisted. She had barely eaten all day, but the thought of consuming anything in this suffocating atmosphere made her nauseous.

"Eat," Adrian ordered, his voice like a blade cutting through the quiet.

Alana hesitated before picking up her fork, forcing herself to take a bite. The food was exquisite, but it tasted like ash in her mouth.

Adrian studied her with unnerving intensity, his fingers tapping lightly against his wine glass. "You look like you're expecting poison."

"Should I be?" she shot back, meeting his gaze.

Amusement flickered in his eyes. "I may be cruel, Alana, but I'm not wasteful. If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't have gone through the trouble of marrying you."

She scoffed, dropping her fork onto the plate with a sharp clatter. "No, you just want me humiliated. Caged. Treated like something your family can use and discard."

His expression darkened, and for a moment, the room seemed to grow colder. Adrian set down his glass with deliberate precision. "Your family deserves worse than this," he said quietly, the menace in his tone unmistakable. "You, however... I haven't decided yet."

Alana's hands curled into fists beneath the table. "I am not them."

"No," Adrian agreed, tilting his head. "But you are their offering. Their sacrifice. And I will do with you as I see fit."

A sharp, painful lump formed in her throat, but she refused to let him see her falter. "You can dress it up however you want, Adrian. But I am not your whore."

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze dark and unreadable. "Then what are you?"

She forced herself to hold his stare, her pulse hammering in her ears. "Someone who will never let you break her."

Silence stretched between them, charged and suffocating. Then, to her surprise, Adrian let out a quiet chuckle-low, mocking, and entirely without warmth.

"Brave words," he murmured, standing from his chair. "Let's see how long they last."

Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving her alone in the vast, empty dining hall.

Alana exhaled shakily, gripping the edge of the table as she fought against the tremor in her hands.

This was only the beginning. And if Adrian thought she would crumble under his cruelty, he was sorely mistaken.