Chapter 15 Marry Him
Without wasting another second, Janet grabbed her phone and dialed Charles’ number. It rang once… twice… three times. Then, finally, the voice on the other end answered.
“Hello, Janet,” Charles’s deep voice came from the other end.
She cleared her throat, masking her excitement with honeyed sweetness.
“Hello, Charles! How are you? How’s your health?” she asked in a sickly sweet tone, her fingers twitching with anticipation as she tried to control the eagerness in her voice.
“I’m well. Just busy with work,” he replied casually. “And you? How have you been?”
“I was just watching the news,” Janet said cautiously, her eyes flicking to the muted television screen. “Is it true? Did you really hand the company over to Annie?”
“Yes. It’s true,” Charles replied calmly. “I gave it to her as a birthday gift. I’m getting old, and it’s time my child starts taking responsibility.”
“Of course,” Janet replied immediately, nodding. “We old folks can’t take that kind of pressure after working our whole lives. It’s only right for the younger generation to take over and continue the legacy. I think you made the right decision giving it to her now—it’ll be great for her future.”
Her thoughts were racing even as she spoke calmly.
‘She’s still young,’ Janet thought, heart thudding with anticipation. ‘If Dante marries her now, he’ll take over the company easily. That girl came from some orphanage, didn't she? What could she possibly know about business or deals?’
Janet’s lips curled into a pleased smile, her eyes gleaming.
‘My son will run everything. She can live comfortably at home. What else would she need? Dante will be praised everywhere—for marrying into wealth and for helping his father-in-law manage the company. It’s a win-win.’
Clearing her throat to hide the eagerness in her voice, Janet softened her tone.
“Charles, I was wondering… how’s Annie doing now? I’ve been worried about her. Dante’s asked so many times too. We wanted to come over, maybe bring some things to help with her recovery.”
“Sorry,” Charles muttered, a frown tightening his face. “She’s still sick. She can’t meet anyone yet. It’s a skin condition… takes time to heal, you know.”
“Ah… I see.” Janet’s voice trailed off awkwardly. Her mind spun with suspicion. “Alright then. I’ll call again soon. I’m really worried about her. You can ask her to call me, at least. I’m like a mother to her. I wouldn’t want her to feel lonely.”
“Sure,” Charles replied curtly and ended the call.
Janet slowly lowered her phone, her jaw clenched tight, eyes narrowing. “Why the hell is he still hiding that damn girl from me?” she muttered through gritted teeth. “What kind of illness takes this long to recover? Something’s off.”
She could barely contain her frustration as she stood up and marched straight upstairs toward Dante’s room. The door was ajar, so she barged right in.
“Dante! It’s Annie’s birthday today—Charles’ daughter! You should go right now and get her a gift. Something expensive. I’ll try to find her contact info. You have to start wooing her!”
“What the hell are you talking about, Mom?” Dante emerged from behind his desk, dressed in a casual white t-shirt and a trouser. He walked over to her, his brows furrowed. “What are you saying?”
“That girl, Annie. It’s her birthday today. Buy her something luxurious and go give it to her! Also you’ve gotten rid of Anya, right?”
“I’m not getting rid of her,” he said flatly. “She’s mine.”
His calm, defiant tone only made Janet more furious.
“Get rid of her immediately! She’s not stepping into this house again, nor should she be anywhere near you. Drill that into your head! First, get her out of your life, and then make sure when you meet Annie, that girl is completely gone!”
Without waiting for his response, she spun around and stormed out of the room.
Dante stared after her, a cold frown settling on his face. A strange suspicion crawled into his chest.
‘Anya and Annie… both have the same birthday?’
He crossed his arms, the pieces clicking louder in his mind. ‘And since she left, Anya never told me where she moved. Could it be… is it possible that Anya is Annie?’
The idea sounded unrealistic, but it burned in his gut.
