Chapter Seventeen
The betrayal was a noose tightening around Isla’s throat. The moment she had made her decision, her hands were already shoving clothes into a small bag, her mind working at a dizzying pace. She couldn’t stay here. She wouldn’t.
Every second in this house had been a lie. Matteo had lied. Her father had lied. And she had been nothing more than a pawn, bound to a marriage that was never meant to protect her.
The last time she had tried to escape, she had been reckless—running blindly, not thinking beyond the moment she crossed the villa’s borders. She had relied on stolen minutes, hoping for luck instead of ensuring a plan. And Matteo had caught her. Easily. She had underestimated how closely he watched her, how deep his control ran.
Not this time.
This time, she wouldn’t take the obvious routes. She wouldn’t leave through the south gate where she knew his guards were stationed. She wouldn’t run with nothing but the clothes on her back. This time, she would disappear.
She reached for the phone, hesitating for only a second before typing a message: I need out. Meet me. Midnight. She attached her location—Matteo’s villa—and sent it before she could overthink the risk. A calculated move, one she could only hope Matteo wouldn’t discover before she was gone.
Her fingers trembled as she zipped the bag closed. The only sound in the room was the rapid beat of her pulse. She knew she didn’t have much time. Matteo was sharp, always watching, always one step ahead—but this time, she had to be faster.
The villa was heavily guarded, but she had studied the patterns of the men who patrolled the grounds. She had memorized their rotations, noted the blind spots. She had waited for a reason to leave, and now, she had one.
Slipping into the shadows, she moved through the corridors, her heart pounding. Every step was a risk, every breath a gamble. But when she finally reached the back gate, a rush of adrenaline surged through her veins. She was almost free.
Then, the alarms blared.
Her stomach dropped.
She bolted, the night air biting against her skin as she ran. Lights flashed, voices shouted, but she pushed forward, her feet barely touching the ground. If she could make it to the road, to the waiting car she had arranged through an old contact, she could disappear before Matteo even knew she was gone.
But she never made it that far.
The moment she reached the road, hands seized her. Strong, unyielding.
She gasped, struggling, but the grip was like iron. Two of Matteo’s men held her in place, their hands clamped around her arms like a vice. She twisted, fought, but their hold was unyielding. The roar of an approaching engine sent a chill through her bones. The sleek black car screeched to a halt just feet away, the headlights casting sharp shadows over the road.
The moment the door swung open, she knew.
Matteo stepped out with a slow, deliberate grace, his expression carved from stone. He adjusted the cuff of his sleeve with meticulous precision, his movements unhurried, unaffected. Every step he took toward her was measured, calculated, his gaze locking onto hers with an iciness that sent a chill down her spine. He exuded control—an iron grip over himself, over the situation, over her.
Without a word, he nodded, and the men released her. She barely had time to react before Matteo seized her himself, spinning her around with ease and pressing her against the car. The cold metal bit into her skin, but it was nothing compared to the suffocating presence of the man holding her captive. His grip was firm, unforgiving, but not a hair out of place, his breathing even, as if this was just another transaction, another demonstration of dominance.
The only betrayal of his composure was his fingers—digging into her wrists just a little too hard.
"Running from me, wife?" His voice was low, smooth, almost conversational. A warning only she could understand.
Isla forced herself to meet his gaze, her defiance unwavering. "Let me go, Matteo."
His lips curled, a slow smirk, but his eyes remained devoid of warmth. "You think I’d let you walk away? After everything?"
She struggled, but it was futile. Matteo was a wall of unyielding strength, his grip tightening just enough to remind her who held the power. "You lied to me! You and my father—"
His jaw twitched, his eyes flickering with something darker before settling back into that unreadable mask. "And you thought running would fix that?"
Her breath came in sharp bursts. "I’d rather disappear than be trapped in this lie."
There was the briefest pause, an imperceptible flicker of something almost human in his expression. And then it was gone, swallowed by something ruthless. He leaned in, his breath ghosting over her ear, a whisper meant only for her.
"You belong to me, Isla. You can fight, you can hate me, but you will never run from me."
A shiver raced down her spine—not from fear, but from something far more treacherous.
His grip was methodical as he wrenched the car door open and pushed her inside with a controlled force that left no room for resistance. He slid in beside her, shutting the door with deliberate slowness.
The moment they were alone, the facade shattered.
The cold restraint outside was gone, replaced with something heated, something dangerous. The air in the car thickened, the tension coiling around them like a vice. Matteo turned toward her, his body a wall of heat, his control fraying at the edges now that there were no eyes on them.
"Look at you," he murmured, his fingers tracing the inside of her wrist. "So desperate to be free, yet trembling under my touch. Tell me, Isla—do you really want to run from me?"
She swallowed hard, her pulse a betraying drum against his fingertips. The car was too small, too suffocating, filled with the scent of him, the memory of his hands on her body. She was reminded, in a single flash, of the night they shared—of the way he had touched her like he owned her, the way she had let him.
Matteo saw it. He saw the way her breath hitched, the way her skin heated beneath his touch. His fingers brushed against her jaw, tilting her face toward him with excruciating patience.
"You think you hate me," he continued, his voice quiet, lethal. "But I know the truth. You crave this. You crave me."
She exhaled sharply, but the sound was barely a whisper in the charged space between them. The car moved through the dark streets, but neither of them acknowledged it, their world reduced to the inches separating them. Matteo’s presence consumed her, his energy thick, suffocating.
His hand moved to her thigh, slow, deliberate, testing. She should shove him away, should remind him that she was not his to claim. But her body betrayed her, heat flaring under his touch, memories of the night before searing into her mind.
"You can fight me all you want," he murmured, his voice rough, knowing, "but you’ll always find yourself back here—with me."
She hated him for being right. Hated herself more for the part of her that wanted to prove him wrong, even as her body betrayed her.
Matteo smirked, reading her silence as confirmation. "Next time you try to run, make sure you actually want to leave."
She had lost this round.
But the war between them was just beginning.