Alex’s POV
It had been days. Hell, maybe even weeks. Time was a blurred concept when you lived in the chaos I did-where every minute was a decision, a power move, a stroke in the dark game I played. But there was something about her-about Isabella-that fucked with my entire existence.
She thought she had control. Cute, really. The way she used that lawyer mind to try and twist things, like she could win some battle here. Hell, I even let her think she was playing her own little game. But I knew better.
The door clicks shut.
I don’t look up immediately. I let her walk in-just like she always did. Her heels clicking on the marble floors. She had a way of making every damn sound in this mansion seem deliberate. Controlled. But I knew better. Every step she took closer, every movement she made, I could feel her resistance building. Her tension. Like she was holding something back, a truth she refused to face.
She walks over, stands in front of me. Silent. Waiting.
That’s when I look up. I can see it in her eyes-the hesitation, the question buried beneath the surface. The damn game we were both stuck in.
“You think you can escape, Bella?” I ask, my voice low, dangerous. The nickname slips off my tongue with a bite that I can’t stop.
Her lips tremble just slightly, but she hides it behind that cold lawyer facade. “Escape?” she asks, her voice steady but thick with something else. “From what, exactly?”
I rise from my chair, my body moving like a predator. She backs up a step. Damn, it feels too good to see her flinch. She doesn’t realize it, but she still wanted me. Needed me.
“From me,” I murmur, stepping closer. “You think this is just a game. A contract. But it’s more than that. You know it. I know it. And deep down, you hate me for it. You hate how much you want it.”
Her breath hitches, and she shakes her head like she’s denying it. But I know the truth.
“Don’t,” she whispers, almost like a plea.
I smirk. “Don’t what? Don’t remind you who you belong to?”
Her eyes flash, and she takes a step back, but not to escape. No, she’s preparing for something-preparing to fight, to push me, to reclaim some shred of control that’s long since slipped through her fingers.
“You’re sick,” she spits, but I see the way her eyes soften when she speaks. I hear the subtle tremor in her voice. She might hate me, but she’s still mine.
“You think I don’t know that?” I step into her space, invading her personal bubble, feeling the heat radiating off her. I can practically taste the frustration in the air. “You think I don’t know exactly what you want? What you need?”
She swallows, and the smallest tremble runs through her. Her hands ball into fists at her sides, but I can see her eyes-dark, searching. Conflicted. She knows.
I grab her wrist and pull her toward me. She gasps, but she doesn’t fight. She never does. She wants it, deep down. She’s just afraid to admit it. To say it out loud.
“Call me Daddy, Bella,” I order, my voice low, rough, as I push her body against mine.
Her breath hitches. “No,” she snaps, her defiance clear, but I know it’s a game. She’s trying to test me. Trying to hold on to the last scraps of power she thinks she has.
“No?” I growl. “You know the rules, sweetheart. When it’s just us, you call me Daddy. Or do I need to remind you what happens when you disobey?”
Her eyes narrow. “You’re a bastard,” she mutters under her breath. But I can hear the hesitation, the fear, the desire behind her words.
I lean in, my lips brushing her ear. “You wanted this. You begged for it, Bella. And now, you’re gonna get it.”
Her chest rises and falls rapidly, but she doesn’t fight me. She lets me take control. I release her wrist and grip her chin, tilting her head up. The look in her eyes-conflicted, desperate, hungry-makes everything inside me tighten with need.
“Say it,” I demand. “Say you want it. Say you need it.”
She hesitates for a moment, then a soft whisper escapes her lips. “Daddy…”
God, the way she says it… it drives me wild. But it’s not enough. She needs to fully surrender. Needs to beg.
I push her back on the couch, my body following her down, pinning her beneath me. **”Tell me what you want, Bella,”** I growl, my hands moving to her collar. I tighten it just a little, just enough to remind her of her place.
Her body shudders beneath mine, but her eyes-her eyes say everything. She’s breaking. Cracking, bit by bit. She hates me, but she craves this. Craves me.
Her voice comes out in a breathless whisper. “I want… you…”
“Good girl,” I murmur, slipping my hands beneath her blouse, feeling her skin-soft, warm, and trembling beneath my touch. I lean down, capturing her lips in a kiss that’s rough, demanding, desperate.
And that’s when the door swings open.
“Mr. Ricci…?”
The weight of silence hangs thick in the air, and the stillness of the room betrays the raging storm brewing inside me. She stands by the window, the soft light from the city flickering across her like a trapped star. Isabella. My wife, yet not. My possession, but a part of me I can’t quite touch.
