Isabella refused to eat.
The breakfast spread before her was a feast,fluffy croissants, fresh fruit, eggs still steaming, but the sight of it turned her stomach. She sat at the long dining table, silent, her hands folded in her lap as her father sipped his espresso.
"Eat," Antonio said without looking at her.
"I'm not hungry," Isabella whispered.
His gaze flicked to her, sharp and warning. She bowed her head quickly, staring at the untouched plate. Obedience had been drilled into her since childhood, but this morning, rebellion simmered in her chest like a quiet flame.
The door opened.
Isabella stiffened as Damian stepped into the room. Even in the soft morning light, he was all shadow and steel. His tailored black shirt stretched across his shoulders, his presence swallowing the space.
"Good morning, Antonio," Damian said smoothly. His eyes slid to Isabella. "Fiancée."
The word made her flinch.
Antonio's face softened..rare, dangerous. "Join us."
Damian pulled out a chair directly beside Isabella, ignoring the empty seats farther down. As he sat, his knee brushed hers beneath the table. She jerked back, but he only smirked, as if amused by her reaction.
"Not hungry?" he murmured, leaning close enough that his breath stirred the loose curls at her temple.
Her cheeks burned. "No."
"Then you should eat for me," Damian said, picking up her fork and spearing a piece of fruit. He held it out, his gray eyes locking onto hers.
Her breath caught. The simple gesture felt unbearably intimate, like a trap disguised as tenderness.
"I…I can feed myself," Isabella stammered.
"Then do it," he challenged softly, the corner of his mouth curling.
Her fingers trembled as she lifted the fork from his hand, putting the fruit into her mouth just to end the unbearable tension. Damian watched her lips as though he had claimed them already.
Sophia's voice startled her from across the table. "You don't have to let him control you, you know."
Isabella's head snapped up, eyes wide. Sophia sat calmly, sipping her tea, but her gaze flicked with open defiance between Damian and Antonio.
"Careful, Sophia," Antonio warned, his tone sharp.
Sophia only smiled sweetly. "I'm just saying. A bride should have a choice in how she's courted."
Damian chuckled low in his throat, his gaze never leaving Isabella. "You're mistaken. This isn't courtship. This is inevitability."
Sophia's spoon clattered against her saucer, but she said nothing more. Isabella's heart pounded so hard it hurt.
Later, in her room, Sophia cornered Isabella, pacing the floor with agitation.
"You can't just let them dictate everything," Sophia hissed. "Damian isn't some fairytale prince, Bella. He's dangerous. Men like him don't love. They own."
"I know," Isabella whispered, hugging her arms around herself. "But what can I do? Papa won't listen. Damian… he…" She trailed off, shivering at the memory of his eyes on her, his hand brushing her cheek.
Sophia stopped pacing, her expression softening. "Then resist him. Even if it's only in small ways. Don't let him see you break. If you give him fear, he'll use it. But if you give him fire…"
Isabella shook her head quickly. "He's too powerful. He could crush me."
"Then make him hesitate to try."
That evening, Isabella sought refuge in the garden. The night air was cool, fragrant with roses. She breathed deeply, trying to quiet the storm in her chest.
But she wasn't alone.
"You like roses," Damian's voice drawled from the shadows.
She spun around, her heart beating uncontrollable. He emerged from the darkness, his suit jacket open, his shirt collar undone. The moonlight caught the hard lines of his face, making him look carved from marble.
"You shouldn't be here," Isabella said quickly, backing away.
"This will be your home soon," Damian replied smoothly. "I go where I please."
Her back hit the stone balustrade, cutting off her retreat. Damian stepped closer, his body a wall of heat and power.
"Why do you run from me, Isabella?" he asked softly, tilting his head. "Do I frighten you that much?"
"Yes," she admitted, her voice trembling.
Instead of satisfaction, something flickered in his eyes..something unreadable. He leaned closer, his lips near her ear. "Good. But fear isn't the only thing I want from you."
Her breath hitched, her pulse wild.
His hand rose, tracing the line of her jaw with surprising gentleness. "One day soon, you'll stop trembling when I touch you. One day, you'll tremble for another reason entirely."
Her cheeks flamed, her lips parting in shock.
Before she could speak, he stepped back, his expression shuttered once more. "Think about that, bella."
And then he was gone, swallowed by the shadows, leaving her pressed against the balustrade , her body burning with confusion and dread.
The dining room was cavernous, its walls lined with oil paintings of ruthless men and silent landscapes. The long table stretched endlessly, but only two chairs were occupied hers and Damian's.
He sat at the head, shoulders squared, an aura of command wrapping around him like a second skin. A single glass of red wine gleamed at his side.
Isabella's hands trembled as she lifted her spoon. She hadn't realized how hungry she was until the first bite, but every time she glanced up, she found his eyes already on her.
Sharp. Assessing. Possessive.
Finally, she set her spoon down, nerves fraying. "Do you always stare at people like they're… prey?"
A slow smile curved his lips. "Only when they are."
Heat shot up her neck. "I'm not your prey."
"Then what are you, cara mia?" His tone was deceptively soft, yet laced with steel.
Her lips parted, but no answer came. What was she? His prisoner? His fiancée? A pawn in a game she didn't even know the rules to?
Damian leaned forward, wine glass in hand, eyes never leaving hers. "Tell me, Isabella… have you ever been kissed?"
Her breath caught, her body stiffening. The question sliced through the tension, bold and dangerous.
"I…." She faltered, cheeks flaming. "That's none of your business."
But his grin deepened, sharp as a knife. "So you haven't."
He set the glass down with a soft clink and rose from his chair. Every step toward her echoed like a countdown. Isabella gripped the edge of her chair, pulse hammering.