CHAPTER 6
Ariana's POV
My teeth chattered as I stood in the winter snow. December — a month meant for joy, family, and celebration — felt like nothing but another cruel joke. Christmas was days away, but for me, it wasn’t warmth or love that came with it. It was misery — another day to endure.
Every year, Christmas meant the same thing: spending it with Nicola. One moment he’d rage like a storm, the next he’d be this gentle, charming man — the kind I foolishly believed I could love after Alessandro. But I was wrong. So wrong.
This year was different, though. It was going to change my life forever... in the worst way possible.
On the 25th of December, I, Ariana Vallezi, would marry Nicola Luciano.
The thought alone crushed me. My chest ached as I shut my eyes, tears spilling freely down my face. D’Angelo had set the date himself — my own father, sealing my fate with his signature. I was marrying the man I hated most, the man who made my life a living hell. There was no way out.
A week left.
Just one week until I’d belong to a monster.
Right now, I was standing outside a boutique, the snow biting at my skin while Nicola searched inside for a wedding dress.
When he told me this morning that we were going shopping, I’d forced myself to smile.
For a moment, I was even excited — the idea of leaving the mansion was like breathing air after drowning.
But the closer the day crept, the heavier my heart felt. I couldn’t pretend anymore.
I couldn’t do this.
The only reason I was tolerating today was because it meant freedom — temporary freedom — from those suffocating walls.
Nicola never let me leave without him. Control and power were his obsessions, things he learned too well from D’Angelo.
Shopping for a wedding dress felt like attending my own funeral. I wanted to run, but I couldn’t.
I thought of the night he confessed to killing his family — his own family. The way he’d broken down, begging me for forgiveness, clutching me like a lifeline while I froze in horror. The man I was forced to marry was a murderer. And somehow, I was supposed to smile through it.
“Detka, do you not like this store?”
His voice snapped me back, and I spun around to find him standing behind me. The sound of his voice alone made panic claw up my throat. My body stiffened. It had been two days since his last outburst — two days of peace — and I wanted to keep it that way.
I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to gather warmth that wasn’t there. “Y-Yeah... no... I love it,” I stammered.
“Then why are you outside?” His tone sharpened, irritation flaring in his eyes.
“Nicola,” I whispered, reaching for his hand even though it made me tremble, “I just... needed some fresh air.”
For a second, his gaze darkened — that familiar, terrifying spark of anger flashing behind his pupils. My heart dropped. I could feel the storm coming.
“There’s nothing for you to wear in this shop. We’re going to another one,” he growled.
“There’s no need for that, Nicola. I can choose from this one—”
Before I could finish, he seized my wrist, his grip iron-tight. Pain shot up my arm and I flinched. His eyes bore into mine — cold, cruel, unyielding.
“If you don’t listen to me, I’ll do something you won’t like.” His voice was low, venomous. “I said we’re going to another shop. Do you understand, detka?”
I nodded quickly, too afraid to breathe.
“Say something.”
“I-I was thinking...” I stuttered, mind racing for an escape, “w-why don’t y-you choose my dress?”
His expression flickered with confusion. “What?”
“I want you... to choose my dress,” I said again, forcing a small, trembling smile.
For a moment, silence stretched between us — and then his face softened, the corners of his mouth lifting into an almost boyish grin. “Do you really mean that?”
“Yes.”
“Ariana,” he murmured, “I’d love to do that.”
The relief that washed over me was indescribable. My lungs finally released the breath I’d been holding. I even managed a small smile — not out of joy, but out of pure survival.
Because, for now, I had escaped his wrath..
I nodded slowly, watching him as he reached out and brushed his fingers along my cheek before pulling me into a kiss.
His lips pressed against mine — soft but possessive — and when he pulled back, there was that self-satisfied grin stretching across his face, the kind that made my stomach twist. I shut my eyes, welcoming the darkness just to escape it.
Nicola took my hand, but this time his grip was gentler as he guided me toward the next boutique.
The drive there had lasted barely ten minutes, yet every second of it dragged like an eternity.
The whole way, Nicola talked about what kind of dress he wanted me to wear — the neckline, the color, the fabric, every last detail.
It was like he was designing a doll, not marrying a woman.
An hour passed, and now I stood inside a dressing room, wearing the dress he’d chosen. The satin hugged my shoulders as I turned to face the mirror. The tailor behind me tugged at the fabric, tightening it around my waist. My throat closed up.
