Chapter 5

DANTE’S POV

The smell of coffee filled the dining room before she even walked in. Dark roast, strong, bitter. Just the way I liked it. The maids had laid out the spread, eggs, fruit, fresh bread, bacon, and enough juice to feed an army. I sat at the head of the table, my chair pulled back just enough so I could see the long stretch of marble floor leading to the stairs.

Waiting.

I hated waiting.

I told myself it was because I had work, meetings, calls. My schedule didn’t bend for anyone. Not even her. But my hands wouldn’t stay still. They tapped against the wood. They curled into fists. They rubbed at the stubble on my jaw.

The word rolled through my mind like a curse.

Wife.

I had never used it. Never wanted to. The thought of belonging to someone, or someone belonging to me, was foreign. A contract, maybe. An alliance, sure. But wife? That wasn’t me. That wasn’t my life.

Then I heard her.

The click of soft steps. The faint rustle of fabric. The hesitation at the bottom of the stairs before she finally appeared.

Bella.

Her hair was loose, dark waves tumbling over her shoulders. She wore something simple, a silk dress that clung just enough to show curves I’d forced myself not to think about last night. Her eyes were tired, rimmed in red from crying or from not sleeping. But she was beautiful. Stunning. Untouchable.

And for one second, I couldn’t breathe.

I told myself it was nothing. Just a reaction. A man noticing a woman. Biology, instinct, nothing more. But my body remembered the night before, her pressed against the wall, her voice breaking when she whispered yes, I’m afraid, the feel of her spine under my fingers as I undid her dress.

I was hard when she ran from me. Painfully hard. And I didn't slept since.

She stepped into the dining room, her head held high like she wanted me to think she wasn’t shaking inside. Brave little thing.

Her seat had already been set. To my left. Close enough that if I stretched my hand, I could touch her. She noticed. Her jaw tightened. She sat anyway.

“Good morning,” I said.

Her lips pressed together. “Morning.”

I smirked. “That was almost polite.”

“Don’t expect it to happen again.”

I chuckled, low and rough, and reached into my jacket. I pulled out the card and slid it across the table toward her. Black. Shiny. Her name engraved in silver.

Isabella Moretti.

Her eyes narrowed. “What’s this?”

“Yours.”

She didn’t touch it. “I didn’t ask for it.”

“I didn’t ask if you wanted it.” I leaned back in my chair, watching her. “It’s already programmed with your name. Unlimited access. Anything you want, anywhere you want it. No limits.”

Her chest rose and fell fast. “I don’t want your money.”

“Too bad.”

She shoved the card back across the table. “I said no.”

My jaw flexed. I pushed it right back to her. “And I said it’s yours. Don’t test me, Bella.”

Her eyes flared at the warning. “You can’t buy me.”

I leaned forward, my voice dropping. “I’m not buying you. I own you.”

Her whole body froze.

I let the silence stretch before I went on. “Your family sold you to me the moment they agreed to this marriage. You think you still have choices? You don’t. You’re mine. Every part of you. Body. Name. Future. Mine.”

Her hands curled into fists. “I’m not a possession.”

I laughed. Sharp. Cold. “You are exactly that. My possession. My wife. And if you want to survive in this house, you’ll stop behaving like a brat and start acting like one.”

Color rushed to her cheeks, anger, shame, maybe both. She grabbed the card and slammed it into her lap. “Fine. You win. Happy?”

“No,” I said simply. “I don’t need you to make me happy. I need you to obey.”

Her breath hitched. “You’re a bastard.”

“And you’re late for breakfast,” I shot back. “Eat.”

Her eyes burned into mine, but she picked up her fork. She cut into the eggs, stiff and sharp, like every movement was a fight.

The tension cracked between us, hot and heavy. Every time she lifted her glass, my eyes followed the curve of her throat. Every time she pushed her hair back, my fingers itched to do it for her.

She noticed. Of course she noticed.

Finally, she snapped. “Stop staring at me.”

I smirked. “Can’t.”

Her fork clattered onto the plate. “Why?”

“Because you’re mine. And I look at what’s mine.”

Her lips parted, no words coming out. She pushed back her chair, ready to leave.

“Sit down,” I ordered.

She froze.

“Sit,” I repeated, my tone leaving no room for argument.

Slowly, stiffly, she lowered herself back into the chair. Her eyes shimmered with fury. “You don’t get to control everything I do.”

I leaned in close, my voice low enough only she could hear. “Watch me.”

Her chest rose sharply. “You’ll choke on your own pride one day.”

“Maybe,” I said, smiling dark. “But not today. Today, I have meetings. Work. Deals to close. And you?” I gestured at her plate. “You’ll sit here, eat, and stay in this house. You don’t step outside without my men. You don’t breathe fresh air without a bodyguard. You don’t test me, Bella.”

“I’m not a prisoner.”

“You are if I say you are.”

Her nails dug into her palms. “You can’t keep me locked up forever.”

I tilted my head. “Forever? No. But long enough to break you in.”

Her face flushed. “You’re disgusting.”

I laughed softly, rising from my chair. I fixed my jacket, buttoned it, and looked down at her. “Eat your breakfast. Be ready when I get back. And stop fighting what you can’t win.”

“I’ll never be yours,” she spat.

I smirked, leaning down just enough so my lips brushed her ear. “You already are.”

She shivered, just barely, but I felt it. I saw it. And I walked away before she could fire back.

The door shut behind me.

Work waited. But my mind stayed behind at that table, replaying the fire in her eyes, the defiance in her voice, the way her body betrayed her when I got too close.

And God help me, I wanted more.