Vivien never thought her favorite mafia novel would become her prison-until she woke up inside it, trapped as the villainess fiancée who was supposed to die.
She wasn't the heroine. She was the cruel woman who tormented Alina, the girl sold to Dante...
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IN THE CAR
I leaned back in the leather seat, casually scrolling through my phone when a message popped up.
“Hey, it’s me, Elias Thanks again for helping me out! Don’t forget to save my number~”
A soft laugh escaped my lips. This guy really was… something.
I quickly typed back:
“No worries! And dw, I will haha”
I barely hit send when I felt it—that sharp side-glance from the driver’s seat.
I looked up slowly.
Dante wasn’t saying anything, but the way he peeked over, then turned his eyes back to the road a little too fast, made me raise an eyebrow.
“What?” I asked, tilting my head.
He didn’t look at me.
“You were grinning at your phone like an idiot,” he said dryly.
I rolled my eyes and went back to texting Elias.
The longer I tapped away, the more I felt the temperature in the car subtly shift. Not the AC. The mood.
Dante wasn’t saying anything—but his jaw was just slightly tighter, one hand gripping the steering.
I casually looked up. “Do you want something,?”
He didn’t answer immediately. Just muttered under his breath, “If you’re done smiling, we’re almost at your place.”
I blinked.
....
When we pulled up to the mansion, the guards outside looked scandalized. I could literally see their souls trying to process how their Scary boss just pulled up in the mafia fiancé’s car like it was a casual Uber ride.
I was about to say something witty when Dante unlocked the car doors and said without looking at me, “You’re home.”
…That was it?
No goodbye?
He reached for the gear shift
I got outta the car
And he drove off. (Probably)
I turned toward the mansion door When someone stepped out from the side with a bouquet in hand.
A very familiar someone.
“Miss Viella?” the voice called out.
I turned, startled.
“Elias?” I blinked.
“Wait—hot neighbor guy was YOU??”
He smiled brightly, holding out the bouquet—the very same one I’d picked earlier at the shop.