Still, he shook his head, dismissing the thought. “If there’s something going on, she’ll tell me herself,” he muttered and turned back to his desk, continuing work on the gift he was preparing for Anya.
***
At the Carters’ residence, Charles walked into the living room where Anya sat quietly. She had overheard everything.
“You still haven’t told them?” he asked gently, settling beside her.
Anya shook her head, then leaned against his shoulder, her voice a soft whisper. “Not yet, Dad.”
She pulled back and gave him a small smile. “Before Dante and I get married, I’ll tell him myself. He deserves to hear it directly.”
Charles exhaled slowly, concern still in his eyes. But he gave her a reassuring pat on the head and returned to reading the news on his tablet.
***
As the clock struck six, Anya quietly slipped out of the house. A sleek black car waited at the curb.
Just as she reached the door, the driver’s door opened—Dante stepped out and started walking toward her.
“No—” she hissed, rushing up to him. She slapped at his arm lightly, adjusting her purse on her shoulder with the other hand. “Someone could see you! Get back inside.”
He frowned at her strange behavior. “What?”
She fumbled with the car door, trying to push him back into the seat, but he suddenly reached out, cupped her face, and pulled her into a kiss right there, in the middle of the street.
She gasped, trying to push him away at first, but his lips pressed harder—more possessive, more demanding. His tongue traced the curve of her lower lip, slipping inside to tease and taste her. He pulled back just enough to lick her lips again, wet and hungry, before crashing back in with renewed intensity.
Her resistance melted with every heated flick of his tongue, every possessive nibble..
By the time he pulled back, she was breathless, dazed, and completely at his mercy.
Anya staggered back slightly, her chest rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath. She shot him a glare—half furious, half shaken.
“You’re mine. I don’t care who sees us,” he muttered, voice low and rough as his hand slid possessively around her waist. Without giving her a chance to react, he gently nudged her toward the passenger seat. “Come on, I’ll help you get in.”
The stubborn crease on her forehead didn’t disappear, but it softened. Her heart raced wildly, confused by the pull he had on her.
She slid into the seat, and before she could reach for the belt, Dante leaned over her. He grabbed it himself, buckling her in safely. Then he grasped the back of her neck, leaned in, and kissed her—his tongue teasing her lower lip before pulling it into his mouth, sucking softly, then letting it go.
“Happy birthday, Anya,” he whispered against her mouth, his voice filled with tenderness.
Anya’s entire body jolted, heat rushing up her neck. “Thanks,” she breathed, her back pressed tightly against the seat, heart thudding so hard it echoed in her ears.
Even as her lungs struggled to keep up, her eyes stayed locked on his.
He smiled at her dazed reaction, and shamelessly pressed several more kisses to her lips, and her face. Quick, shameless kisses that sent shivers all over her body. His affection made her smile, even as she trembled in his arms, overwhelmed by the intensity of his touch.
When he finally pulled away, he flashed her a playful grin before shutting the door with a satisfied thud. He jogged around the car and slid into the driver’s seat.
As soon as he sat down, he leaned over again, clearly aiming for another kiss.
But she placed a palm on his cheek and pushed him back gently, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “Drive,” she said with a half-smile, half-frown.
Dante exhaled with exaggerated disappointment, giving her the most adorably boyish pout she had ever seen on a man like him—arrogant, powerful, and so damn sure of himself.
But he backed off and started the engine. The car roared to life, and soon they were speeding down the road.
Somewhere along the way, he turned to her and said, “Close your eyes.”
“Why?” she asked, already grinning.
“It’s a surprise,” he said with a grin. “Trust me.”
Too curious to argue, Anya obeyed, excitement bubbling in her chest.
When the car came to a stop, she kept her eyes shut. She could hear him get out, and seconds later, he was opening her door. Before she could ask anything, strong arms swept her off her feet.
“Let me walk!” she protested immediately, squirming in his hold and about to open her eyes.
“Don’t do that,” he mumbled, his lips brushing her temple. “Keep them closed. Just trust me.”
