Chapter 20 YOUR Ring
Isabella’s POV
Isabella’s POV
The elevator doors slid open.
My stomach dropped before I even stepped out.
For half a second, I couldn’t move.
Not because I didn’t know what waited on the other side.
Because I did.
That was the problem.
There was no illusion left. No uncertainty. No hopeful part of my brain trying to convince me this could still turn into something manageable.
I knew exactly who he was.
I knew exactly what he was capable of.
And I was still stepping into his world anyway.
His hand tightened around my arm.
Not hard enough to hurt.
Hard enough to remind me.
“Sit.”
The command came low. Controlled. Absolute.
My body reacted before my mind could catch up. I stumbled forward, my foot catching slightly against the polished floor before I reached the leather sofa. My pulse hammered violently, each beat too loud, too sharp, too real.
“Why am I here?” My voice shook despite everything I tried to do to steady it. “What do you want?”
No answer.
Of course.
He moved past me like the question didn’t exist, shrugging off his coat with that same effortless precision that made everything about him feel practiced. Like nothing in his life was accidental. Like every move had already been calculated long before it happened.
The fabric slid from his shoulders with a soft rustle.
Too quiet.
Everything was too quiet.
The silence in this place didn’t feel natural.
It felt controlled.
Engineered.
Like even sound had to obey him here.
“Answer me,” I snapped, gripping the armrest until my fingers ached.
He turned his head slowly.
“You’ll sit,” he said calmly, “or I’ll make you.”
The cold in his voice hit harder than if he’d shouted.
“Go to hell.”
The words came out sharper than I felt.
Because I needed something.
Anything.
That made me feel like I wasn’t already losing.
I stepped back.
Toward the elevator.
Toward the only exit I could see.
My brain knew it was useless.
My body moved anyway.
Instinct.
Survival.
Desperation.
I didn’t make it two steps.
He moved fast.
Too fast.
One second there was space between us.
The next, there wasn’t.
His hand closed around my arm, fingers firm and unyielding as he pulled me back. My back hit the wall with a dull, breath-stealing impact, the cold marble shocking against my skin.
The air left my lungs in a sharp rush.
Before I could recover, his other arm came up, bracing beside my head, caging me in completely.
Not touching.
Not fully.
But there was nowhere to go.
Nowhere to move.
Nowhere to breathe.
His presence surrounded me.
Heat.
Control.
Danger.
His breath brushed my cheek.
Warm.
Close enough to feel.
Close enough to remember.
The dock.
The gun.
The man begging.
The sound.
My stomach twisted violently.
“Try that again,” he said quietly, “and your friend disappears.”
Everything inside me went still.
My thoughts.
My breathing.
My pulse.
“You wouldn’t,” I managed.
The words barely existed.
He didn’t argue.
Didn’t react.
Didn’t need to.
His phone was already in his hand.
One smooth motion.
One flick of his thumb.
He turned the screen toward me.
And the world tilted.
Sarah.
Outside her apartment.
Pacing.
Alive.
Unaware.
Watched.
My breath caught so hard it burned.
Panic hit instantly.
Sharp.
Violent.
Uncontrollable.
“Her safety,” he said evenly, “depends on your obedience.”
My knees gave out.
I didn’t fight it.
Didn’t argue.
Didn’t push.
I sank onto the sofa like my body had stopped belonging to me.
The leather was cold beneath me. Smooth. Expensive. It gave slightly under my weight, just enough to feel like it was pulling me in instead of supporting me.
My hands started shaking.
Badly.
I pressed them into my thighs.
It didn’t help.
The shaking spread.
Through my arms.
My chest.
My entire body.
Like my nerves were unraveling under my skin.
He didn’t sit.
He stayed standing.
Watching.
Always watching.
Like he didn’t need to move to control the entire room.
The silence stretched.
Long.
Heavy.
Intentional.
It pressed in from every direction, filling the space between us until it felt suffocating.
Somewhere far below, the city moved.
Cars.
People.
Noise.
Life.
Up here—
Nothing.
Just him.
Just me.
Just this.
He turned away first.
Moving toward the bar like this moment didn’t matter.
Like I didn’t matter.
Ice clinked against glass.
The sound was too sharp in the silence.
Too loud.
Too deliberate.
He poured whiskey.
Amber liquid catching the light as it swirled.
Slow.
Measured.
Controlled.
Everything about him was controlled.
“Drink?” he asked casually.
Like he hadn’t just threatened my best friend’s life.
Like this was normal.
Like this was a conversation between equals.
“No.”
My voice came out thin.
Too soft.
Too small.
I hated that.
He lifted the glass anyway.
Took a slow sip.
Unbothered.
Time bent around him.
It stretched.
Slowed.
Like everything had to match his pace.
Then—
“Do you have a lover?”
The question cut through the room.
Sharp.
Unexpected.
“What?”
My fingers tightened against the sofa.
“A boyfriend,” he clarified smoothly. “Someone sentimental enough to miss you.”
