Isabella’s POV
The click of my heels echoed through the marble hallway, each step slicing through the suffocating silence. Alex’s fortress of an estate felt like a prison tonight. Every inch of it screamed power, control-him. Yet, here I was, standing tall even when my insides twisted in knots.
The moment I stepped into his office, his eyes locked on me. Dark. Calculating. Hungry. He leaned back in his chair, one hand gripping the armrest like he wanted to tear through it. His jacket was off, shirt sleeves rolled up, and the faint trace of stubble on his jaw made him look even more dangerous.
“You’re late,” he said, his voice a low rumble.
I crossed my arms. “You don’t own my time, Alex.”
His lips curved into that infuriating smirk. “On paper, I own everything about you, Isabella.”
“Paper doesn’t mean shit,” I shot back, my voice sharper than I intended.
He stood, the chair scraping against the floor, his movements slow and deliberate. “Careful, Bella. You’re playing with fire.” His tone dropped, each word laced with warning.
“Good,” I said, meeting his gaze. “I like the heat.”
The air between us crackled, thick with unspoken words and unsatisfied need. I hated him. God, I hated him. But my body betrayed me every time he got too close. He knew it. I knew it. And that only made me angrier.
“Come here,” he commanded, voice like silk over steel.
“Not a chance.” I stayed rooted, daring him to close the distance himself. He did, in three long strides.
He stopped inches away, towering over me. I could feel the heat radiating off him, his scent-clean and rich, with a hint of something dark-wrapping around me like a noose.
“You’ve been testing me all day,” he said, his breath brushing my cheek. “Pushing. Poking. Do you want to see what happens when I snap?”
I tilted my head, refusing to back down. “Maybe I do.”
His hand shot out, gripping my chin, tilting it up so I had no choice but to look into his eyes. “You don’t want that, Bella,” he said, his voice soft but lethal. “Trust me.”
“Trust?” I let out a bitter laugh. “That’s rich coming from you.”
Something flickered in his eyes-hurt, maybe, or anger. It was gone before I could pin it down. “You’ll learn,” he said, releasing me abruptly. “One way or another.”
He turned away, walking back to his desk, his movements calculated. The man was always in control, always pulling the strings.
“What’s this about, Alex?” I asked, my voice steadier now. “Why did you call me here at this hour?”
He picked up a folder from the desk and held it out to me. “Read it.”
I didn’t take it. “How about you tell me instead?”
He smirked again, but this one didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re not gonna like it.”
“Armand,” he said, and my stomach dropped. “He’s made his move.”
My pulse quickened. “What kind of move?”
Alex’s expression hardened. “The kind that puts you in danger.”
I swallowed hard, refusing to show fear. “What does he want?”
“Leverage,” Alex said, his voice like ice. “And he thinks he can use you to get it.”
“Leverage for what?” My voice cracked slightly, and I hated myself for it.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said, his tone final. “What matters is keeping you safe. And that means you’re staying here. No arguments.”
I laughed, the sound sharp and humorless. “You can’t just lock me up, Alex.”
“Watch me,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “I’d burn the whole damn world to keep you alive, Isabella.”
I stepped closer, anger flaring. “You’re not my savior, Alex. You’re the reason I’m in this mess.”
He grabbed my wrist, pulling me against him so fast I barely had time to react. “I’m the only one keeping you breathing, Bella,” he growled. “Don’t forget that.”
“Let me go,” I demanded, my voice shaking.
He didn’t. His grip was firm, unrelenting. “You don’t get it, do you? This isn’t a game anymore. They’re coming for you.”
“Why?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
His jaw tightened. For a moment, I thought he wouldn’t answer. But then he said something that chilled me to the bone.
“Because of who you really are.”
My breath hitched. “What are you talking about?”
He released me, stepping back, his expression unreadable. “Ask your father,” he said, his voice hollow. “If you’re brave enough.”
Before I could respond, he turned away, leaving me standing there with more questions than answers. The door slammed behind him, the sound echoing in the room like a warning.
I stared at the folder on his desk, my hands trembling. Who I really am? What the hell did he mean? My heart pounded as I reached for the folder, knowing that whatever was inside could shatter everything I thought I knew.
