Isabella’s POV
The air in the penthouse was thick tonight. The city hummed below, lights glittering like diamonds scattered on black velvet, but inside these walls? The silence had weight. Alessandro was late. Again.
I paced the living room, the soft silk of my dress brushing against my thighs. His rules had become my second skin, suffocating and protective all at once. Call him *Daddy*. Wear the collar. Kneel when told. I hated it-or at least, I told myself I did.
The door clicked open, and there he was. Alessandro Ricci, all sharp edges and lethal charm, the kind of man who could burn you alive and smile while doing it.
“Still dressed?” he asked, his tone flat, almost bored.
My fingers tightened on the hem of my dress. “You’re late.”
He stepped inside, shutting the door with a soft *click*. His jacket hung loose over his shoulders, his tie slightly askew. The man was chaos wrapped in control.
“And you’re defiant,” he said, eyes glinting as they raked over me. “Don’t push it tonight, Bella.”
“Push what?” I shot back, my voice sharper than I intended.
He smirked, closing the distance between us in two slow strides. “Me.”
I held my ground, refusing to back away even as his scent-spice and danger-wrapped around me. “You think you can just walk in here whenever you feel like it and expect me to fall in line?”
“Yes,” he said simply.
His arrogance hit like a slap, but it was his next move that left me breathless. Alessandro’s hand snaked out, catching the chain of my collar. He tugged, just enough to pull me off balance and remind me of my place.
“Watch your tone,” he murmured, his lips a breath away from my ear. “Unless you want me to show you what happens when you forget who owns you.”
I hated the way my body betrayed me, heat pooling low in my stomach even as my brain screamed at me to fight back. “You don’t own me,” I whispered, my voice trembling.
His grip tightened. “Don’t I?”
We stood there, locked in a silent battle, until he let the chain slip from his fingers. He stepped back, adjusting his tie as if nothing had happened.
“Sit,” he ordered, motioning to the leather chair by the window.
I hesitated, the defiance still bubbling under my skin.
“Now, Isabella.” His voice was steel, and it cut through my resolve.
I sank into the chair, my heart pounding. He pulled a file from his briefcase and dropped it onto the coffee table. “You’re going to sign this.”
“What is it?”
“An amendment to our agreement.”
I raised an eyebrow. “What kind of amendment?”
His smile was wolfish. “One that ensures you’ll never think about leaving me again.”
My chest tightened. “You’re insane if you think I’m signing that without reading it first.”
“Read all you want,” he said, leaning back on the couch, arms spread wide like a king on his throne. “But you’ll sign it. One way or another.”
I grabbed the file, flipping through the pages. The words blurred as anger surged through me. “This… this is a leash.”
He laughed, low and dark. “No, Bella. The collar is the leash. This is just paperwork.”
Slamming the file shut, I shot to my feet. “You can’t keep doing this. You can’t-”
“Can’t what?” He was on his feet too, towering over me. “Control you? Own you? Love you?”
That last word hung in the air like a grenade, its pin pulled.
“You don’t know what love is,” I said, my voice shaking. “You just want to break me.”
His eyes softened for a split second-so brief I almost missed it. “Maybe,” he admitted. “But you’re not broken yet, are you?”
Before I could respond, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, his expression darkening.
“Business?” I asked, my tone dripping with sarcasm.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed his coat and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?”
He paused, his hand on the handle. “Stay here. Don’t wait up.”
The door slammed shut behind him, leaving me alone with the file-and the sinking feeling that tonight wasn’t just about business.
The silk of the collar brushed my neck as I adjusted it, the subtle weight a constant reminder. His rules, his world, his obsession with control-every inch of my body bore his mark, visible or not. I wasn’t just wearing his name; I was living it, breathing it, suffocating under it.
I exhaled sharply, pacing the length of his penthouse study. The city lights glittered beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, a million secrets blinking in the distance. And yet here I was, locked in this gilded cage, playing by rules I never agreed to but couldn’t escape.
The door opened. His presence filled the room before I even saw him. Alessandro Ricci-flawless suit, unshakable composure, and that maddening smirk I wanted to slap and kiss in equal measure.
“Isabella,” he said, drawing out my name like it was his favorite curse. “You’ve been restless.”
I crossed my arms, refusing to cower. “Maybe I’m just tired of being your little puppet.”
His laugh was low, dark, and infuriating. “Puppet? Hardly. You’re more like a feral cat who keeps trying to scratch the hand that feeds her.”
“Maybe stop treating me like a stray.” My voice came out sharper than I intended, but I didn’t regret it. Not when his eyes narrowed, a flicker of something dangerous and exciting sparking in their depths.
He stepped closer, closing the space between us until I could feel the heat radiating off him. His cologne wrapped around me like a noose-spicy, dark, intoxicating. I hated how it made my pulse quicken.
“You’re defiant tonight,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from my face. His touch was soft, almost tender. It made my stomach twist in ways I couldn’t explain. “What’s got you so riled up, sweetheart?”
“Don’t call me that,” I snapped, stepping back. Distance. I needed distance. But he didn’t let me have it.
“Oh, but you love it,” he countered, his voice dripping with arrogance. “You love every nickname, every demand, every second of my attention.”
“Not everything,” I shot back, though my resolve felt thinner with every word.
“Is that so?” He tilted his head, studying me like a predator sizing up its prey. “Because the way you look at me right now says otherwise.”
I wanted to argue, to throw something, to do anything but stand there as he dismantled me with his words and that maddeningly confident gaze. Instead, I stayed silent, fists clenched, teeth grinding.
He reached for me, fingers trailing down my arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “I’ve told you before, Isabella. You can fight me all you want, but at the end of the day, you’ll always end up exactly where I want you.”
“Arrogant bastard,” I hissed, trying to pull away. His grip tightened, firm but not painful, grounding me in a way I hated.
“And you love it,” he said softly, his lips curving into a knowing smile. “You need it.”
“Don’t psychoanalyze me, Alex. You’re not my therapist.”
“No, but I am your-”
“Don’t say it,” I cut him off, glaring. “Don’t you dare.”
“Daddy,” he finished anyway, the word rolling off his tongue like a weapon. My cheeks burned, and I hated the way my body betrayed me-the way my breath hitched, the way my knees felt weak.
“You’re impossible,” I muttered, shoving him away, though my strength was no match for his.
“And you’re mine,” he said simply, as if it were the most obvious fact in the world.
The tension between us crackled, thick and suffocating, until his phone buzzed on the desk, cutting through the charged silence. Alessandro glanced at it, his expression hardening instantly.
“What is it?” I asked, unable to hide my curiosity.
He didn’t answer right away, his jaw tight as he read the message. When he finally looked at me, there was something new in his eyes-something darker, colder.
“Stay here,” he ordered, his voice clipped.
“What’s going on?” I pressed, stepping toward him. “Alex-”
“Stay. Here.” His tone left no room for argument. Before I could protest, he was already out the door, leaving me alone with my racing thoughts and a sinking feeling in my gut.
The collar around my neck felt heavier now, a tangible reminder of the chains I couldn’t see. Something was coming-I could feel it in the air, electric and dangerous. And for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t sure if I could survive it.