“You look beautiful, cara,” she murmured.
My eyes met hers in the mirror, tears blurring the reflection. I tried to force a smile, but my lips trembled instead. Beautiful? No. I felt hollow, broken — like the reflection staring back at me wasn’t even mine.
Nicola didn’t deserve this — didn’t deserve me, didn’t deserve the privilege of choosing my dress, my life, my future. The gown was exquisite, yes — lace and silk and tragedy stitched together — but I hated it. I hated it because he chose it.
“Beautiful?” I repeated bitterly. “Beautiful...”
“Sì, il tuo fidanzato è un uomo fortunato,” she said with a warm smile, continuing to adjust the fabric.
Her words broke me. My chest ached as I thought of the man I wanted to call lucky — Alessandro. If anyone was meant to see me in a white dress, it was him. Not Nicola. Never Nicola. And to make it worse, I was carrying Nicola’s child.
The tears came harder, until I couldn’t see anything through the blur. The tailor’s voice turned faint as she rushed to steady me, guiding me off the platform to a seat. I tried to catch my breath, to stop shaking, but when I looked up again, the woman was gone. In her place stood Nicola.
I flinched. My entire body went rigid.
“Ariana,” his voice snapped through the silence, stern and sharp. “What happened? Do you not like the dress?” He knelt down in front of me, resting his hands on my knees as though he cared.
The irony stung. He thought I was crying over a dress. How could he not see the real reason? He didn’t understand — he never would. I shook my head helplessly, the sobs breaking loose again. Nicola’s expression darkened, frustration bubbling beneath his skin.
He grabbed my knee roughly, dragging me closer. “Stop this fucking nonsense and talk to me. Why are you crying?” he growled.
“N-Nicola,” I stammered, trying to steady my voice. “There’s something I need... to tell you.”
He nodded, waiting. My throat constricted as I forced the words out. “I-I’m having—”
“Ser, my dolzhny uyti! Seychas!”
The door burst open. One of Nicola’s men shouted something in Russian, his voice tense, urgent. Nicola shot up immediately, dismissing me without a word. My heart sank. He didn’t even hear me.
Within seconds, chaos swallowed the room. Nicola stormed back in with the tailor from before — her face pale, her hands trembling.
“Get her out of that dress! Hurry!” he barked.
The woman rushed to obey, fumbling with the fabric as she unfastened the gown. Before I could even gather my thoughts, Nicola grabbed my hand and yanked me toward the door. We ran.
Outside, he shoved me into the car, the door slamming shut behind me. My back hit the seat hard. “Nicola, what’s happening?” I cried out.
He turned, eyes cold but steady. “Don’t worry about anything, Ariana. You’re safe with me.”
For the first time in a long time, I almost believed him. Maybe it was the look in his eyes — desperate, protective, unhinged. He wasn’t lying when he said he’d keep me safe. Because if he didn’t... he’d lose me. And I think that terrified him more than anything.
The car sped away, tires screeching. I turned to the window just in time to see smoke rising behind us — thick, black clouds swallowing the boutique we had just left. My heart sank. The shop was gone. Completely destroyed.
What the hell just happened?
As the city blurred past us, I pressed a hand to my stomach. The secret burned inside me like fire. I couldn’t tell him — not now. If I did, there would be no baby.
The thought of my child growing up around Nicola and D’Angelo sent a chill through me. That wasn’t a life — that was a prison waiting to happen. I shut my eyes tight, imagining a different future — one where I took my mother’s advice and escaped.
It would be better.
It had to be better.
God, no...
We reached the mansion after a while, and Nicola dragged me inside.
He was furious, and I had no idea why. I could almost feel his anger radiating off him as his thumbs pressed hard into my skin, burning where his nails dug in.
When he finally let go of my wrists, I rubbed them gently, wincing.
His nostrils flared, his fists clenched tight as he paced back and forth like a caged animal.
He let out a frustrated growl that made me flinch.
I didn’t know what to do — I just stood there, frozen in silence, until he suddenly grabbed the nearest thing and hurled it across the room.
It shattered into a thousand pieces, the crash echoing through the room like thunder.
I gasped and covered my ears, trembling as the shards scattered across the marble floor.
“Vincent!” Nicola roared.
I watched, my face pale, as he glared at me one last time before shouting again. One of his men came running into the living room, a gun already in his hand.