The morning sun rose pale over the villa, but for Ishani, it brought no warmth. Her failed escape clung to her like shackles. Every step echoed with dread.
She found him waiting in the dining hall. Dante sat at the head of the table, sleeves rolled, sipping espresso as though nothing had happened. But the stillness in his posture was too precise, the calm before something violent.
"Sit," he commanded.
Her legs moved against her will, her pulse pounding. She lowered herself into the chair opposite him, her dupatta tight around her shoulders. He didn't look at her at first—just stirred his cup slowly, the silence louder than a shout.
Finally, his eyes lifted. "Do you know what happens when someone disrespects me, bella?"
She swallowed, refusing to look away. "You kill them."
A faint smile. "True. But you…" He leaned forward, his voice dark silk. "Killing you would be merciful. I prefer punishment."
The word hung in the air like smoke.
Before she could speak, he snapped his fingers. Two guards appeared, carrying something heavy. A trunk. They set it down and left silently. Dante rose, his shadow stretching across the table as he opened it. Inside gleamed a set of chains, polished steel, cruelly beautiful.
Ishani's blood turned to ice. "You wouldn't—"
"Oh, I would." His tone was calm, almost gentle. "You tried to run. Now you will learn what running costs."
He came around the table, dragging a chair with him. She backed away, her breath ragged, but he caught her wrist easily, pulling her down. His grip was firm—not brutal, but unyielding. With slow, deliberate motions, he clasped one chain around her ankle, attaching it to the leg of the chair.
"Comfortable?" he asked, his accent curling around the cruelty.
She yanked at the chain, fury sparking in her eyes. "You bastard—"
His hand snapped up, gripping her jaw, forcing her to look at him. His eyes were molten ice, cold yet burning. "Don't mistake me for a man who plays fair. You are mine, Ishani. And if you forget that, I will remind you."
Her chest heaved, but she didn't look away. "I'll never be yours."
Something flickered in his gaze—something raw, wounded, but it vanished beneath a smirk. "We'll see."
He released her, stepping back, leaving her chained like a queen turned captive. He sat once more, sipping his espresso as if nothing had happened.
"Eat," he ordered, nodding to the untouched food before her. "You'll need strength. Obedience is… exhausting."
Her hands trembled as she lifted the fork, but her eyes stayed locked on him. He wasn't punishing her with pain. He was punishing her with control. With humiliation. With the reminder that even her smallest rebellions ended with him tightening his grip.
And yet, beneath the humiliation, something darker twisted inside her—a terrifying awareness of his obsession, and the dangerous magnetism that came with it.
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