Dante throws his head back and laughs, a deep, rumbling sound that fills the interior of the car. It's a laugh devoid of warmth or genuine amusement, a laugh that speaks of a man used to getting his way, to having people cater to his every whim and desire.
"Pretty and just that," he says, his voice a low, mocking drawl. "Isn't that enough for you, little one?"
His hand moves from her cheek to the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in the silken strands of her hair. He gives a gentle tug, just enough to make Vierva gasp, to feel the sharp sting of pain mingling with the pleasure of his touch.
He thinks I'm just a pretty face, Vierva realizes, a sinking feeling settling in the pit of her stomach. Just a plaything, a toy for him to use and discard as he pleases.
Vierva feels a pang of anger and bitter disappointment as the realization hits her. She had foolishly allowed herself to entertain the idea that Dante might come to care for her, that he could see the person beneath the pretty face and fall for her true self. But now, with the cruel amusement in his eyes and the mocking laughter on his lips, she understands the harsh truth.
He doesn't care for me, she thinks, her fists clenching in her lap. He doesn't see me, not really. I am just a pretty toy to him, a trophy to show off and a plaything to use.
The anger rises hot and fast in her chest, a bitter taste on her tongue. She wants to lash out, to scream at him, to demand that he see her, really see her. But she forces herself to remain still, to bite her tongue and hold back the angry retorts that threaten to spill out.
I will not give him the satisfaction, she tells herself, her voice tight and strained in her mind. I will not let him see how much he has hurt me, how deeply his callous words have cut.
Instead, she turns her head to look out the window, staring at the passing scenery with unseeing eyes. The city lights blur together as tears threaten to spill down her cheeks, but she blinks them back, refusing to let him see her cry.
I will not let him break me, she vows silently, her jaw clenched and her hands fisted in the rich fabric of her gown. I am stronger than that. I am more than just a pretty face and a warm body. I will not let him reduce me to nothing.
Even as she thinks it, a small, traitorous part of her heart aches with a desperate longing for his affection, for his love. But she pushes it down, burying it deep beneath the rising tide of anger and resentment.
I will not wait for him to see me, she decides, a cold, hard determination settling over her like a shroud. I will show him. I will be more than he ever imagined, more than he could possibly deserve. And someday, he will regret ever underestimating me.
Vierva feels a surge of defiance rising within her as she sits there, staring out at the passing city lights with unseeing eyes. Dante's mocking laughter and cruel words echo in her mind, fueling the fire of rebellion that has begun to burn in her heart.
He thinks he owns me, she seethes silently, her nails digging into the rich fabric of her gown. He believes he can use me, discard me, and cast me aside like some cheap trinket. But he is wrong. He is so very wrong.
A slow, determined smile curves Vierva's lips as a new resolve takes hold of her. If he wants to play this game, then I will play it too. But I will play it on my terms, not his.
I will be the pretty ornament he wants me to be, the perfect trophy wife hanging on his arm. But I will be more than that. I will be the puppet master, the one pulling the strings from behind the scenes.
He will never see it coming, Vierva thinks, a thrill of dark anticipation racing down her spine. He will be so focused on showing me off, on basking in the admiration and envy of his friends, that he won't realize the noose is tightening around his neck. Not until it's too late.
I will be his downfall, she vows, a cold, hard determination settling over her like a shroud. I will be the one thing he can't control, the one variable he can't calculate for. And when the time is right, I will bring him to his knees and watch as he crumbles.
But for now, I will play the game. I will be the pretty, obedient girl, the perfect little ornament. I will hang on his arm and smile at his friends, a vision of grace and beauty. And all the while, I will be biding my time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
He wants to own me? Then I will own him. I will make him fall in love with me, body and soul. And when he is hopelessly, irrevocably in love, I will leave him. I will walk away with his heart in my hands and a smile on my face, knowing that I have won.
The thought sends a dark, twisted thrill through Vierva, a rush of power and triumph.