I have never loved any woman like this before.Never wanted to because love makes men weak.It makes them hesitate, second-guess themselves, or become vulnerable in ways that can get them killed in this world.
But I love her, fiercely and possessively, in a way that feels like madness and clarity all at once, as if I’m drowning and breathing for the first time.
I understand how fragile this is—how easily it can be torn apart, how quickly blood can spill, bodies can fall, and the things you cherish most can turn to ash in your hands.I’ve seen it happen.Hell, I’ve caused it to happen to others by knowing how to destroy someone by taking away what they love most.
But she belongs to me now.She just proved it by showing me the scars she hides from everyone else.
And I will protect them with my life.I will eliminate anyone who tries to take her from me.Her father.His soldiers.Anyone who even considers putting their hands on what belongs to me.I will hunt them down one by one and make them suffer, beg and make them understand exactly what it costs to touch something that’s mine.I will paint the streets red before I let them touch her.I will stack bodies so high they block out the sun.Because she is mine, and I protect what belongs to me.Always.
Chapter Ten
Isabella
Ithoughtthingswouldchangeafter I shared everything and poured my truth out to him, and he held me like I was something precious instead of broken.
For a moment, he was vulnerable and his tenderness made my chest ache.He looked at me with eyes that saw beyond the walls I had built, beyond the scars my father embedded in my soul, and he didn’t turn away.He held me as if I mattered, like I was worth protecting.
When he fucked me that night there was a tenderness that I had only felt once before.In the way his hands moved over my skin.The way he looked at me while he was inside me, his forehead pressed to mine, his breath mingling with mine.In the way he whispered my name against my lips like it was a prayer, a promise, and a confession he could not quite bring himself to say out loud.
And then the next day, he reverted to being cold again.
So much colder than before, as if showing me that side of himself cost him something.Now he has to overcompensate by being twice as distant, as if he gave me a piece of himself in the dark and now needs to take it back in the light.
He barely looks at me.But when I do catch him looking, when I turn my head fast enough to see his eyes on me, he looks away.He barely speaks to me unless it is absolutely necessary.
Over the past two weeks, he has mostly stayed locked in his office.I have walked down the hallway to that door more times than I can count, standing outside with my hand raised to knock, wanting to pound on the door until my knuckles bleed.I’ve thought about picking that lock and storming in there, shouting at him to notice me, to stop pretending I don’t exist.But that would make me pathetic, clingy and desperate.Everything I swore I would never be again.
It’s dangerous to let myself feel this way because I have been here before, wanting someone to notice me, choose me, and fight for me.And I watched him die for it.
I swore I would never be that vulnerable again.Never let someone matter enough to the point where losing them would break me.
But here I am, standing outside Lorenzo’s office like a lovesick fool.Wanting him to open the door, pull me inside, and fuck me on his desk while telling me I matter—that I am not just another piece in whatever game he’s playing.
I hate myself for wanting him and for caring about what he thinks, feels, or does when I am not around.
He is distracted; I can see that.His mind is somewhere else, or on someone else.
He may fuck me every night, yet I still suspect he’s fucking someone else.Somewhere in this city, there’s a woman who gets that softer side of him.The one who gets his attention during the day instead of just his cock at night.
What’s the other explanation?He got what he wanted from me—my loyalty, truth, and trust.My body sprawled beneath him every night, giving him whatever he asks for.
The idea makes me want to scream and break things.I want to find whoever she is and carve my name into her skin so she knows exactly who he belongs to.
I want to make her bleed the same way I’m bleeding inside.Which is insane.I should not be this possessive over a man who treats me like property, who married me for power, alliances and nothing more.
But I care so much that it’s eating me alive and consuming me from the inside out until there’s nothing left but this burning, gnawing need to know where he goes when he leaves.Who he sees.Who he touches.Whether he whispers her name the way he whispers mine in the dark.
He has been gone for two days now.Two full days without a word.No text, no call, or any indication of where he is, when he might return, or if he’s even still alive.
And I am losing my damn mind.
I pace the house like a caged animal, walking from room to room with no destination in mind.I just keep moving because if I stop, I’ll start thinking.And if I start thinking, I will begin imagining.If I start imagining, I will see her and wonder if he touches her the way he touches me.If he makes her scream his name the way he makes me scream.
Carlo can see it.How I am falling apart at the seams.He asks if I need anything, if I want dinner made, or if there’s something he can do to help.
I snap at him.I tell him to fuck off and leave me alone.That I’m fine even though we both know I’m not.
I apologize later.I find him in the hallway and mumble, “Sorry,” as if it will erase the venom in my voice.He nods and says it’s okay, but I can see the concern in his eyes and the questions he’s too smart to ask.
