Chapter 9

ISABELLA'S POV

Luca’s grip on my arm was too tight it could possibly rip through my soft flesh. I could even see my skin turning purple, his fingers warm but firm against my skin as he all but dragged me through the hallways of his massive villa.

The encounter with the older man—Eliazer, if I could remember what Luca called him—still lingered in my mind, the way his eyes had narrowed at me, as if I were some stray animal that had wandered into a place I didn’t belong. 

But what shook me even more was Luca’s reaction—his annoyed look, the cold command in his voice, the quiet fury radiating from him even now as he yanked me along without a word.

I tried to keep up, my heart pounding with the mixture of adrenaline and irritation.

“Hey!” I tugged at my arm, but he didn’t slow down. “Would you slow the hell down? I have legs, you know! I can walk just fine without being manhandled like a damn rag doll!”

Still, he ignored me.

I grit my teeth. Oh, so he was back to this again? Acting like I didn’t exist?

Fine.

I tried again. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Nothing.

I huffed, scowling at the side of his impossibly perfect, impossibly arrogant face. 

“You know, if you’re going to kidnap someone, the least you could do is not treat them like a sack of potatoes—”

That did it.

Before I could finish, Luca stopped abruptly. So abruptly that I nearly collided into him.

But before I could process what was happening, he turned sharply, his grip shifting to my wrist as he all but yanked me inside a room—his room.

The door slammed shut behind us, and I barely had a second to take in the massive, dimly lit space before I was backed against the door, trapped between the wood and the furious man in front of me.

His scent—something dark, warm, and entirely him—filled my lungs as he leaned in, his towering frame caging me in.

“What the hell were you doing outside?” His voice was a low growl, the sharp edges of his Italian accent cutting through each word.

I swallowed, my heart hammering. “I—”

Damn this man! I've lost my voice.

“Speak.”

The command sent a shiver down my spine. Not just because of how deep and powerful his voice was, but because of the way his eyes—those molten eyes—burned into mine like he could see straight through me.

I forced myself to straighten. 

“Erhem! I was just uh… walking around.”

“Walking around,” he repeated, his voice dripping with disbelief. “Are you out of your damn mind?”

My lips parted his audacity.

“Excuse me?”

He took a step closer, his presence suffocating. 

“This is not a game, Isabella.”

“I never said it was!”

His jaw clenched. “You were seen. By him.”

I frowned. “Who even is he?”

He didn’t answer.

Of course, he didn’t.

I rolled my eyes. 

“Right, because that’s so helpful. Look, I don’t know what the big deal is. It’s not like I was trying to escape.”

His expression darkened. 

“You shouldn’t have been out there. No one wants you here, you could get into the wrong hands!”

“Maybe if you didn’t keep me locked in that damn room like some forgotten antique, I wouldn’t have had to wander around!” I snapped.

Silence.

His eyes flickered with something, something dangerously close to guilt but just as quickly as it came, it was gone, replaced by that ever present coldness.

Yeah back to the grind reaper.

“I told you to rest,” he said, his tone quieter now, but no less intense.

I let out a bitter laugh. 

“Yeah? Well, maybe I don’t want to rest anymore.”

I could feel the frustration rising in me, mixing with something else—something I didn’t want to name.

Because the truth was…

I was tired of fighting.

I was tired of waking up every day wondering when I’d get the chance to escape. 

Tired of planning, of overthinking, of convincing myself that the only option was to run.

I stared up at him, really looked at him.

His face was unreadable as ever.

And for the first time, I wondered…

What if I stayed?

The thought was ridiculous. Stupid. But it wouldn’t leave.

Maybe it was the way he had stepped between me and that old man.

Maybe it was the way he had looked at me just now, like I was something fragile—something worth protecting, even if he didn’t know how to show it.

Maybe it was the fact that, despite everything, despite his arrogance and his silence and his infuriating habit of ignoring me…

I didn’t feel unsafe here.

Frustrated? Yes. 

Confused? Absolutely. 

But not unsafe.

And maybe, just maybe… I didn’t want to run anymore.

I exhaled slowly, dropping my gaze. 

“I wasn’t trying to escape,” I said, my voice quieter this time. “I swear.”

His expression changed, but he didn’t say anything.

The tension between us was thick and heavy I could slice it with a knife.

And then, just like that, he stepped back, the warmth of his body vanishing as he turned toward the window.

“Stay in your room from now on,” he said, his voice back to that cold tone. “I don’t have time to keep saving you from your own recklessness.”

My annoyance flared up again, but I didn’t push.

Not this time.

Because for the first time, I wasn’t thinking about leaving.

I was thinking about staying.

And that terrified me more than anything else.

I had to go back to counting the ceiling boards which there weren't any… I had to count the tiles and make sure they were all intact.

I'm pretty sure by the end of the night I had counted practically everything in the room aside clothing and my hair, but everything else…

Yes.

I groaned out in frustration.

I've been in here for so long.

I don't know why anywhere I go, trouble follows…

I'm with family, boom huge debt and I'm collateral.

With Luca, weird shit.

With cute little lycan kids, still an issue… some kind of Eliazar man… was that his name?