She could hear voices around them—laughter, footsteps, distant chatter. They were definitely in a public place, and here he was, carrying her in his arms without a care in the world.
Overwhelmed by shyness, she turned her face into his chest, trying to hide. But the noise around them did little to drown out her embarrassment, or the warmth blooming in her chest.
He carried her through a doorway, and suddenly, there was silence. There was a soft ding—the elevator. The quiet hum of an elevator followed, then more steps.
Finally, he set her down.
“You can open them now,” he said.
Anya slowly opened them, blinking as she looked around. Her breath caught.
They were back in the same suite they’d stayed in on their first night together. Except today, it was transformed.
Red roses were scattered everywhere—on the dark wooden floor, the bed, and the windowsill. Soft yellow fairy lights were strung along the walls, glowing warmly and casting gentle shadows.
The curtains were wide open, showing the city skyline sparkling under the night sky. The moonlight mixed with the lights, making the room glow softly.
The room smelled of roses and wine, with silk sheets on the large bed.
In the center, on a black plate set on a white velvet ottoman, bold white letters read:
YOU WILL MARRY ME.
A laugh burst from her lips. She turned around without thinking and launched herself into his arms, hugging him so tightly her breath caught.
“We’re getting married?” she squealed, voice muffled against his chest.
Dante didn’t say a word—he just grinned, lifted her off the ground again, and crushed her to his chest. His arms locked around her with a grip so tight it made her breath hitch. He buried his face in her neck, inhaling deeply, as if he could live off her scent.
“I love you, Anya,” he said into her skin, his lips brushing her ear. “Happy birthday.”
Her heart was so full it ached. “Thank you,” she whispered, voice cracking with emotion.
She could barely take it all in. So much happiness, so much love, so much relief after everything they'd been through. She had never been this happy.
As she pulled back from the hug, he swept her up again and carried her to the bed. But instead of setting her down, he sat down on the bed with her in his lap, holding her close like he couldn’t stand even an inch of distance.
He pressed his face into her chest and let out a long, shaky breath.
“I want this,” he murmured. “You in my lap, me holding you, breathing you in… always.”
Anya smiled, running her fingers through his hair, softly scratching the back of his neck. His body trembled lightly under her touch.
She gripped his hair, pulling his head back just enough to catch his eyes with hers, her palms warm against his cheeks. She leaned in slowly, pressing her lips to his in a kiss that was rich and deep—lingering long, savoring every inch of him.
When they finally broke apart, Dante reached for the table nearby and pulled it closer. On it sat a gorgeous strawberry cake, decorated with delicate roses and frosting, and a bottle of champagne with two flutes beside it.
Anya picked up the knife to cut the cake, but he gently grabbed her hand and guided it with his, cutting the cake together.
“Happy birthday, Anya,” he said softly. “May God bless you. And may you live forever… with me.”
She giggled at the last part and turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “Dante, it’s my birthday. I get to make the wishes, not you.”
“You don’t need to wait for your birthday. Just tell me, and I’ll make all your wishes come true.” He grinned and kissed her cheek.
Anya held back a laugh, then finally closed her eyes and pressed her hands together.
“Please, God, let me always be happy with the people I love, and who love me back.”
She opened her eyes with a smile, picked up a piece of cake, and brought it to his lips.
But he didn’t bite it. Instead, he took her finger into his mouth, slowly licking the cream off, his eyes locked on hers. She blushed furiously.
Then he picked up a little piece for her.
Her tongue peeked out, licking the cake from his finger, slow and deliberate. His body tensed. She felt his body tense beneath her and quickly bit back a smile. He was trying to stay composed, but she could see right through him.
She pulled away, grabbed the champagne bottle, and poured it into two glasses without pausing—filling them nearly to the brim. Then she brought one to his lips and lifted the other for herself.
Dante took the glass, but his other hand tightened around her waist, keeping her perched firmly in his lap, her legs spread across the bed in a relaxed sprawl.
