CHAPTER 13:Claimed in Silence

ISABELLA

His presence blanketed the room before his voice even reached me.

“Come down from that damn bed.”

It wasn’t a shout it didn’t need to be. His tone was low, razor-sharp, cutting through the silence like broken glass under bare feet. I didn’t have to look to know it was him. Damian. The air told me first thick with heat, with control, with a scent I knew too well: musk and power and something more dangerous underneath.

I turned my head slowly.

He stood beside the bed, clos too close. His hair was slightly mussed, the knot of his tie yanked loose, and the collar of his shirt open just enough to see the tight coil in his throat. His suit jacket hung off one shoulder like he hadn’t cared enough to fix it after storming in.

The wild look in his eyes wasn’t anger. It was something colder. Something that didn’t need to shout to be terrifying.

“Now,” he said again.

I gripped the blanket around me like it could shield me. Like it could make me disappear. My legs wouldn’t move. My breath sat trapped in my chest.

His gaze flicked over me, and for a heartbeat, I thought maybe maybe he’d back away.

“You liked it,” he said, quieter now, like a secret sliding from his tongue. “When my brother touched you.”

My spine stiffened. “No, I”

He was already reaching for me.

His fingers curled into my hair, not yanking, but holding owning. My breath caught in my throat as he tilted my head back, forcing my eyes to meet his.

“You smiled,” he said. “You let him put his hands on what doesn’t belong to him.”

“I didn’t mean”

“You’re mine, Isabella.” His voice was just above a whisper, but it cut deeper than a scream. “And I’ll remind you until it’s the only truth you remember.”

Tears burned behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I wouldn’t give him that. Not this time.

“Take off your clothes.”

“No.” It was a whisper, but it held weight. Enough to stop him.

His brows lifted. For a moment, the expression on his face wasn’t rage it was surprise.

“I said no,” I repeated, stronger now, though my voice trembled. “I won’t.”

A slow smile curled across his lips. Not kind. Not amused. Just… cold.

“So the kitten thinks she’s grown claws.”

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t move quickly. He stepped forward like a man who already knew the outcome.

His fingers traced along my jawline, brushing over my skin like silk laced with steel. Then lower down the curve of my neck until his hand rested just above my chest. His thumb pressed lightly, right over my racing pulse.

“You signed your freedom away,” he murmured. “Did you forget that?”

I took a step back he followed.

“And now you think a few days of silence means you’re free?”

He grabbed my wrist, spun me into him.

My body slammed into his, and I hated how it lit something inside me. The warmth of his chest, the way my bare thighs brushed against the fabric of his slacks it all made me feel like a traitor to myself.

“Take it off, Isa.”

His breath ghosted over my ear, intimate and cruel.

I hated the tremble in my fingers as I reached for the hem of my nightgown. The fabric slipped over my head in slow, shaking movements, falling in a soft rustle to the floor.

I stood there, exposed, arms immediately wrapping around myself.

His gaze dropped slowly, like gravity had dragged it there.

When it landed on my chest, his expression shifted.

Slight. But I saw it.

A flicker of surprise in his eyes. His mouth parted just a little, like the sight had knocked the air from his lungs. My nipples had hardened from the cold, the tension… from him. They pressed against the thin fabric like they were asking to be seen.

His jaw clenched.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t need to.

I knew what he was thinking. What he was seeing.

What? Was he expecting lace and modesty? I scoffed inwardly. Who in their right mind wears a bra to bed?

I crossed my arms, slow and instinctive, trying to shield myself. Not just from his eyes, but from how exposed I suddenly felt. His stare burned. Not the kind that undressed me but the kind that claimed what was already bare.

Then

“Don’t.”

The word struck like a whip. Clean. Controlled.

I froze.

His gaze didn’t lift. He didn’t have to say anything else.

Shame prickled over my skin as I dropped my arms to my sides.

There. He had what he wanted.

“That’s better.” His voice came soft, almost gentle but it dripped with control. “Obey, and I won’t break you.”

My stomach twisted.

Another tear escaped, sliding down my cheek like it had been waiting in silence for the right moment to fall. He didn’t touch it. Just let it stain my skin, raw and honest.

Then his tone shifted, darker.

“Lie down.”

Two words.

My limbs stiffened, locked in a moment of resistance. But it didn’t matter. My body had already decided.

I lowered myself to the floor.

The tile kissed my skin with cold indifference. My back met it slowly, hesitantly, and goosebumps raced across my arms and legs. The only warmth came from above his presence. His shadow. His intent.

Damian knelt between my legs.

His hands slid upward, fingers like silk and steel, slow and deliberate. He didn’t rush. He didn’t tease. He claimed. When he stopped right before the place where need pulsed so violently I could barely think I held my breath.

“You’re trembling.”

He didn’t say it like a question. He already knew.

His face dipped lower, and I felt his breath first—warm, dangerous. My hips jolted, instinctive, desperate.

His hand landed on my hip. Firm. Controlling.

“No sounds,” he warned, voice husky. “No touching. You break that rule again, and I won’t be so forgiving.”

I bit my lip so hard it throbbed.

Then his mouth met me.

A single touch. Gentle. Torturous.

My back arched. My hands fisted against the floor, fingernails dragging against the tile. I felt like I was unraveling, one breath at a time.

And just as quickly as he started he stopped.

He slapped my hip. Sharp. A sting. Not from pain but power.

His gaze pinned mine.

“You don’t listen.”

I stared up at him, dazed, lips parted. My chest heaved.

“Why did you stop?” I whispered. My voice was breathless. Shaky. Begging before I even realized it.

He leaned in, his face just above mine. His lips hovered at the edge of contact.

“Because you haven’t learned yet.”

I blinked, tears sliding sideways into my ears.

My throat tightened, but I spoke anyway.

“Is this… punishment?”

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t have to.

“If it is,” I thought, barely breathing, “then I’d take it again.”

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AUTHOR’S NOTE

Some scars aren’t visible and some punishments aren’t about pain, but power.

Isa’s journey is messy, raw, and real. This chapter is just a glimpse into the war between control and desire.

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