CHAPTER ELEVEN: HIS PREY

Alessia opened her eyes and glanced at a strange black wall.

She blinked, then yawned softly as she sat up on the bed, her gaze sweeping around the unfamiliar room.

Panic swelled through her chest as the memories of last night came rushing back.

The memories of how she almost got raped –- and how Dante had brought her here.

"Oh God!" She whispered under her breath, struggling to get out of bed.

She was here – in his home, inside his private suite.

And that alone terrified her.

She was terrified because she no longer trusted herself.

She was afraid because she knew exactly how she felt about him.

Her heart raced as she glanced down at herself, realising she was dressed only in a white long-sleeved shirt that is short, stopping at her mid-thigh.

No one needed to tell her who owns the shirt – his scent clung to the fabric, which already indicates that he owns the shirt.

Heat flooded her cheeks as the thought of him changing her crossed her mind. She smacked her cheek lightly, attempting to shake off the indecent thoughts.

The attraction has always been there. Even after realising, it was just a fling... It had never gone away. It mocked her daily – mocked her desperate attempts at loyalty and innocence.

But she was engaged, wasn't she?

She is about to give her vows to Damon, and she just has to respect that.

People may ask or even wonder, “Why don't you just call off the engagement?”

Why stay with an unfaithful man? Who makes you feel lonely?

They didn't understand her.

She had her reasons.

Reasons that shackled her tightly, no matter the pain.

And if any rumour about her with someone else ever surfaces, she will be ruined.

Slowly, Alessia rose from the bed, her bare feet brushing the cold floor.

Her wide eyes roamed around the room and froze.

Pictures.

Her pictures were everywhere.

Her heart fumbled against her ribs, and she stumbled closer.

Photos of her in restaurants, office meetings, and official gatherings.

Photos of her giggling with her friends, photos of that night.

Photos of her barely clothed, photos of those stolen moments.

He was a stalker...

He wasn't supposed to do that... She thought she left without any traces.

She frowned as she leaned forward to that particular picture. It was her at the shower yesterday... she remembered that moment vividly.

But why was Dante stalking her?

Why can't he just move on? Even with the dozen girls every week by his side, he still clug to her memory.

Still watched her.

Still wanted her ... And still craved her.

Alessia let out a shaky breath, her vision blurry for a second.

Alessia glared helplessly around the room, her heart pounding painfully.

Just then, there was a soft knock on the door. Before she could respond, it creaked open, and two young women dressed in a matching maid uniform walked in.

Alessia's eyes were filled with panic, and she hastily averted her sight.

Nobody was supposed to see her here. Not anyone.

"Good morning, ma'am." They greeted, their heads bowed down, but Alessia just hummed a reply, refusing to meet their eyes.

"Master Dante wants you to join him for dinner." One of them said politely.

Alessia's heart leapt in her throat. "I will be right behind you," she simply replied.

They didn't say a word. They just walked out of the room, and Alessia let out a shaky breath and paced around the room.

Dante was really trying to ruin her reputation... To destroy her engagement because when this gets to the public, she is done for.

And she can't allow that.

She has things to do

She has a plan to execute, and he can't just ruin it.

Drawing a deep breath, she walked out of the room, following the maids.

She told herself again and again that she would stay far away from him.

That she would avoid him at all costs.

But nothing had changed... Dante was not a man to hide from.

Dante Moretti is a dangerous, obsessed freak who wouldn't let her go.

Of course, darling.

An obsessed man isn’t just in love.

No, love is far too tame, too civilised for the way he feels.

An obsessed man breathes her name with every inhale.

She is in his bloodstream, in his bones, woven into every violent heartbeat.

He knows the sound of her laughter better than his own pulse.

He memorises the way she bites her lip when she’s nervous and the way her fingers twist the hem of her dress when she lies.

To him, every little habit, every careless glance, every breath she takes—belongs to him.

He watches her always.

Not just with his eyes, but with a sixth sense honed from endless hunger.

She could be across a crowded room, hidden behind a dozen bodies, and he would still feel her.

Still smell her.

Still know exactly where she is.

He keeps her things.

A forgotten scarf.

A broken bracelet.

A coffee cup that was smeared with her lipstick.

He keeps little memories of her life in his possession like priceless gems.

He doesn’t just want to be near her—

He needs pieces of her to survive.

His jealousy is a wildfire.

If another man even looks at her too long, he feels it like a blade against his skin.

It eats at him, slow and unbearable, until the only thought left in his mind is blood.

He doesn’t understand restraint.

If he had it once, she stripped it from him with one smile.

He is raw, unhinged, and brutal in his devotion.

The idea of another man touching her—breathing the same air as her—is enough to make him imagine violence so vivid he can taste it.

He would break bones, shatter lives, and burn cities to keep her untouched.

He is terrifying in his loyalty.

He would ruin her world just to rebuild it around her—

Erase everyone she knows, every place she’s ever been—until her universe is him.

Only him.

And yet, when he looks at her, it’s not anger you see.

It’s adoration.

A terrible, overwhelming, endless adoration that no God or Devil could rival.

As if she were not a person but a religion, he would worship for the rest of his damned life.

He doesn’t need her permission.

Her protests are like prayer to him—something to be endured, something to be earned—until she finally, inevitably, surrenders.

Because in his mind, she was always his.

from the first night.

From the first glance.

From the first breath.

From the first heartbeat.

Forever.

Whether she wants him or not.