“You’ve been quiet lately, baby,” I murmur, leaning against the doorframe, my arms folded across my chest. My voice is low, steady, but I know better than to think she won’t hear the edge in it. She’s always listening, even when I don’t want her to.
She doesn’t look at me. Her focus is on the distant horizon, the world outside, that place she wishes she could escape to. I get it-hell, I even understand it, but it won’t ever happen. Not while she’s mine.
Her shoulders tense, the muscles shifting under the thin fabric of her dress. “Maybe I’ve had enough of your games, Alex.” Her voice is soft, but there’s a crack in it-a little tremor that I know too well.
I push off the door, closing the distance between us with two long strides. My fingers graze the back of her neck, just a touch, just enough to make her feel the weight of my presence. “Games?” I repeat, amusement flickering in my tone. “Is that what you think this is?”
Isabella turns her head slightly, just enough to meet my eyes-cold, challenging. “You don’t care, do you? I’m just a pawn to you.”
Her words bite like daggers, but I’ve been trained to bleed in silence.
I lean closer, my breath warm against her ear. “You think I don’t care? That’s cute.” I take a step back, giving her space she hasn’t asked for, before flicking a glance to the collar around her neck. The one I gave her. The one that keeps her tethered to me, no matter how far she thinks she can run. “Tell me, Isabella. Do you think I put this on you because I like to play games?”
Her throat works, swallowing hard, as if her pride won’t let her admit the truth. I don’t wait for an answer. I never do. “You’re mine. Contracted or not, I own you. Every part of you.”
She gasps, as if my words have caught her by surprise. The sharp inhale fills the room, making everything feel even heavier, even more suffocating. But I can see the flicker in her eyes-the need. The way her body responds to me, even when her mind fights it.
She shakes her head, but it’s weak. “You don’t get it. You never do. It’s not just about control. It’s about… being seen. Not just… used.”
The vulnerability in her voice is the crack I’ve been waiting for, the chink in her armor that makes me want to break her open and see what’s inside. I step forward, my hand sliding down her arm, stopping at her wrist, where the coolness of the metal bracelet she wears brushes against my skin. I tighten my grip, just a little, just enough to remind her of who’s in charge here.
“You’re mine, Isabella,” I whisper, my lips brushing against her ear. “All of you. And you will never forget that.”
She doesn’t answer, but I feel the shudder that runs through her. The heat between us is undeniable, thick like a drug in the air. She wants me. Desperately. But she hates that she does.
I pull her to me, my hands firm on her shoulders, pushing her against the wall. “And as for being seen…” I lean in, my lips grazing the curve of her jaw. “I see you, sweetheart. All of you. Even when you pretend I don’t.”
She clenches her fists at her sides, trying to pull away, but I’m not having it. I’ve never had it when it comes to her. Her defiance only makes the fire burn hotter, and I crave it. I crave her resistance. The fight in her keeps me alive.
“Stop,” she breathes, but it’s not a command. It’s a plea. And it cuts through me more than I’d like to admit.
But I don’t stop. I can’t. “You know what I want, Isabella. You know how this works. All of it. You can fight it, but in the end, you’ll still beg for it.”
Her eyes flash with something dangerous, something that tells me she’s had enough. Enough of me. Enough of this.
But she doesn’t leave. She never does.
I push off her, but not before giving her a hard, bruising kiss. Her lips are soft, pliant, but she resists me all the same. I smile against her mouth, pulling back just enough to let her breathe, my lips curling into a smirk.
“You think you can leave me, baby?” I whisper, my voice dark with the promise of something far worse than the silence that follows. “You think I’ll let you walk away from this? From me?”
She doesn’t answer, doesn’t even look at me as I let her go. The tension between us crackles, thick and heavy. She knows. She knows as well as I do what happens next.
And then, the door to the office bursts open. My eyes snap to the intruder, a shadow passing through the threshold.
The familiar figure is a ghost from my past-a man I trusted until I didn’t. And now, here he is again, bringing with him a new mess I don’t need.
“Alex,” the voice is gruff, but there’s something in the tone that makes my blood run cold. “We’ve got a problem.”
I don’t even look at Isabella anymore. She’s just another part of the game now. A pawn, waiting to be played. But my mind is already elsewhere, calculating, plotting. Because when the world comes crashing down, I don’t hesitate. I crush it. I crush everything.
“Is it about the deal?” I ask, keeping my voice steady. “Or something else?”
The man steps closer, his face serious, but there’s an edge of fear in his eyes. “It’s about her.”
Her. Isabella.
No. This can’t be happening now. Not when I’m so close. Not when I’ve only just begun to break her down, piece by piece.
I feel the coldness of dread creep up my spine.