Selena burst into Isabella's room, her face pale and breath coming fast.
"Señora," she whispered, shutting the door behind her.
"Selena, I've told you to stop calling me señora" Isabella said as she was preparing to cover herself with her duvet and go to bed.
"He wants you. Now."
Isabella froze, the duvet slipping from her hand. "Rafael?"
Selena nodded. "He's angry. Really angry. I don't know what happened, but...." She swallowed, lowering her voice. "Please, just… don't talk back. Don't look at him too long. Do whatever he says." Fear rippled through Isabella's chest. Her stomach turned cold. She knew what an angry Rafael meant.
"Help me dress," she murmured, barely recognizing her own voice.
Selena's hands trembled as she buttoned the back of Isabella's silk gown. The two women didn't speak again. When they reached the heavy mahogany door at the end of the hall, Selena stopped. "He's inside," she said, her voice cracking. "Be careful." Then she turned and walked away quickly, as though she couldn't bear to see what came next.
Isabella raised a hand to knock, but the voice came first....low, sharp, commanding.
"Come in."
She obeyed.
Rafael was standing by the window, one hand braced against the glass, his reflection fractured by the light. He didn't turn when she entered. The tension in the room was suffocating like walking into a storm before it breaks.
"Close the door."
She did.
"Come here."
Her feet wouldn't move. Fear locked her joints in place.
Rafael turned then, eyes burning dark and dangerous. "Don't make me repeat myself."
That broke her paralysis. She stepped forward, every sound....the click of her heels, the rustle of her dress...echoing like thunder in her ears.
When she reached him, he studied her for a moment that felt like eternity. His jaw flexed, his breath heavy with the scent of smoke and whiskey.
"Do you know what happens when people steal from me?" he asked quietly.
She shook her head.
"They pay in blood." His words were cold, but his gaze… it carried something else. Something unsteady.
He stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him. The air between them pulsed with unspoken rage and hunger. He reached out, fingers brushing her chin, tilting her face up. The gesture was deceptively gentle but his grip was iron.
"You think I don't see how afraid you are," he said softly. "But you hide it well."
Her throat tightened. "Rafael, please, I..."
"Quiet."
The word silenced her completely. His hand slid from her face to the back of her neck, his touch firm, controlling. Her pulse pounded against his palm. She could feel the violence restrained beneath his skin, the war he was waging to contain it.
He leaned close, voice a whisper against her ear. "When I tell you to obey, you obey."
Her breath hitched. The closeness, the anger, the tension,it all pressed in on her until she could barely breathe.
He released her suddenly. She stumbled backward, heart hammering. Rafael turned away, dragging a hand through his hair as if trying to shake off the fury threatening to consume him.
The silence stretched. Then, without looking at her, he said in a low voice that made her blood run cold,
"Go to the bed."
She hesitated. The command hung in the air, heavy, certain. Her body wouldn't move, but her instincts screamed that refusing would only make it worse.
When she finally moved, her steps were slow, mechanical. The shadows seemed to follow her as she crossed the room.
Rafael stood there for a long moment, his chest rising and falling hard. His expression was unreadable,something dark flickered behind his eyes, something that looked almost like regret, but it was gone as quickly as it came.
Isabella braced herself, gripping the sheets as he caught her by the wrist and pushed her down. The world blurred.....heat, weight, the harsh rhythm of his breath against her skin. It wasn't tenderness; it was punishment. Not for her, but for whatever fury lived inside him that he couldn't kill any other way.
She stared at the ceiling, silent tears burning her eyes, willing herself not to make a sound. Every heartbeat reminded her of where she was.....of who owned her now.
And when it was over, he stood there for a moment, hands on his waist breathing hard. His face was unreadable not softened, not satisfied, just… empty.
He stepped away, reached for his shirt, and said without looking back,
"Next time I call you, come faster."
Then he left her there, small and shaking, in a room that still smelled of fury and smoke.
....
