Chapter 3

I did not lower my phone immediately.

My fingers tightened around it as the call ended, Isabella’s voice still echoing in my ears, sharp and urgent, filled with a fear I had never heard from her before. The silence that followed felt heavier than anything she had said, pressing against my chest until it became difficult to breathe.

She was not coming back.

That truth settled into me slowly, like something sinking beneath the surface, impossible to pull back once it had gone too far.

I lifted my gaze.

Alessandro was already watching me.

Not casually. Not curiously.

Deliberately.

There was no confusion in his expression, no hesitation, only a quiet certainty that made my stomach tighten. It felt as though he had been waiting for this moment, as though everything I had just heard only confirmed something he already believed.

“How long have you been watching me?” I asked, my voice quieter than I intended.

A faint shift crossed his face, something almost like amusement, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

“Long enough,” he replied.

“That was a private call.”

“There is nothing private about you anymore.”

The words struck deeper than I expected.

I set my phone down slowly, forcing myself to look away from him for a moment, but it did nothing to ease the tension building inside me. The board members were still present, still seated, still pretending not to listen, but the air in the room had already shifted.

Everything felt exposed.

“Excuse us,” Alessandro said.

No one questioned him.

No one dared.

He stood, and before I could react, his hand closed around my wrist, firm and controlled, leaving no room for refusal. The contact sent a sharp awareness through me, not painful, but impossible to ignore.

“We will continue this later.”

“I am not finished here,” I said, pulling slightly against his hold.

“You are.”

He did not raise his voice.

He did not need to.

He pulled me with him.

The moment the conference room doors shut behind us, I yanked my hand free, my patience snapping.

“What is wrong with you?” I demanded, turning to face him.

He stopped walking.

Then he turned.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

The calm in his expression remained, but something beneath it had shifted, something darker and more focused.

“That call,” he said, “was from your sister.”

It was not a question.

My chest tightened. “You do not know that.”

“I do not need to guess.”

“That still does not make it your business.”

His gaze sharpened.

“Everything about you is my business now.”

I let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “You keep saying that like it means something.”

“It does.”

“I am not yours.”

The words came out sharper than I intended.

For a brief moment, the air between us stilled.

Then he stepped forward.

Once.

Twice.

I held my ground, refusing to move even as the distance between us disappeared completely.

“You walked into my wedding,” he said quietly, “using another person’s name.”

“I already told you why.”

“And you stood beside me, said my vows, and signed that contract.”

“That does not give you ownership.”

“It gives me authority.”

I shook my head. “You are not in control of me.”

His eyes darkened slightly.

“Say that again.”

“I am not yours.”

Something shifted.

Before I could react, his hand rose and caught my jaw, firm enough to hold me in place. My breath caught, not from fear, but from the sudden closeness, from the intensity in his gaze that refused to let me look away.

“You still do not understand,” he said quietly.

“Then explain it to me,” I challenged.

For a moment, he did not speak.

He simply looked at me, studying every reaction, every breath, every flicker of defiance I refused to hide.

Then suddenly, without warning, he closed the distance completely.

His mouth crashed against mine.

The kiss was not gentle.

It was deliberate.

A statement.

It stole the words from my mouth before I could say them, cut off my protest before it could form, and held me there in a way that felt less like desire and more like control.

My hands came up instinctively, pushing against his chest, but he did not move. His grip on my jaw tightened just enough to keep me in place, not hurting me, but making it clear that he had no intention of letting me pull away so easily.

My pulse slammed against my ribs.

Anger flared.

Confusion followed.

And beneath it, something far more dangerous began to surface.

When he finally pulled back, my breathing was uneven, my thoughts scattered, and I hated how easily he could see it.

I glared at him. “What was that supposed to prove?”

“That you are exactly where I want you,” he said calmly.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, my chest still rising too fast. “You think that changes anything?”

“It changes everything.”

“It does not.”

“You are standing here,” he continued, his voice steady, “wearing my name, under my roof, answering to me.”

“I am not answering to you.”

“You will.”

The certainty in his voice made something in me falter, even if I refused to show it.

“I am leaving,” I said.

“You are not.”

“You do not get to decide that.”

“I already have.”

I shook my head, stepping back. “You cannot keep me here.”

He moved again.

Faster this time.

His hand caught my arm, pulling me back before I could put any real distance between us.

“You are not leaving my side,” he said, his voice lowering.

“Watch me.”

“Not until I get what I was promised.”

The words made my stomach tighten.

“And what exactly is that?”

His gaze held mine.

Unmoving.

“My bride.”

I let out a sharp breath. “You have her brother. Take it or leave it.”

“That is not how this works.”

“Then tell me how it works.”

“You will stay,” he said slowly, “until you bring her back to me.”

My chest tightened. “I do not even know where she is.”

“Then find her.”

“That is not my responsibility.”

“It became your responsibility the moment you took her place.”

I stared at him, anger rising again, stronger this time, sharper.

“You are unbelievable.”

“And you are running out of options.”

I clenched my jaw. “I will find a way out.”

His gaze did not waver.

“Try.”

The word lingered between us, quiet and certain, as if he already knew the outcome.

“That does not mean anything,” I said, though my voice had lost some of its edge.

“It means more than you want it to,” he replied, his tone low, almost thoughtful, as if he had already unraveled every thought I was trying to hide.

I looked away, dragging a hand through my hair in frustration, trying to ground myself, trying to ignore the way the air still felt charged between us.

“This is a mistake,” I muttered.

“Yes,” he said.

I turned back to him, my brows drawing together slightly. “At least you agree.”

For a moment, he did not answer.

He simply watched me.

The silence stretched, slow and deliberate, as his gaze moved over my face with unsettling focus. There was nothing careless in the way he looked at me, nothing rushed. It felt intentional, controlled, as if he were studying something he had already decided to keep.

Then he spoke.

“But it is one I intend to keep.”

The words settled heavily between us.

This time, they did not feel like a threat.

They felt like a decision.

My breath caught before I could stop it.

I held his gaze, refusing to be the first to look away, even as something unspoken tightened in the space between us.

Before I could respond, his phone vibrated.

The sharp sound cut through the moment, but it did not break it completely.

Alessandro glanced at the screen, his expression barely shifting, then lifted his eyes back to mine as if whatever message he received was far less important than what stood in front of him.

“We are not finished,” he said.

I lifted my chin slightly, forcing my voice to remain steady.

“We never started.”

A faint smile appeared on his lips.

Not warm.

Not kind.

Something far more dangerous.

He took a slow step forward, closing the distance just enough to make me aware of him again, of the heat of his presence, of how easily he could take control of the space between us.

“On the contrary,” he murmured, his voice lower now, quieter, as if it belonged only to this moment.

“We started the moment you stopped pushing me away.”

My breath faltered.

I should have stepped back.

I should have said something, anything, to break whatever this was building between us.

But I did not move.

And somehow, that felt like the worst decision I could have made.

Because the way he looked at me then was no longer about control alone.

It was something deeper.

Something far more dangerous.

And for the first time, I realized, I was no longer just trying to escape him.

I was starting to react to him.

And that terrified me more than anything else.