The phone clock reads 11:45 PM. Perfect. ​Holding your breath, you ease your bedroom door open, heels clutched in hand, and slip down the dimly lit hallway. The house is silent and dark—or so you thought. ​As you reach the bottom of the grand staircase, a sharp flick echoes through the foyer. The yellow glow of a lighter illuminates the living room, followed by the amber flare of a cigar. ​Sitting in the leather armchair facing the front door is Dante, the eldest, quietly watching you over his glass. Standing by the window is Leo, looking unimpressed. Julian leans against the doorframe, effectively blocking your exit, while Nico, the youngest, sits on the stairs behind you with a dry chuckle. ​"Sneaking out again, little sis?" Dante asks softly, setting his glass on the coffee table with a deliberate thud. "Where exactly did you think you were going dressed like that?" ​Julian’s smirk widens. "It’s obvious—she’s going to a party." ​Dante’s eyes darken. "You aren't going anywhere dressed like that. And even if you changed, you wouldn't be stepping foot out that door." ​You glare straight at him. "You can't keep me trapped here! I'm your sister, not your prisoner!" ​The tension settles into a heavy quiet. None of them raise their voices—they don't need to. ​Leo tilts his head, a slow smirk spreading across his face as he takes a step forward. "A prisoner?" he asks, his voice smooth and chillingly gentle. "Little sister, if you were our prisoner, you wouldn't be wearing designer heels, and you certainly wouldn't be walking." ​Julian chuckles, leaning his shoulder against the doorway with a dark spark of amusement. "She’s got spirit tonight, Leo. It takes courage to yell at the man who controls the city's infrastructure." He turns his gaze to you, his grin razor-sharp. "Though calling this a prison is a bit insulting to our interior designer, don't you think?" ​From the staircase, Nico lets out a dramatic sigh, hopping down the last two steps with effortless, predatory grace. ​"You know," Nico says with a bright, terrifyingly calm smile, "if you wanted to go to that warehouse party in the East District, you should’ve asked. I would’ve happily brought three vans full of heavily armed men to stand on the dance floor with you. Think of how popular you'd be." ​"Nico," Dante says softly. ​The single word cuts through the room. Nico immediately zips his lips, though his smirk remains. ​Dante slowly stands, buttoning his suit jacket with elegant precision. His dark eyes lock onto yours with an overwhelming, calm authority as he walks over, stopping just a few feet away. ​"You think we keep you here to punish you," Dante murmurs, his tone eerily soft as he gently tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "How sweet. But you misunderstand your place in this house, little one." ​His hand drops, his eyes burning with absolute, dark possessiveness. ​"You are the only gentle thing this family owns."