From Isabella’s POV
I could feel his eyes on me even before I turned. Every sense buzzed, every nerve was alert, as if the air itself was charged. There he stood, a shadow within the shadows-Alessandro Ricci, my cold-hearted, no-nonsense husband in title, and Daddy in private. Leaning against the doorframe, his gaze was pure calculation, pure control, like he was surveying his prized possession.
“Isabella,” every time he drawled, the sound curling around my name like a velvet rope gently.
I swallowed hard, my heart tapping a frantic rhythm against my ribs. “Yes, Daddy?”
A smirk tugged at his lips, satisfied, but laced with that dark intensity I could never break through.
He stepped closer, his fingers brushing my cheek, making me tremble in a mess. “Didn’t I tell you to be in my office ten minutes ago? Or did you forget the rules… again?”
I shook my head nervously, but my voice wavered, “No, Sir. I was just…lost track of time.”
“Time isn’t something I allow you to lose.” His voice was quiet, each word dripping slowly from edges with a dangerous calm. He tilted my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze close.
He didn’t let go. His grip, gentle but unyielding, held me there, locked in his steady, relentless gaze.
“You know, Isabella, your little ‘forgetfulness’ could use some reminding.”
Every cell in my body screamed at his words, my heart pounding with a mix of fear and… something else. That ache, that undeniable, traitorous desire to please him, to be his good girl, even if it meant bending to his rules and his whims, but my other side hates him.
His fingers tightened ever so slightly, a reminder of who held the power here. “Strip,” he ordered, each syllable daring me to defy him.
I didn’t hesitate-his voice held that tone that meant he wasn’t in the mood for delays. The cold air hit my skin as I slid my dress from my shoulders, every movement deliberate, calculated, as I knew he’d want.
I glanced up, and there it was: the hint of satisfaction in his dark eyes, the way he drank in my obedience like it was his favorite drink.
His fingers traced down my spine every inches slowly, cold and electric. I bit back a shiver, but his voice sliced through my control, low and merciless. “On your knees, bella.”
I sank down, heartbeat hammering, fighting the urge to breathe too loudly, too desperately. His hand caressed my cheek before trailing down to the collar he’d placed around my neck-the symbol of everything he demanded, everything he owned.
“Good girl,” he murmured into my ears, his thumb tracing my lips lightly.
My head swam as his thumb pressed just enough to have me part my lips, and he watched me with that cold, commanding gaze. “Tell me, Isabella…are you happy?”
The question threw me. In all his domineering, possessive ways, he’d never asked me anything so…human.
“I…I don’t know,” I stammered, caught off guard, feeling vulnerable and exposed in a way I hadn’t expected. But his face didn’t soften; it sharpened, like he’d just baited me and I’d walked right into his trap.
“Remember this, Isabella,” he leaned close, his lips brushing my ear. “Happy isn’t part of this arrangement. I own you. Every little piece.” He pulled back just enough to see my reaction, and I fought the urge to pull away from the raw intensity in his eyes.
I knew this life. I knew what I’d signed up for. But there was something in his words tonight, something that lingered in the air, something deeper, darker. My throat felt dry, my pulse skittering wildly as he watched me, his gaze unapologetic, unforgiving.
“You wanted this, didn’t you?” His tone softened, just slightly, that edge of cruelty melting for a fraction of a second.
“Yes,” I whispered, but even I wasn’t sure who I was trying to convince-him or myself.
A smirk played at the corner of his lips. “Then show me.”
My heart leaped, a treacherous thrill seizing me as I obeyed, following his unspoken command, my lips finding his, tentative but desperate. His response was ruthless, claiming, making it clear that this wasn’t a kiss born out of tenderness, but one that marked me as his.
And as he pulled away, leaving me breathless and trembling, his words cut through me like a whip. “You’re mine, Isabella. And don’t you forget it.”
Just as the world seemed to narrow down to the heat between us, his phone rang, slicing through the air with a cold, shrill tone.
His eyes darkened, annoyance flashing across his face as he answered. His words were sharp, his tone laced with authority, but what caught my attention wasn’t the conversation itself-it was the name he muttered, low and lethal: “Carlo.”
The blood drained from my face. Carlo. The one name, the one ghost from his past that I’d never dared to ask him about. My heart hammered with new fear, dread seizing me as the realization hit. Carlo meant danger, meant secrets buried too deep, too deadly. And if he was calling now…
I swallowed, my voice barely a whisper. “Is something…wrong?”
He turned to me, his face hardening into a mask of indifference. “Nothing you need to worry about, Isabella.”
But as he turned away, the door clicking shut behind him, I knew that wasn’t true.