18.
The first thing she noticed was the silence. The second was the scent-him. Sandalwood. Leather. Smoke.
Isolde's lashes fluttered. Her head pounded, and her limbs felt heavy, like she was submerged in something thick and invisible.
Then she opened her eyes. And screamed. She wasn't in the plane.
She wasn't even in a room that felt like part of this world.
The walls were stone. Cold. Impossibly smooth. A single chandelier hung from the ceiling, its golden light flickering like candle flames. The air was cool against her skin.
And she wasn't on a bed.
She was laid on a velvet chaise, wrists and ankles bound with thin black silk ribbons tight enough to restrain but not injure.
Her dress had been changed. She now wore the midnight velvet one he'd gifted her earlier.
It clung to her body like ink, cut low across her chest, slit up her thigh. Elegant. Erotic. Designed for worship or destruction.
She struggled weakly.
And that was when she heard it: The slow, deliberate sound of leather soles across stone.
He emerged from the shadows. Dante.
No mask now. His face was real. Devastating.
His jawline cut like marble, a dark shadow of stubble lining his skin. His cheekbones were high, regal. His mouth so sensual it felt like sin itself. And his eyes...Pale Blue.
Focused entirely on her.
He wore a black silk shirt, unbuttoned at the throat, and slacks tailored to his lean, muscular frame.
The fabric shifted like water as he moved-controlled, elegant, terrifying.
"Where am I?" she whispered, her voice cracking.
"My estate," he said calmly. "My private floor."
"What do you want from me? And who are you"
"I want," he said, voice low, "to teach you a lesson and Im Dante Valencourt..your admirer."
He moved to a small black table, poured dark wine into a crystal glass.
"You ran."
"I was afraid," she said, trembling. "You kidnapped me."
"And I told you what would happen if you tried to leave."He took a sip of the wine, then walked toward her. Slowly. Like a king about to deliver a sentence.
He crouched in front of the chaise, eyes level with hers. "I don't break promises, Isolde."
She turned her head, tears burning down her cheeks. "Please..."
He reached out and gripped her chin, turning her face toward him with cold precision. "No one touches what's mine and walks away. Not the boy. Not the police. Not even you."
"I'm not a thing," she spat.
He smiled-dark, curved like the blade of a dagger.
"No," he murmured. "You're not. You're my thing." Then he stood. Clapped his hands once.
A hidden panel in the wall slid open.
Behind it? A mirror.
But it wasn't just glass it was two-way. A camera blinked from the upper corner.
"I want you to understand something," he said as he walked behind the chaise, placing a hand lightly on her shoulder.
"Every moment you've spent trying to escape me... I've spent designing your submission."
He leaned in, whispering against her ear "This room listens. This room remembers. And this room has only one purpose. To teach you that your will is mine to tame."
She sobbed once.
He moved in front of her again and slid the strap of the velvet dress from her shoulder-not lewdly.
Not quickly. But like an artist preparing to paint the first stroke.
"Stop," she whispered. "Please..."
His eyes gleamed"Begging excites me."
His fingertips traced her collarbone, slow and firm, before he leaned in and kissed her throat-soft at first.
Then harder. Teeth grazing the skin above her pulse.
"You wore the dress," he whispered, lips against her skin. "You boarded the plane. You clutched my letters. You dreamed about me. You'll deny it until you scream, but you chose me the moment you didn't throw away the perfume."
"I never wanted-"
"You wanted someone," he cut in. "And now you have me."
She trembled beneath him.
He stood again and walked to the side table, pulling open a drawer.
Inside velvet gloves, blindfold, silk cord.
He picked up the blindfold and turned back.
"Do you trust me, Isolde?"
"No."
"Good," he said, his voice a breath. "Because love born from fear tastes sweeter when it melts into need."
She shook her head violently, tears streaming.
"I don't love you-"
"You will."
Then, with slow, precise movements, he leaned over her and slid the blindfold over her eyes.
Darkness swallowed everything.
She could hear her breath, his footsteps, the quiet clicking of his fingers against glass.
"You'll learn to crave the things you once ran from," he said, voice low, hypnotic.
"And when you finally look me in the eyes and say please...
I'll give you everything you never knew you needed."
She cried beneath the silk.
But even through her tears, she felt her body betray her-tense and trembling not just with fear... but with something else.