CHAPTER THREE

The silence in the room was deafening as Matteo’s heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway. Isabella remained frozen in place, the lingering warmth of his touch still making her skin tingle. Her breath came in shallow gasps, her body humming with a mix of desire and confusion.

She couldn’t understand it. She had known men, seen men in power, but none had affected her like Matteo DiCarlo had. He was different, dangerous even. And yet, there was something about him that drew her in, something that made her pulse race even when he seemed to discard her with such cold indifference.

But she wasn’t about to show weakness. She wasn’t like the other women who would fall at his feet. She wasn’t weak.

Isabella turned toward the window, gazing out at the sprawling estate beyond the glass. The world outside was still, almost too still, and her reflection stared back at her—lost, uncertain. She wasn’t sure what she was becoming, but she knew one thing for certain. She wanted more. She wasn’t going to let Matteo DiCarlo walk out of her life without a fight.

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Later that evening, Isabella found herself in the lavish sitting room, where she had spent many nights in solitude, curled up with a book or gazing out at the stars. Tonight, however, the room felt different—heavy with tension, charged with something else entirely.

Her mind replayed the encounter, the way Matteo had touched her, his eyes piercing through her, the dangerous promise in his words. She couldn't escape it, couldn't get him out of her mind. And despite herself, despite the wariness inside her, she wanted him to come back. Wanted him to test her again.

The sound of footsteps broke her from her thoughts, and she turned, heart skipping a beat as the door creaked open. It was him. Matteo.

He stood in the doorway, tall and imposing as ever. His dark eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment, neither of them moved. The air between them seemed to thicken, crackling with an energy that made her pulse quicken.

"You're still here," he said, his voice almost amused.

Isabella swallowed, not trusting herself to speak at first. She had thought she was prepared for this moment, but now that he was here, standing in front of her, she felt an unfamiliar knot twist in her stomach.

"I never left," she replied, her voice steadier than she felt. "I thought you'd left me alone."

Matteo stepped inside the room, his eyes narrowing slightly as they scanned her. "I didn’t come here for conversation, Isabella. I came here to finish what your father started."

Her heart skipped, but she stood her ground. "I thought you didn’t want me," she said softly, testing him, pushing him. She wasn't going to play the role of the docile, submissive woman. Not anymore.

His gaze flickered with something—something like irritation, but also something deeper. "I don’t need weak women," he said, his voice low, though it held no real malice. "And I don’t need to remind you of your place."

Isabella felt a spark of defiance surge within her. She wasn’t going to let him treat her like some fragile object to be discarded. "You don’t get to decide who I am, Matteo."

He tilted his head, studying her with a new intensity, as if he were seeing her for the first time. "I don’t need to decide. You’ve already shown me who you are."

Her heart raced at his words. Did that mean something more? Was he seeing her as more than the pampered daughter of a broke businessman?

He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming, his body heat radiating against hers. "You think you can handle me, Isabella?" He was close enough now that she could feel the heat of his body, his breath just barely brushing her skin.

She didn’t step back, didn’t flinch. "I think you underestimate me."

Matteo’s lips curled into a dark, almost predatory smile. "Maybe I do. But I don’t like being wrong."

Before she could respond, his hand shot out, grabbing her wrist with a firm grip that made her breath catch. He tugged her toward him with an ease that made her feel small, powerless. Yet, there was something intoxicating about it—the way he took control so effortlessly, the way he made her feel both terrified and intrigued.

"Let go of me," Isabella whispered, her voice shaky but determined.

But Matteo didn’t let go. Instead, he tilted her chin upward, forcing her to meet his eyes. His touch was commanding, but there was something else in his gaze—something that made her heart flutter against her chest.

"You’ll have to earn that," he said, his voice a hushed growl.

She tried to fight the way his presence made her feel, but every ounce of resistance she had was slipping away. The desire—the undeniable pull—was too strong, too much to ignore.

"Let me go," Isabella repeated, though her voice lacked the strength it had moments ago. There was something in him, in the way he looked at her, that made her question everything.

Instead of letting go, Matteo’s thumb traced the line of her jaw, slow and deliberate, as if savoring the feeling of her skin under his touch. His touch was firm, possessive, but not harsh—just enough to make her blood heat in her veins.

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, "You want this, don’t you? You want me to prove how much you can handle."

Isabella’s breath caught in her throat. She was so close to him now, her chest rising and falling with every shaky breath. Her body was betraying her—every inch of her was yearning for something, but she refused to give in. She refused to be just another woman he used and discarded.

But even as the words formed in her mind, she couldn't shake the feeling that he was right—that despite all her protests, despite the walls she tried to build between them, she was drawn to him. And she couldn’t deny the fact that there was a part of her that wanted more. Wanted him.

Matteo’s hand slid to her waist, the touch searing through her clothes. His body was so close now, his presence all-encompassing. Her breath was shallow, her pulse erratic.

"Stop," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, but she didn’t step back. Instead, she found herself leaning into his touch, wanting more.

Matteo’s lips quirked into a knowing smile, as though he could sense the struggle within her. He didn’t stop—he never did when he saw someone testing their limits. "I won’t stop, Isabella. Not until I know you’ve truly understood who you belong to."

Her heart skipped. The weight of his words settled over her like a heavy cloak, but she didn’t dare flinch. Instead, she looked him squarely in the eye.

"And what makes you think I belong to you?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

His gaze darkened. "Because you’re already mine. Whether you accept it or not."