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ISABELLA’S POV

 The lace of my wedding dress felt like chains, wrapping around me tighter with every breath. The fabric was smooth against my skin, but it may as well have been ropes binding me to my fate. 

This wasn’t a dress. It was a costume—a cruel joke.The thorns of the bouquet bit into my palms, the sharp pain grounding me. Blood welled under my grip, smearing the edges of the roses. I didn’t loosen my hold. I wanted to feel it, wanted the sting to drown out the boiling rage inside me.

But it wasn’t the roses or the dress that made my blood burn.

It was him.

Luca Ricci stood at the altar, every inch of him radiating control. His broad shoulders were squared, his sharp jawline catching the light streaming through the cathedral windows. The scar along his jaw only added to the picture of danger he exuded.

He didn’t smile—not even the faintest twitch of his lips. He didn’t need to. His satisfaction was quieter, colder, and sharper than any blade.

He wasn’t marrying me because he wanted me. He was marrying me to break me.

The priest’s voice dragged me out of my thoughts. His calm, steady tone carried over the low murmur of the crowd. The halls  were filled with mafia elites, their eyes gleaming with curiosity and satisfaction.

My humiliation was their entertainment.At the front row sat my father, his hunched figure totally different to the powerful man he once was. He kept his gaze fixed on the marble floor, too ashamed to look at me.

The priest turned to Luca. “Do you, Luca Ricci, take Isabella Moretti to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Luca didn’t hesitate. His icy blue gaze stayed locked on mine as he said, “I do.”

The words stabbed into me like a knife. My fists clenched around the bouquet, and I had to fight the urge to scream. Somewhere deep down, I’d held onto the hope—however foolish—that he would call this off. That even Luca Ricci would find this charade too cruel.

But no. He didn’t flinch.

The priest turned to me. “And do you, Isabella Moretti, take Luca Ricci—”

“I do,” I snapped before he could finish. My voice rang cold and clear, cutting through the tension in the room. I wouldn’t give Luca the satisfaction of seeing me falter.

The corner of his mouth twitched, but it wasn’t a smile. It was something darker. As the priest announced us husband and wife, he leaned in close, his breath brushing against my ear.

“Smile, Isabella,” he whispered, his voice as smooth as silk. “It’s a wedding, not a funeral.”

My chest tightened as the muscles in my face strained to obey. I forced a smile, though it felt more like a grimace. He wanted me to play the part? Fine. I would, but I’d make him regret it.

“I’ll kill you before I ever call you my husband,” I hissed, my voice low but venomous.

His blue eyes glittered with amusement as he straightened.

 “You’ll call me whatever I want, sweetheart. By the time I’m done, you’ll beg to.” he pulled away, grinning from ear to ear, I could bareky hide my irritation, he was a fucking show off.

The ceremony ended, but the nightmare didn’t. As we walked back down the aisle, all eyes followed us. The weight of their gazes made my skin crawl.

Luca didn’t bother opening the car door for me—not that I expected him to. I climbed in on my own, the heavy folds of my dress bunching awkwardly around me.

The limousine ride to his penthouse was stifling. The silence between us was thick, the tension thick enough a knife could cut through. I stared out the window, pretending he didn’t exist.

“You should thank me,” he said suddenly, his tone calm and almost bored.

I turned my head slowly, glaring at him. “Thank you? For what? Destroying my family? Forcing me into this marriage?”

“For giving you a purpose,” he replied, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Before this, you were nothing. A spoiled princess with no future. Now, at least, you’re useful.”

My nails dug into my palms, my rage simmering just beneath the surface. “You mistake cruelty for purpose, Luca. You’re nothing more than a tyrant hiding behind money and power.”

He chuckled softly, leaning back in his seat. “I don’t need your approval, Isabella. I already have everything I want.”

The car pulled into the underground garage of his penthouse. The towering glass building loomed above us, fsr  from the city like a fortress. Its glassy windows reflected the sky, but it felt cold, unwelcoming.

“Welcome to your new home,” Luca said as the driver opened his door. He stepped out first, then turned back and extended a hand to me.

I stared at it for a moment, then ignored him, climbing out on my own. He smirked, his eyes glinting with amusement.

The penthouse was breathtaking. Every inch of it screamed luxury, from the polished marble floors to the crystal chandeliers. It was the kind of place I would’ve admired once.

But now, all I saw was a cage.

“Do you like it?” Luca asked as he followed me into the living room.

I didn’t answer at first. My eyes darted to the windows—reinforced with iron bars. The doors were bolted, heavy, and solid. Cameras blinked in the corners of the ceiling, watching silently.

“It’s a cage,” I said finally, my voice cold.

Luca chuckled. “It’s only a cage if you try to escape. Otherwise, it’s paradise.”

I turned to him, my hazel eyes blazing with fury. “You’ll regret this, Luca. One day, you’ll realize you made a terrible mistake.”

He stepped closer, his presence suffocating. His smirk widened as he loomed over me. “The only mistake I made was not breaking your family sooner. Stop pretending you have the upper hand, Isabella. You lost the moment you walked down that aisle.”

His words hit harder than they should have, and I hated myself for it. He opened a door and gestured inside—a room meant to be mine. Without another word, he turned and walked down the hall, disappearing from view.

I stepped inside and sank onto the edge of the bed, my hands trembling. I bit back the tears threatening to fall.

As I glanced around, something caught my eye—a glint of metal under the bed. I crawled down and pulled it out: a knife. Its blade was smooth, sharp, and cold against my fingers.

For the first time all day, I felt hope.

Hours passed. The penthouse was dark and silent, but the knife in my hand felt steady, comforting.

I moved quietly down the hall, my steps soft against the floor. My heart pounded as I pushed open the door to Luca’s room.

He was sprawled across the massive bed, his chest rising and falling steadily. In sleep, he looked different—less like the monster I hated and more like a man.

But the moment passed.

I raised the knife, aiming for his heart.Before I could strike, his hand shot out, gripping my wrist like iron.

“Predictable,” he said, his voice low and sharp.

In one swift motion, he flipped me onto the bed, pinning me beneath him. The knife clattered to the floor as his weight pressed down on me.

“You’re pathetic,” he said, his tone filled with disgust.

“Let me go!” I spat, struggling against him.

He leaned closer, his breath hot against my ear. “If you’re going to kill me, Isabella, try harder next time. This was embarrassing.”

The realization hit me like a punch—he’d planted the knife there on purpose. This was his game all along.

“I’ll try again,” I hissed, my voice shaking with rage.

“I’m counting on it,” he said, his blue eyes dark and unrelenting. “Hate me all you want, sweetheart. You’ll never hate me more than I hate you.”

He released me suddenly, stepping back. I scrambled to my feet, my heart racing, every nerve on fire.

“This isn’t over,” I said, my voice low and deadly.

“No,” he replied, his smirk returning. “It’s just beginning.”