The library felt colder after Damian left, but Isabella's body still burned where his hands had touched her.
Her eyes drifted to the garment bag lying across the desk. It sat there like a silent dare, daring her to open it.
For a long moment, she resisted. But curiosity clawed harder than fear. With trembling fingers, she tugged the zipper down.
The bag parted, revealing silk. Midnight-black silk, soft as a whisper, shimmering faintly in the dim light.
Her throat tightened. The dress was daring backless, with a neckline that plunged deep, the fabric cut to drape like liquid against her curves. A slit ran high along the thigh, scandalous and elegant all at once.
Her fingers brushed the fabric, and a shiver ran through her. It was beautiful. It was dangerous.
And it wasn't hers.
She shut the bag quickly, pressing her palms against the desk as if she could steady her heartbeat through sheer force.
What am I becoming?
Hours later, she stood before the mirror in Damian's mansion, the dress molding to her like it had been made for her body. A stranger stared back her reflection wasn't the girl she used to know. Her emerald eyes looked wider, framed by dark lashes. Her lips glowed with the faint stain of red gloss one of Damian's women had pressed on her.
Innocence had no place in this reflection.
The door creaked open.
Her breath caught as Damian entered, dressed in black-on-black. His shirt was unbuttoned just enough to show the edge of his collarbone, his jacket sharp, his presence filling the room like smoke.
His gaze swept over her slowly, lingering, deliberate. The silence stretched until her skin prickled with heat.
Finally, his lips curved. "Perfect."
Isabella's heart flipped violently. She forced herself to speak, but her voice came out weaker than intended. "This… this is too much."
Damian stepped closer, his hand lifting to brush a lock of hair from her shoulder, his fingers grazing bare skin. His touch was slow, deliberate. Possessive.
"No," he said softly. "It's not enough. But it will do for tonight."
She shivered, caught between panic and something far more dangerous.
"Damian.." she started, but his hand slid lower, resting lightly on her waist. His eyes burned into hers, stormy and unreadable.
"Listen carefully, bella." His voice dropped to a growl, intimate and commanding. "When we walk in, you don't look at anyone but me. You smile when I tell you. You stay at my side, no matter who tries to talk to you. If you falter…" His hand tightened just enough to make her breath hitch. "I'll remind you who you belong to."
Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her voice barely a whisper. "And if I embarrass you?"
His smirk deepened, dangerous. "Then your punishment will be private."
Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she hated how her pulse skipped at the promise.
A knock interrupted them. One of the guards leaned in. "It's time, Signore."
Damian didn't move his gaze from Isabella. "We're ready."
He offered his arm, a dark prince leading his unwilling bride.
Her hands trembled, but she slipped her fingers into the crook of his elbow. His muscles flexed beneath her touch, hard and steady.
Together, they stepped into the night toward the waiting cars, the waiting world, and a gathering where every glance could kill, and every whisper could ruin.
And as the city lights blurred past the window of Damian's car, Isabella's heart pounded with one truth:
There was no turning back now.
The car purred softly through the city streets, the world outside blurred in neon and shadow. Inside, silence wrapped around them like a second skin.
Isabella sat stiffly, her hands folded in her lap, her pulse racing so loudly she swore Damian could hear it. The dress clung to her in ways that made her hyperaware of every movement, every breath.
Damian sat beside her, one arm stretched lazily along the leather seat, his posture relaxed but his presence anything but. He watched her not openly, but in sidelong glances that made her skin prickle.
"Stop fidgeting," he said at last, his tone low, amused. "You'll wrinkle the silk."
She stilled instantly, glaring at him despite the heat flooding her cheeks. "I didn't ask for this."
"No," Damian agreed smoothly. He shifted, his hand reaching out to rest on her thigh. The pressure was light, almost casual, but it ignited a wildfire in her veins. "But you belong to me now. And when you belong to me… the world learns it."
Her breath caught. She wanted to shove his hand away, but her body froze, betraying her with the rush of sensation that spiraled from his touch.
His thumb traced slow circles against her skin through the slit of her dress. "Do you know what they'll see when we walk in tonight?" he asked softly, leaning closer until his breath fanned against her neck.
She swallowed hard, her voice barely steady. "What?"
"They'll see a woman they can't touch," he murmured, his lips brushing close to her ear. "Because she's mine. My claim. My possession."
A shiver shot through her, equal parts fear and something far darker. She turned her face away, staring out the window. "You're a monster."
Damian chuckled, low and dangerous. "Maybe. But tonight, bella, you'll smile for the monster. And you'll like it."
Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her heart twisting painfully. The weight of his words coiled around her like chains she couldn't shake.
The car slowed, pulling into a grand estate lit with chandeliers and firelight. Expensive cars lined the drive, and shadows of powerful men and jeweled women moved beyond the glowing windows.
Damian's hand slid from her thigh to her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. His grip was unyielding, his voice a final command.
"Stay with me. Don't falter. If anyone so much as looks at you too long…" His smirk curved, dark and possessive. "They'll regret it."
The door opened. A guard bowed. "We've arrived, Signore."
Damian stepped out first, tall and commanding, the night bending around him. Then he turned, extending a hand to Isabella.
Her fingers trembled as she placed them in his.
The moment her heel touched the marble steps, all eyes turned. Whispers began to ripple through the crowd.
And Isabella realized: this was no gathering. This was a den of wolves.