Alessa's POV
The mansion is endless.
Corridors stretch on, twisting and turning into more dark hallways, more closed doors, more nothing.
But I run anyway.
I don't know where I'm going. I don't care. I just need to get out.
My bare feet slap against the cold marble, my breath sharp, ragged. My ribs ache. My throat burns. My body is failing me, but I force it to move.
I stumble past heavy wooden doors, dragging my hands along the walls to steady myself. Each turn brings me deeper into the house—or maybe I'm just running in circles.
I don't stop.
There has to be a way out. There has to be—
A window.
My chest tightens. I shove forward, nearly collapsing against it. My fingers claw at the glass, searching for a latch—
Nothing.
It's sealed.
A ragged sob rips from my throat.
I don't think—I slam my fist against it. Again. Again. My bruised knuckles scream in protest, but I don't care.
I don't care.
I just need it to break.
"Help!" I cry, my voice cracking. "Somebody, please—!"
A hand wraps around my wrist.
I scream, thrashing, fighting, biting—
"Stop," a voice says.
Not Dante.
I wrench away, spinning to face—
A guard.
He's tall. Stone-faced. Indifferent. He doesn't grab me again, doesn't restrain me. He just stands there, watching me fall apart.
"Please," I whisper, backing away. "Please, let me go."
No response.
His gaze flicks to my hands, still bleeding from punching the glass. He lets out a quiet breath.
Then he turns and walks away.
My heart stops.
No. No, no, no.
I rush forward. "Wait! Please!" I grab his sleeve, pulling, sobbing. "I'll do anything! I'll pay you! Just let me go!"
He shrugs me off like I'm nothing.
Like I'm no one.
I watch, frozen, as he disappears down the hallway, leaving me alone.
I shake.
They won't help me.
None of them will.
I sink to my knees, gasping for air, for something, for hope—
"Are you finished?"
A chill crawls up my spine.
The world slows.
I know that voice.
I don't move. I don't breathe. I feel him before I even look up.
Dante.
He's there. Standing at the end of the hall. Silent. Still. Watching.
Like he's been watching me this whole time.
Like he's been waiting.
My body locks up. I try to speak, but my throat is too tight, too raw.
He steps forward. Unhurried. Calm.
I scramble back, pressing against the wall, shaking my head. "Stay away from me."
Dante doesn't respond.
He doesn't need to.
I feel his amusement, taste his satisfaction.
Because he knew.
He let me run. Let me fight. Let me struggle.
Just to watch me fail.
And now—
Now, he's here to take me back.
A sob crawls up my throat. My chest heaves.
Dante crouches in front of me, tilting his head. His fingers ghost along my cheek—gentle, almost soothing.
I flinch.
"You tried," he murmurs, voice smooth. Mocking. "That's good."
A tear slips down my cheek. His thumb catches it.
"I told you," he whispers, his breath warm against my skin. "You can't escape."
I choke on a sob.