The door shut behind him with a soft click, and the room felt smaller instantly. Elena sat rigid on the edge of the bed, every nerve sparking. The Don stepped closer, his shirt open at the collar, his dark gaze fixed on her like a predator tracking prey.
"You don't sleep," he murmured.
"I don't sleep because you keep breaking in," she snapped, her voice sharper than she felt.
He smirked faintly. "Or maybe because you can't stop thinking about me."
Her chest tightened, fury flaring. "Don't flatter yourself. I think about how to get away from you, every second."
He moved closer, slow, deliberate, until he was standing over her. His hand lifted, brushing her hair from her face with an intimacy that made her skin crawl and burn at the same time. "You can lie to yourself. You can lie to me. But your eyes betray you."
She jerked her head away. "What do you want from me? Haven't you taken enough?"
His hand caught her chin, tilting her face back toward him. His voice dropped, rough and low. "I haven't even started."
Her heart hammered, her breath shallow as he leaned in, his lips brushing dangerously close. She could feel his warmth, smell the faint trace of whiskey and smoke on his breath. Her body froze, torn between terror and a strange pull she hated herself for.
At the last second, she shoved him back with all her strength. He stumbled half a step, more surprised than hurt, then straightened, his eyes gleaming with dangerous amusement.
"Still fighting," he murmured. "Good. It makes the chase sweeter."
Elena stood, her fists clenched. "This isn't a game. You don't get to win just because you're used to people bowing to you."
His smirk widened. "You think this is about winning? No. This is about possession. About obsession. About taking what the world says I can't have."
Her chest heaved. "And what if I never give in?"
His expression hardened, the smile slipping away. He closed the distance again, so close her breath hitched, his voice a whisper against her ear. "Then I'll take every piece of you anyway—your fear, your fury, your fire. And you'll hate me for it. But you'll still be mine."
She shoved him again, harder this time, her voice cracking. "Get out!"
For a moment, he just stared at her, eyes dark and unreadable. Then, to her shock, he stepped back. His smirk returned, faint but sharp. "You're not ready yet. But you will be."
He turned toward the door, his hand on the knob. Elena's breath came ragged, her body shaking, her nails digging into her palms to keep from collapsing.
Before leaving, he glanced back, his gaze locking with hers one last time. "Sweet dreams, bella."
The lock clicked as the door shut.
Elena collapsed onto the bed, her entire body trembling. Her chest rose and fell in harsh gasps. She pressed her hands over her face, rage and shame burning hot. She hated him. Hated the way he invaded her air, her thoughts, her body's betrayal every time he came near. She hated herself for the flicker of heat she couldn't control.
She curled into the sheets, whispering to herself, "You don't want him. You don't." But the memory of his closeness lingered, heavy and poisonous.
The next morning, sunlight filtered through the curtains. Elena sat by the window, staring at the guards patrolling below, her reflection pale against the glass. Her mind replayed last night endlessly—the near-kiss, the way her body froze, the way she pushed him back at the last second. It had been too close. Far too close.
She vowed never to let him that near again.
The door opened suddenly. She spun around, heart leaping, but it wasn't him. It was the maid again, carrying another tray of food.
"You're pale," the woman said quietly, setting the tray down. "Did he come to you again?"
Elena's throat tightened. "He doesn't stop."
The woman's eyes softened with pity. "He never will. That's who he is."
Elena gripped the arm of the chair until her knuckles turned white. "Then I'll stop him."
The maid shook her head slowly, sadness in her gaze. "Careful. Fire burns brightest just before it dies."
That night, Elena heard the distant hum of voices downstairs—men's laughter, the clink of glasses. A gathering. She pressed her ear to the door, catching fragments. She couldn't make out words, only tones—serious, commanding. His voice stood out above all. Low. Dangerous. Absolute.
She stepped back from the door, pacing. Her chest burned with fury. She couldn't let this continue. She needed to remind herself who she was. Strong. Independent. Free. Not his.
But even as she repeated it in her head, she couldn't stop the memory of his breath at her ear.
Near midnight, the voices faded. The mansion grew quiet. Elena sat on the edge of the bed, her arms wrapped around herself. Every shadow in the room seemed alive, waiting.
And then—
The lock turned.
Her stomach twisted. "Not again," she whispered.
The door opened.
This time, his expression was different. His jaw tight, his eyes darker than she'd ever seen. He stepped inside without a word, shutting the door behind him. Elena's chest tightened, fear mixing with something sharper.
"What do you want now?" she forced out.
His voice was low, edged with steel. "You almost cost me tonight."
Her breath caught. "What are you talking about?"
He moved closer, each step heavy with tension. "One of my men saw the way you looked at the window. Saw your fire. If they think you're weakness, they'll use you against me. And that… I cannot allow."
He stopped inches from her, his hand lifting to her throat—not squeezing, just resting there, a terrifying reminder of his control. His eyes bore into hers.
"You think you can fight me. But every move you make ties you tighter. And if you don't realize that soon…" His grip tightened slightly, just enough to steal her breath. "…you won't survive."
Elena's hands trembled as she grabbed his wrist, trying to pry him off. Her voice came out hoarse. "Then kill me. If that's what you want, do it."
For a long, charged moment, silence hung heavy. Then, slowly, he released her, stepping back. His eyes still burned, but his voice softened unexpectedly.
"I don't want your death, Elena. I want your surrender."
Her knees buckled, and she sank onto the bed, gasping for air. He lingered in the doorway, watching her.
"One day soon," he said softly, almost like a promise. Then he left, the lock clicking behind him.