Dark Queen

“Very well. I’ll have him notified today. A planner will be here this afternoon. Go over anything you want input on with her.”

My heart keeps racing. I’m going to have a heart attack.

“I think I should go to Swan and collect some things today. Maybe speak with Michael and see if there are any options for me there.”

His head snaps up, eyes narrowing, “I thought you said you didn’t want to attend Swan any longer—that it was your mother’s dream, not yours.”

Pacing the carpet in front of his desk, I rub my hands down the side of my body, “I know what I said, but I think I should still talk to him. Dance has been a part of me since before I can remember, I still feel like a dancer at my core. Maybe I could still train with him, see how I feel. Speak with them about how the girls are treated. The night of the benefit, when I was told you pulled my funding, I was offered up to a rich pervert like a cheap meal.”

“Wait, what? Is that why your dress was torn?” His anger is palpable, veins bulging in his neck.

“It’s okay, Luca. He didn’t get to do anything, I stabbed him.”

“You what?” he gasps, amusement coloring his tone.

Shrugging, I stroke the diamond. “Only in the hand, he had it coming.”

“What do you want to do?” He asks leaning back against the desk, his hands resting beside his hips gripping the lip.

It’s sexy, there’s something so intoxicating about him it makes me weak.

“Is wishing the founders dead and taking over the school myself too much?” I jest sighing, “Maybe I can talk with my choreographer and go from there?”

“I’ll have them brought to the house,” he decides.

I stop pacing and chuckle. “Luca, you can’t just have people brought to me like slaves. I can go to the academy to see him.”

“I’d prefer you didn’t leave this house.” It’s not a request. His tone implies it’s an order.

“Am I a prisoner?” I scoff, the ring weighing down my finger.

I’ve irritated him. He folds his arms, dipping his head, narrowing his eyes on me.

“Alyssa, don’t make this hard, just do as I ask.”

Oh my god, I’m a prisoner.

“I’ll have your things brought here. And if you want to see this Michelle—”

“It’s Michael,” I correct.

“Right, then they’ll be brought here too.”

The voices all blend together as people speak to me about flowers and color schemes, dresses. A wedding as soon as next week being planned.

Can you even get a license in that time?

This is Luca Leto. He can get anything he wants.

“What do you think about this one?” a woman asks. I think she said her name was Sarah. There’s a dress on her screen.

It’s beautiful.

They all are.

“That’s fine,” I push away from the table, a headache making itself known.

Pain sits behind my eyes. I’ve been listening to these people plan all day long. In truth, I don’t care about how any of it looks, what individual flowers are called, what colors they come in or what they blend well with.

“I’m going to leave it up to you, just let me know if you need to me to try anything on,” I tell them.

I need some air.

Heading toward the front door, I almost crash into a wall of muscle when one of Luca’s men steps forward. “Sorry, miss. Can’t let you pass.”

A laugh bubbles up my throat. “Don’t be stupid. Let me by, I need some air,” I state.

“Orders.” He shakes his head no.

“Let me fucking by.” I attempt to move around him, but he’s gigantic and cuts me off easily.

“I’m afraid you need to take this up with the boss.”

White hot fury drenches me. “You should be afraid,” I snap. The rebellious entity inside me rushes to the forefront of my mind. I want to take his gun and shoot him in his kneecap.

Try stopping me when you’re hopping, asshole.

Instead, I cross my arms and ask, “Where is he?”

Marching to his office, I don’t knock. Instead, I barge in, slamming the door behind me.

“Have you told your men not to let me leave?” I’m breathless, the anger making me so mad, I’m becoming emotional. Tears spring to my eyes.

“Good afternoon, fiancée.” He throws a pen down, leaning back in his chair, hands clasping behind his head, completely at ease. He looks so royal, important, and masculine, I hate how my body still reacts to his.

“Luca, I won’t be your prisoner. I’m going to go out of my damn mind.” My pitch is high. I’m spiralling, tangled up inside, and can’t handle it.

“Calm down, Alyssa.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” I snap, pointing my finger at him. “You’re the reason I’m losing it.”

“You’re not losing it.” The chair creaks as he gets up to come over to where I’m pacing. Grabbing my wrists to halt my movement, he leans in. “You’re not losing it,” he repeats.