The moment I opened it, the words on the page blurred, my world tilting as the truth stared back at me.
The room was too still, like the calm before a hurricane. The dim light above cast long shadows across the cold marble floor, mirroring the pit in my stomach. Alessandro was late-a rarity that didn’t go unnoticed. The man lived by his clock, every second choreographed like a goddamn ballet.
I leaned against the edge of his desk, the heavy mahogany pressing into my palms. The weight of the collar around my neck was a constant reminder of the unspoken power struggle between us. My fingers brushed the leather absently. It wasn’t just a collar-it was his brand, his leash, his way of saying, you’re mine.
But tonight? It felt like a noose.
The sound of a door creaking open broke the silence. My head snapped up, and there he was-his tall frame cutting through the dim light, a storm in his eyes. His tie was loose, the top button undone, a rare hint of chaos in his usually pristine appearance.
“Late?” I said, arching a brow. “Did someone finally manage to rattle the almighty Alessandro Ricci?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he walked toward me with measured steps, each one more ominous than the last. His silence was louder than any of his threats, and damn it, it worked. My pulse was in my throat, my body betraying me as always.
When he stopped in front of me, his eyes darkened, full of something I couldn’t quite name. “Take it off,” he said, his voice low, commanding.
I blinked. “What?”
“The collar. Take it off.”
For a moment, I thought I misheard him. Alessandro never asked-he demanded, took, controlled. But now, he was giving me a choice?
“Why?” I asked, my voice sharper than intended.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Because you need to know what it feels like to breathe again.”
The room tilted. Alessandro Ricci wasn’t supposed to have cracks in his armor. He wasn’t supposed to care. And yet, here he was, practically begging me to let go of something he’d forced me to wear since the day I signed that damn contract.
“Is this some kind of mind game?” I asked, crossing my arms. “Another way to mess with my head?”
His jaw clenched. “Not everything is a game, Isabella. Not everything is about control.”
“Bullshit.” The word slipped out before I could stop it.
His eyes flashed, the intensity returning. “You think I don’t see it? The fire in you? The way you fight me at every turn? You don’t need a fucking collar to prove you’re mine.”
My breath hitched. His words were like a slap and a caress all at once. I hated him for it. I hated myself more for how much I wanted to believe him.
I stepped back, needing distance, but he followed, closing the gap until there was nothing between us. His hand reached out, brushing against the collar, and my skin burned where he touched me.
“Take it off,” he repeated, softer this time.
“No,” I whispered.
“Why not?”
“Because,” I said, my voice breaking, “it’s the only thing keeping me from falling apart.”
For a moment, the mask he always wore slipped. His hand dropped to his side, and something like regret flashed across his face. “You think I don’t feel the same way?”
I froze.
“You think I don’t hate myself for needing you like this?” he continued, his voice raw. “For wanting you to the point of madness?”
His confession was a dagger to my heart. I wanted to scream, to cry, to throw something at him, but instead, I stood there, paralyzed by the weight of his words.
“I can’t do this,” I said finally, shaking my head. “I can’t keep playing this game with you.”
“It’s not a game, Bella,” he said, stepping closer. His hand cupped my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “It never was.”
Before I could respond, his lips were on mine, crushing, demanding, desperate. It wasn’t a kiss-it was a battle, a collision of everything we couldn’t say.
When he pulled away, his breath was ragged, his forehead resting against mine. “You can hate me all you want,” he said, his voice a low growl. “But you’ll never walk away from me.”
“Alessandro…”
His phone buzzed, cutting through the charged silence. He ignored it, his eyes locked on mine, but the buzzing continued, insistent.
With a frustrated growl, he stepped back, pulling his phone from his pocket. As he answered, his expression shifted from anger to something colder, deadlier.
“What?” he snapped.
The voice on the other end was muffled, but whatever they said made his jaw tighten. He ended the call without a word, his eyes meeting mine.
“We have a problem,” he said, his voice grim.
“What kind of problem?”
His answer was a single word, one that sent a chill down my spine:
“Betrayal.”