She raised a brow and eyed him suspiciously. “You’re not going to lecture me about drinking too much tonight?”
He shook his head slowly, a crooked smirk tugging at his lips. “Drink all you want tonight,” he said, his voice low, remembering with a mischievous glint, “Just like last time… when you couldn’t keep your hands off me at the bar. You can attack me again—no one’s gonna stop you.”
“Oh my God,” she groaned, burying her flushed face into his neck as a mortified laugh escaped her. “When are you going to stop bringing that up? I’m so embarrassed.”
He chuckled, his chest rumbling under her cheek. She pulled back and pouted up at him. “Don’t laugh,” she mumbled.
Instead of replying, Dante lifted his champagne glass to her lips and tipped it gently. “Drink.”
She obediently parted her lips and took a few sips. As she swallowed, a thin stream of champagne escaped the corner of her mouth and dripped down to her chin. Before she could lift her hand to wipe it away, Dante leaned in, his tongue trailing slowly up her jaw, catching the droplet and following it to her lips. He swept over them with a gentle stroke.
She trembled—her whole body reacting to the intimate gesture. Her breath caught as she stared at him, stunned. The more she tried to hide her reaction, the more her face flushed with heat.
“This one tastes good,” he muttered, his gaze dark and intense.
Then he leaned down again—this time kissing her hard. His mouth moved over hers with urgency, his grip tightening, like he couldn’t get enough of her. She shuddered beneath him, clinging to his shoulders, barely able to breathe.
Just when she thought she’d melt into the kiss completely, he pulled back slightly. She felt something cold slide onto her finger.
She blinked, then lifted her hand—and froze.
There, sitting on her ring finger, was a stunning diamond ring—elegant and extravagant. One of the most expensive cuts she’d ever seen.
“Oh my God,” she whispered.
“A little gift for you,” Dante murmured, his lips brushing along her neck. The soft kisses sent tingles racing down her spine, making her squirm under him.
“Anya,” Dante said softly, his breath brushing her ear. “We’re getting the marriage registered tomorrow.”
Her head snapped up in surprise. “Already? Shouldn’t we have a wedding first—like, with the hall and everything?”
“I can’t wait that long,” he muttered with a frown, brushing her hair back. “I want you with me every single day. But you keep going home, and honestly, it’s driving me insane. I swear, if we delay any longer, I might just kidnap you and lock you in my basement.”
She burst into laughter, shaking her head. “Alright then. Tomorrow it is.”
A wide, boyish grin broke across his face, the kind that reached his eyes. He was trying to stay calm, but the excitement in him was impossible to miss.
He pulled her closer and whispered, “Anya… is there anything you want to tell me before we get married? Anything you’re hiding?”
His voice was gentle. His eyes searched hers.
She leaned up, kissed him on the lips, and whispered, “There is... but I promise I’ll tell you tomorrow.”
“Alright,” he said quietly.
But his eyes didn’t move from hers. Not for a second.
In the next heartbeat, he lifted her effortlessly, pulling her into his lap, her legs straddling him, chest pressed to his. His hands ran down her back, then gripped the hem of her dress and yanked it upward. Fabric tore. She gasped. He didn’t stop. His mouth found hers again, all fire and heat, tongue claiming her like he couldn’t wait one more second.
He pulled her closer, until there was no space between them. Her bra came undone in his hands like it was nothing. Then her panties—dragged down her thighs with one rough pull. His breath was ragged now. He shoved off his own clothes like they were in the way of breathing.
Then he took her.
Hard.
She clung to him as he moved—again and again—his hands holding her down like he couldn’t risk her slipping away. Her cries filled the room, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t. His name tore from her lips in broken gasps, and still he held her, rode her, kissed every sound she made.
The night blurred into shadows and heat. And he didn’t stop until she was trembling in his arms, until she couldn’t even speak, only hold onto him—shaking, breathless, undone.
