Chapter Three - The Regret

Isabella’s POV

The air was cold.

Not because of the temperature, but because reality had slapped me in the face and stolen all warmth from my skin.

I sat at the edge of the massive bed, naked, the sheets twisted around my waist like they could somehow cover my shame. His scent was everywhere — on my body, in my mouth, between my thighs. His breath still echoed in the room like a curse.

And he stood there. Shirtless. Proud.

Like he had won something.

Like I was the prize.

Arseñio Dicaprio… the Alpha Beast.

The man in every ancient hunter’s journal. The monster whispered about in barracks. The cursed one. The one no woman survives.

But I had.

And worse—I had marked him.

My fingers brushed the side of my neck, still wet with dried blood. The sting of his bite pulsed like a brand. I looked at him — the way he stood in front of the window, bare chest rising and falling, arms crossed like a god of war, eyes fixed on me. My heart thudded.

“What… what are you?” My voice cracked, barely above a whisper.

He tilted his head. “I already told you, Isabella. I’m the one you were made for.”

“No,” I said, standing, wrapping the sheet tighter around my body like armor. “You’re not a man. You’re a beast. A… a curse.”

He took a step forward. “Yet you marked me, Isabella. With your teeth. With your desire.”

“I didn’t know!” I snapped, pain rising in my throat. “I didn’t know who you were. I didn’t know what this was!”

He paused. Smirked.

“You regret it?”

I blinked. “Don’t you?”

His smile didn’t fade. “Never.”

I hated him for that.

I hated the calm in his voice, the glint in his golden eyes, the way he looked at me like he owned me now. I wanted to scream, to cry, to claw at my own skin and rip the memory of last night out of me.

But worst of all... I hated myself.

Because even now, even after everything… part of me still wanted him.

Still craved the heat of his body, the way he’d looked at me like I was the center of his world.

Still wanted to hear him whisper my name like it meant something.

I dropped my head into my hands. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. I just came to Melbourne to start over. To live. To find myself. Not to—”

“Not to fall into your destiny?” he interrupted.

I looked up. “Destiny? This isn’t destiny. This is insanity.”

“You think what we shared last night was ordinary?” he asked, voice low and rough. “You felt it, Isabella. I know you did. You looked at me like your soul remembered mine.”

My throat tightened. He wasn’t wrong — and that terrified me more than anything else.

I turned to grab my clothes, desperate to leave, but he moved. Inhumanly fast.

Before I could blink, his hand caught my wrist and spun me around. I gasped. The sheet dropped to the floor, and suddenly I was bare again — body trembling, heart pounding, skin hot with shame and something darker.

Arseñio looked down at me, eyes glowing faintly gold. “Don’t run from me,” he said, voice deep, warning.

“I’m not running,” I whispered, breath shaky. “I’m escaping.”

His gaze dipped lower, roaming over my body with a hunger that made my skin ripple with goosebumps. He stepped closer until I could feel the warmth of him against my chest. His hand brushed my waist — not forceful, just… possessive.

“You’re mine now,” he said. “You bear my mark. And I… bear yours.”

I shivered. My eyes dropped to the bite on his shoulder — small, but deep. It glowed faintly, pulsing like a living thing.

I did that.

I claimed the monster..

My stomach turned.

“You don’t get to claim me,” I snapped. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask to be your mate.”

His mouth curled at the edge. “And yet, here you are… still trembling under my touch.”

I wanted to slap him. I wanted to scream. But my body betrayed me.

Because he was right.

Something inside me still responded to him — violently, desperately, against every ounce of logic and fear.

I stepped back. “Stay away from me.”

“You don’t want that,” he said.

And damn him — he was right again.

My silence was his answer. He closed the space between us in one stride. His arms caged me in, palms flat against the wall behind me. His scent surrounded me — woodsmoke, blood, danger.

“Tell me you don’t feel it,” he said, voice soft and deadly.

I looked up into his eyes. Fire burned there. And in that moment, I hated him more than I’d ever hated anyone in my life.

But I couldn’t look away.

“I hate you,” I whispered.

His lips brushed my ear. “Good. Hate makes the bond stronger.”

I stiffened.

“You’re insane,” I breathed.

“No. I’m yours.”

And suddenly, I was pressed against the wall again. Not with force. With fate. The air between us crackled, and something deep inside me uncoiled — primal, dangerous, aching.

This time when his lips met mine, it wasn’t a kiss. It was a claim.

I moaned despite myself. My hands curled into fists against his chest.

Stop, I told myself.

But I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

Because whatever this was… it had already begun.

And there was no turning back.

There was no turning back at this point. I was stuck with him. I was beneath him with his hardness going in and out of my wetness.