Steam clouded the mirrors, wrapping the marble room in a heavy, ghostlike haze. Water streamed down his body, tracing every line of muscle, every scar carved by years of violence. Rafael pressed his palms against the cold tile, his head bowed as if the weight of his own thoughts could crush him.
He didn't know why his hands were still shaking. Not from anger that had passed hours ago but from something far worse.
He'd seen blood.
He'd taken lives.
He'd burned men who dared to cross him.
None of that had ever made him feel this.
He exhaled sharply, trying to drive her image out of his head but it was useless. Isabella's face stayed with him, etched into the mist. The quiet terror in her eyes, the way her breath trembled when she looked at him and beneath that fear, the defiance that refused to die. Even when he broke her down, it never truly vanished. It reminded him of something he'd buried long ago something soft, human, dangerous.
He cursed under his breath, stepping out of the shower and dragging a towel over his skin. The burn of guilt was worse than the scalding water.
Lighting a cigarette, he leaned against the counter, smoke curling around his face like confession.
"She's nothing," he muttered, the words hollow. "Just a woman. A name. A ring. A deal."
But his reflection stared back at him, unconvinced, eyes dark and restless.
He crushed the cigarette into the sink, sparks dying like the lie he'd just told.
....
The hallway was quiet as usual, Isabella moved slowly, her steps uncertain, her dress slightly askew as if it had forgotten how to belong on her. Her eyes were red, her lips trembling as she reached her room.
Selena saw her from across the corridor and froze. There was something different about the Isabella not the usual fear she'd seen before, but something deeper, something shattered.
"Come," she whispered. "Let's get you cleaned up."
She guided her back to the room, sat her by the vanity, and drew the bath herself. Steam rose again, this time softer, scented with lavender. The water was gentle, not scalding, not punishing.
Isabella didn't speak at first. She just let Selena help her to the bath,a warm cloth, slow hands, quiet care. When the tears started, they came without sound, rolling down her cheeks like something long overdue.
Selena didn't hush her. She just kept moving, kept scrubbing, her own throat tight.
When Isabella finally spoke, her voice was cracked and small.
"I'm tired, Selena. Of being afraid. Of being used like… like it's supposed to mean nothing."
"Señora," Selena whispered, rushing to her side. "You should rest."
Then, softly, she said, "Selena, can you help me?"
Selena hesitated. "Of course, mi señora. What do you need?"
When Isabella finally looked up, her eyes glistened,fragile, desperate. "I've had enough," she whispered. "Of being afraid. Of feeling like my body isn't mine." Her voice cracked. "They say… that intimacy, sex, whatever it is... it's supposed to be something humans can feel, can enjoy. But he's taken that away from me. And I want to take it back."
Selena's breath caught. "Isabella…"
"I don't want to hate what I am anymore," Isabella said, her tone trembling but steady with resolve. "I want to understand it. I want to know how to… feel it." Her eyes lifted, meeting Selena's. "Teach me. Help me learn what it means to be close to someone, to do this with him... without pain, without fear."
Selena's eyes widened, stunned by the plea. "Isabella, I.... that's not something I can...."
"Please," Isabella said, voice breaking into a whisper. "Please, I just want to know what it feels like to be woman, he took my first but I can't let him take the rest."
For a moment, Selena said nothing. Then, slowly, her expression softened not out of agreement, but out of compassion. She knelt beside Isabella, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face.
"Not tonight," she said gently. "You've been through enough for one day. You need to rest, to heal."
Isabella nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks.
Selena offered a faint, almost teasing smile to lighten the air. "We'll talk about it later, hmm? When your strength is back. Then maybe I'll consider giving you lessons."
That earned her a small, broken laugh from Isabella.
"Thank you," Isabella whispered.
Selena squeezed her hand. "You're stronger than you think, Isabella.One day, you'll see it too."
As Selena left the room, Isabella curled beneath the silk sheets, staring at the ceiling. The tears came again not just from pain this time, but from the strange, fragile hope that maybe, somehow, she could reclaim herself.