Chapter 3

Chapter Three:

Don't you dare.

Isabella's POV

Salvatore’s words lingered in the heavy silence of the library like a promise wrapped in threat. “My dad’s asleep. Now we can bond.”

He moved closer, slow and purposeful, like a predator who knew exactly how much space he had to close before his prey broke.

The air between us grew thick, charged with memories I had tried so hard to bury. His broad shoulders blocked the soft glow of the reading lamp, casting long shadows across the Persian rug.

 I backed up until the sharp edge of the mahogany bookshelf pressed into my spine, the scent of aged leather and polished wood mixing with his — citrus soap, faint cologne, and something darker swung took over my whole nose.

My body betrayed me first. A traitorous warmth spread through my chest, my stomach fluttering the way it used to when he would pull me close at the lake house. Part of me wanted to stay quiet. Wanted to let his hand reach out and touch my face. 

Wanted to feel that dangerous electricity again, even for a second. But the other part — the stronger, more desperate part that had chosen survival over heartbreak — screamed inside my head.

“Salvatore… don’t,” I whispered, my voice trembling.

He didn’t stop. His fingers brushed my arm, trailing lightly upward, sending sparks across my skin through the thin silk of my nightdress. The touch was feather-light but full of intent, full of five years of unspoken hunger.

“I said stop!” 

The words exploded out of me, louder than I ever intended. My voice spiraled up, sharp and frantic, echoing off the high vaulted ceilings of the library and carrying through the quiet corridors of the mansion like a gunshot in the night. It rang out, bouncing from wall to wall, impossible to ignore.

Salvatore froze mid-step. For a split second, something raw and vulnerable flashed across his face — hunger mixed with frustration, maybe even a flicker of pain. His jaw tightened, the muscle jumping visibly. He stared at me for one long, heavy heartbeat, then stepped back sharply.

Without saying another word, he turned on his heel and left. His footsteps were heavy and fast, fading down the long hallway until the library door clicked shut behind him, leaving me alone with my pounding heart and shaking legs.

I gripped the bookshelf so hard my knuckles turned white, trying to steady myself. My breath came in short, ragged gasps. I felt dizzy, overwhelmed, as the ground beneath me had shifted again.

Barely a minute passed before the library doors burst open with force.

Richard stormed in, his face etched with concern, flanked by two of his house guards — tall, serious men in dark suits with alert eyes and hands hovering near their hips. 

The moment they saw me, pressed against the bookshelves with wide, frightened eyes and flushed cheeks, Richard’s expression softened into pure worry.

“Isabella?”

 He crossed the room in quick strides, reaching me before the guards could. 

“What happened? We heard a scream from upstairs. Are you alright?”

I swallowed hard, forcing my racing pulse to calm. My mind scrambled for a believable lie.

 “I… I fell asleep in here by mistake,”

 I said, my voice still hoarse and unsteady.

 “I was reading too late and dozed off in the chair. Then I had a sad dream — a nightmare. It felt so real. I must have cried out in my sleep. I’m so sorry for disturbing everyone.”

Richard studied my face for a moment, his sharp eyes searching mine. Then he exhaled, relief washing over his features. He turned to the guards and gave a small, dismissive wave. “It’s alright. False alarm. You can return to your posts.”

The men nodded respectfully and disappeared as quietly as they had arrived. Richard pulled me gently into his arms, his embrace warm and solid, the kind of hug that felt like safety in human form. He stroked my back in slow, soothing circles, pressing a tender kiss to the top of my head.

“Oh, my poor darling,” he murmured, his voice low and comforting. 

“This house is still so new to you. Everything is changing so quickly. Nightmares are natural when your whole world has been turned upside down. Come on, let’s get you to bed where you belong.”

He kept one arm around my waist as he guided me out of the library and up the wide, curving staircase. This was only the second night I would be sleeping in our matrimonial room, but I had already fallen in love with it.

 The space was sweet in that classic, old-school way — elegant without being too much. High ceilings with intricate crown molding, soft cream walls trimmed in delicate gold accents that glowed warmly under the antique crystal lamps. 

A grand four-poster bed dominated the center, dressed in the finest Egyptian cotton sheets and a plush duvet that felt like a cloud. Heavy velvet drapes in deep burgundy framed the tall windows, ready to block out the world when needed.

 Fresh white roses in a sparkling crystal vase sat on the antique mahogany dresser, their soft perfume filling the air. Everything was meticulously neat and orderly — not a single item out of place, like a beautiful sanctuary frozen in time. 

I loved how refined and timeless it felt. It made me feel protected, like maybe this carefully constructed life could actually hold me together.

Richard helped me into bed with such care, tucking the covers around me like I was something precious. He was such a sweet man. Too kind, too steady for the storm I had unknowingly brought into his home.

Later that night, as moonlight filtered softly through a gap in the curtains, Richard turned toward me. His hand found my waist beneath the sheets, pulling me closer with gentle but unmistakable intent. He made quiet, respectful advances — soft kisses along my neck, his body warm and patient against mine.

 I wasn’t sure. Guilt twisted sharply in my chest, warring with my sense of duty. But I didn’t reject him. He was my husband now, for God’s sake. I had made a vow in front of two hundred people. So I let it happen. I let him love me the way a husband should.

When it was over, Richard sighed contentedly and fell asleep with his arm draped protectively over me, his breathing deep and even.

I lay awake in the darkness, staring at the ornate ceiling, my mind a whirlwind of shame, confusion, and lingering fear. I had now tested both father and son— one with tenderness and commitment, the other with dangerous, unresolved fire.

What a shame Isa. I said to myself, " Certainly, " while tears gathered around my eyes.

Sleep was just starting to pull me under when my phone vibrated silently on the nightstand. I reached for it with a sinking feeling.

The screen lit up with a new message from Salvatore. I saved it the last time.

'I heard everything tonight, Isabella,that wasn’t a nightmare. We both know whose name you wanted to scream.'

My blood turned to ice as another message followed immediately.

'Tomorrow night, the library again. Or maybe I’ll come to your room while my father is asleep. Either way… we finish what we started five years ago, Mother. Don’t make me wait.'

The phone slipped from my fingers onto the sheets. Richard stirred slightly beside me, completely unaware.

I buried my face on his chest and slept.