Isla woke the next morning to a soft knock at the door. Her body was stiff from the accident, and her heart felt heavier than ever. She muttered a weak, “Come in,” and a maid entered, carrying a tray of breakfast.
“Mr. Dante has instructed that you eat and rest today,” the maid said softly, placing the tray on the bedside table.
Isla’s eyes flicked to the tray-a perfectly curated selection of her favorites. It felt hollow, a gesture of control rather than care. She nodded silently, waiting for the maid to leave before sitting up and letting out a deep sigh.
Amara’s laughter echoed faintly through the halls, and Isla’s chest tightened. Her baby, the one she had risked everything to protect, was slipping further into Dante’s grasp.
Downstairs, Dante was sitting on the floor of the grand living room, his tie undone and sleeves rolled up as Amara squealed with delight.
“You’re getting faster, my little princess,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically warm as she crawled toward him, her tiny hands clutching the plush carpet.
Amara giggled, reaching up for him. Dante scooped her into his arms, holding her high above his head. “One day, you’ll run this place, won’t you? My fearless little girl.”
Marco watched from the doorway, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’re good with her, you know,” he commented.
Dante turned, his usual composed demeanor returning. “She’s my daughter, Marco. Of course, I’m good with her.”
Marco nodded but added cautiously, “And Isla? How are you planning to handle things with her?”
Dante’s jaw tightened. “She’s stubborn, but she’ll come around. She has to. For Amara’s sake.”
Marco hesitated, his tone growing firmer. “You can’t just force her to accept this life, Dante. She’s not a business deal or one of your enemies.”
Dante’s eyes darkened, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. “I know that, Marco. But she’s mine-Amara is mine. I won’t lose them.”
Meanwhile, Isla sat by the window, her breakfast untouched. Her eyes scanned the sprawling estate, her mind already calculating. She had to try again, even if it meant waiting for the right moment.
Amara’s laughter reached her ears again, and her resolve wavered. What kind of life would her daughter have without a father? Isla knew the answer. Dante’s world wasn’t one of love or warmth-it was power, control, and danger.
But she couldn’t deny the bond between Dante and Amara. It tore at her heart, making her question if she was doing the right thing.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock. This time, it wasn’t the maid-it was Dante. He entered without waiting for her reply, his imposing presence filling the room.
“You didn’t eat,” he noted, his voice curt.
Isla turned away from him, her gaze fixed on the window. “I wasn’t hungry.”
Dante sighed, stepping closer. “You need to take care of yourself, Isla. For Amara.”
Her head snapped toward him, anger flashing in her eyes. “Don’t lecture me about taking care of her. I’ve done it alone since the day she was born.”
Dante’s expression hardened. “You think I don’t care? Everything I’ve done has been for her-for you.”
“For me?” Isla laughed bitterly, rising to her feet. “You locked me in this house, took my daughter away, and expect me to believe it was for my sake?”
Dante stepped closer, his voice low and dangerous. “I did what I had to do to keep you both safe. Whether you like it or not, Isla, this is your life now.”
She stared at him, her chest heaving with frustration and despair. “You don’t own me, Dante. And you don’t own her. She’s not some pawn in your game.”
His eyes softened slightly, a crack in his otherwise impenetrable facade. “She’s my daughter. And you… you’re my family.”
That evening, Dante insisted on dinner together. Isla initially refused but relented when Amara’s nurse brought her to the dining room. The sight of her baby girl softened Isla’s heart, and she agreed to sit at the table.
The atmosphere was tense as they ate in near silence. Amara babbled happily in her high chair, completely oblivious to the strained dynamic between her parents.
Dante finally broke the silence. “I know you hate me right now,” he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. “But I’m trying, Isla. For Amara. For us.”
Isla didn’t look up from her plate. “Trying? You call this trying? You’ve built a cage for us, Dante. That’s not love.”
His jaw tightened, but he forced himself to remain calm. “You’re angry. I get it. But I’m not giving up on this family.”
She scoffed, finally meeting his gaze. “Family? You don’t know the first thing about being a family.”
Before Dante could respond, Amara let out a loud giggle, throwing her food onto the floor. The tension broke for a moment as both of them turned to their daughter, unable to suppress small smiles.
“She has your defiance,” Dante said softly, his eyes lingering on Isla.
She looked away, her walls firmly back in place. “Maybe. But I’ll make sure she doesn’t have your cruelty.”
Later that night, Dante stood in his study, a glass of whiskey in hand. Marco entered, his expression cautious.
“You look like a man at war,” Marco commented.
Dante smirked bitterly. “I am. And I’m losing.”
Marco raised an eyebrow. “Isla?”
Dante nodded, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “She hates me, Marco. I thought bringing her back would be enough, but…” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know how to fix this.”
Marco hesitated before speaking. “Maybe stop trying to control her. She’s not one of your enemies, Dante. She’s a woman-a mother. Treat her like one.”
Dante’s eyes flicked to his friend, a mix of irritation and understanding in his gaze. “Easier said than done.”
In her room, Isla cradled Amara in her arms, tears slipping down her cheeks.
“We’ll get out of here one day, baby,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to her daughter’s head. “I’ll find a way to give you the life you deserve. Away from him.”
Amara cooed softly, her tiny hand reaching up to touch Isla’s face. It gave Isla strength, a renewed sense of determination.
She didn’t know how or when, but she would escape again. This time, she wouldn’t fail.
For now, she had to play along, to let Dante believe he was winning. Only then would she have a chance to take back her freedom.
As she placed Amara in her crib and watched her drift off to sleep, Isla whispered a silent promise to herself and her daughter.
“Soon, my love. Soon.”