***
The next morning, Anya stepped out of the car with Dante, her fingers tightly clasped in his.
She’d gone home early to change, freshen up, grab her ID and rush back out to meet him. Now, walking toward the courthouse together, her heart pounded with excitement. Everything felt like a dream—fast, overwhelming, and electric.
Dante hadn’t let go of her hand since last night. As they walked toward the courthouse together, his fingers gripped hers like he was afraid she’d vanish. He kept glancing at her, smiling like a man who’d just won the world.
When they reached the entrance, he suddenly turned her toward him and looked deep into her eyes. “I love you, Anya,” he said. “This is the start of our life together. I swear, I’ll never let anything make you sad.”
Anya’s heart swelled. She held his hands with both of hers and nodded, smiling.
But then his gaze dropped. His hands stiffened around hers. His brows drew together.
He was staring at the ring on her finger.
The ruby ring.
“This isn’t the ring I gave you,” he said slowly, his voice suddenly colder.
Anya’s body stiffened as her eyes followed his. Her stomach dropped.
He was looking at the ring that Luca had given her.
His voice was low and hard now. “Isn’t this the ring from the auction?”
Her chest tightened.
She’d completely forgotten about it.
Luca had slipped it onto her finger after the auction, and this morning—rushed and jittery—she’d thrown it on without even realizing which one it was. She’d only been thinking about getting to Dante. About marrying him.
Now his grip turned rigid, and when she looked up, there was a fire burning in his eyes.
“What the hell is going on?” Dante’s voice thundered, his jaw clenched, face burning with fury as he glared at her. “Why do you have this ring?”
“I can explain,” Anya said quickly, her voice shaky. “It was a gift—”
“A gift?” he barked, stepping closer, his entire frame rigid with restrained rage. “Why the fuck would Luca Stanson give you a gift worth hundreds of millions? Who the hell is he to you?”
“Dante, it’s nothing like that.” She stumbled over her words, her chest tightening. “I know Luca—we’re sort of friends. That’s why he gave it to me. It doesn’t mean anything.”
He dropped her hand as if it burned him, but his eyes didn’t leave her face. His gaze darkened. The longer he tried to stay calm, the faster the anger bubbled to the surface.
“A friend ?” His voice dropped lower, more dangerous. “Are you fucking serious right now?”
The more he tried to keep it in, the more his anger flared. “At the auction, you acted like you didn’t even know him. Treated him like a stranger. When did he give you this ring? When the hell did he become your friend? When did he give you this ring?”
“On my birthday,” she said softly, desperation leaking into her tone. She tried to explain, to fix this mess before it slipped further out of control. “I was going to tell you. I didn’t mean to hide anything, Dante. Please—listen to me. It’s not what you’re thinking.”
“On your birthday?” His voice rose, bitter and sharp. “Anya, I wanted to give you this ring. I was ready to fight for it, to buy it for you. And you stopped me. You let that bastard take it, and now you’re telling me you accepted it from him ? What the hell is going on between you two?”
Her heart pounded in her chest. He wasn’t hearing her—just seeing red.
“Dante, please. He’s just a friend. I promise you, there’s nothing more. It’s an innocent friendship.”
She reached for him again, her voice trembling. “Remember I told you I wanted to talk to you today? To tell you something I’ve been keeping? This was it. That I know Luca. That he is—”
“I don’t give a damn anymore,” Dante cut her off, his voice low and trembling with fury. He took a step back, looking like her touch might break him. “You should’ve told me the truth when you had the chance. Is this what you do? Hide things from me like it’s no big deal?”
“Dante, please…” she tried, reaching for him again, her heart sinking. “Let’s just go in. Let’s get married first, then sit down. I’ll tell you everything. Every little detail, no more secrets. Just… please.”
He roughly jerked her hand away, a roar tearing from his throat, “I’m not marrying you ! You took a ring from another man—so go and marry him!”
His voice echoed off the walls, making her flinch.