Chapt 22. Will You Let Me Go?

“Don’t waste your time,” Dominic said coldly, his hand gripping Isabella’s chin, forcing her to look up at him. His touch was rough, uncompromising. “No matter who you try to seduce, none of them have the power to get you out of here.”

She didn’t fight his hold, but her voice was quiet and strained.

“And you?” she whispered. “Will you let me go?”

Something flickered in Dominic’s eyes at her words. He studied her split lip, the faint trace of blood on her pale skin. For a fleeting second, his hand shifted upward, fingers brushing dangerously close to her mouth. The movement was instinctive, almost tender—until his brows tightened, and his hand withdrew before making contact.

The faint hope in her chest cracked. Isabella’s lips curved, a broken attempt at a smile. Nothing came out except the sting in the corners of her eyes.

Dominic’s jaw hardened. The sight of her, looking as though she were mourning some other man, struck him like a blade. His expression darkened, his voice biting.

“What’s this? Are you heartbroken because your little trick failed?”

He didn’t wait for her to answer. In one swift motion, his arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against him. Their bodies pressed together with bruising force. His face hovered close, his features sharp and dangerously beautiful.

So close that their breaths tangled in the air. So close she could see the fine shadow of stubble on his jaw, the faintest trace of his cologne mingling with smoke.

Once upon a time, she had dreamed of moments like this. She had imagined falling asleep in his arms, listening to his heartbeat. But now, pressed against him like a prisoner in chains, that dream mocked her. There was no tenderness in his touch, no warmth in his gaze. Only cruelty, only the blade of mockery twisting into her chest.

Her throat tightened. The burn in her nose spread to her eyes, and she struggled to breathe. Her lips parted, but no words would come. Not even a plea.

So this was what she was to him. A shameless woman, incapable of dignity.

Dominic’s lips brushed her ear, his voice laced with venom.

“Two years in prison, and you’re this desperate? Hungry enough to throw yourself at the first man you see?”

His hand slid up her side, slow and deliberate. She stiffened under his touch, but he didn’t stop. When his fingers reached her collar, he yanked hard.

Rip!

The sound tore through the corridor. Fabric gave way, buttons scattering to the floor with sharp little clinks. Her uniform gaped open, exposing the faded shirt beneath—thin, worn, threadbare. Pale skin peeked through, delicate and vulnerable against the harsh light.

His breath ghosted against her ear, hot and suffocating. And yet, instead of heat, an icy chill swept down her spine.

Isabella’s wide eyes dropped to the broken buttons at her feet. Her lashes trembled uncontrollably, fragile as butterfly wings in a storm.

For a moment, she froze. Then, with a choked sound, she shoved at his chest with all her strength.

“Don’t touch me!” Her voice cracked, raw with desperation.

She pushed again, frantic, almost panicked. Her body shook as if she were fighting for her life.

How could he do this? How could he humiliate her like she was nothing more than trash on the ground?

What did he see her as? A hooker? A woman without pride?

The thought cut deeper than any wound.