A hollow laugh slipped out before I could stop it.
“Why?” I shot back. “Planning to threaten him too?”
The glass hit the counter.
Hard.
The sound cracked through the silence like a warning.
“Answer.”
“No,” I snapped. “But even if I did, you wouldn’t have the right to—”
“Good.”
The word dropped heavy.
Final.
He crossed the room in two strides.
Too fast.
Too close.
The cushion dipped as he braced one knee beside my thigh, boxing me in again without fully touching.
He didn’t need to touch.
The space between us was already gone.
“Are you seeing anyone?” he pressed, voice lower now. Rougher. “Anyone touching you?”
His gaze moved slowly over me.
Not rushed.
Not embarrassed.
Deliberate.
Assessing.
Claiming.
It lingered just long enough to make my pulse spike in betrayal of everything I felt.
“You already know the answer,” I said, shrinking back slightly. “Stop asking questions you don’t need answers to.”
His jaw flexed.
Tension tightened in the air.
“And if you think fear is going to make me crawl into your bed,” I added, my voice trembling but still holding, “you’re delusional.”
Silence fell again.
But this time it wasn’t empty.
It was charged.
His eyes darkened.
Not anger.
Something deeper.
Something more dangerous.
“Trust me,” he murmured, leaning closer, “if I wanted you in my bed, fear wouldn’t be the reason.”
His hand slid to my thigh.
Slow.
Intentional.
Not rough.
Not rushed.
Worse.
My pulse jumped instantly.
Traitor.
“You wouldn’t be begging because you’re scared,” he continued quietly. “You’d be begging because you wanted it.”
Heat flared up my neck.
Sharp.
Unwanted.
Humiliating.
“You’re insane,” I snapped, shoving at his chest.
It was like pushing a wall.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t shift.
Didn’t even react.
His hand caught my wrists easily, lifting them, pinning them beside me against the cushion.
Not harsh.
Not violent.
Controlled.
Always controlled.
“You would,” he said softly. “You just hate that your body doesn’t always agree with your mouth.”
“Stop,” I whispered, fury burning behind my eyes. “You’re a murderer. I saw what you did. I will never look at you without seeing that.”
----
For a fraction of a second—
something flickered in his face.
Not guilt.
Not remorse.
Something colder.
Something buried.
Then it was gone.
“You saw me handle business,” he said, voice sharpening slightly. “Don’t confuse that with what I’d do to you.”
“I don’t want you,” I shot back, my voice shaking now, slipping despite my effort to hold it steady. “Not your name. Not your bed. Not your life. Not anything that comes with you.”
His grip loosened.
Just enough.
But he didn’t move away.
Instead—
he leaned closer.
Close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath against my lips.
Close enough that my body reacted before my mind could stop it.
“You keep saying that,” he murmured.
My pulse stuttered.
“But you’re still here.”
“You forced me”.
He released me suddenly.
The absence of his hands left me disoriented.
Unbalanced.
Like something had been holding me up without me realizing it.
Then—
something landed in my lap.
A small velvet box.
Heavy.
Too heavy.
“I don’t want—”
“Open it.”
The command wasn’t loud.
Didn’t need to be.
My hands trembled as I lifted the lid.
The diamond caught the light instantly.
Blinding.
Perfect.
Cold.
Wrong.
My breath thinned.
“What is this?” I asked, even though I already knew.
“We’re getting married tomorrow.”
The words didn’t feel real.
Didn’t sound real.
They hung in the air between us like something that belonged in someone else’s life.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Do I look like I’m joking?”
No.
That was the worst part.
He didn’t look angry.
Didn’t look emotional.
Didn’t look anything.
Just certain.
Like this had already been decided.
Like I was just now catching up.
Air left my lungs in a slow, uneven pull.
This wasn’t a threat.
It wasn’t negotiation.
It was a conclusion.
“Listen carefully,” he said, stepping closer again. His hand came up, fingers closing around my jaw. Not rough. Not gentle. Firm enough to still me.
“I’m not asking for romance.”
His thumb brushed against my pulse.
Noticing how fast it raced.
“I’m not asking for devotion.”
His eyes held mine.
Steady.
Unmoving.
“I’m offering you protection. Power. A future where you don’t have to look over your shoulder every second of your life.”
My breathing turned uneven.
Because part of me—
hated how that sounded.
Hated how tempting it sounded.
“Refuse,” he continued calmly, “and everything in your life becomes… difficult.”
My nails dug into my palms.
“Not just you,” he added. “Everyone connected to you.”
My stomach twisted.
“And Sarah?” I whispered.
His expression didn’t change.
Didn’t soften.
Didn’t shift.
“Collateral.”
Something inside me broke.
Sharp.
Clean.
Final.
“You’re a monster.”
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
No denial.
Just truth.
“But monsters build empires,” he added quietly. “And you’re safer inside mine than outside it.”
“I’d rather die,” I shot back.
The words came out stronger than I felt.
A humorless breath left him.