Morning came quietly, the storm finally silenced, leaving the villa cloaked in a heavy, damp stillness. Pale sunlight spilled through the half-drawn curtains, brushing over the massive bed.
Ishani stirred, her lashes fluttering. The first thing she felt was warmth—steady, suffocating warmth. Her mind was fogged, heavy with sleep. She shifted, only to find herself pinned.
Her heart lurched.
Dante's arm was wrapped around her waist, his palm sprawled possessively across her stomach. His body molded to hers from behind, a perfect, inescapable cage. She froze, realization striking like lightning. She was in his arms.
The blanket tangled around their legs, and worse—her own hand, traitorous in sleep, rested lightly against his forearm, as though she had sought his touch in the night.
Her breath hitched.
"You're awake," Dante's voice came, deep and rough with sleep, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.
Her blood turned to fire. "Let me go."
Instead, his arm tightened, pulling her closer. "No. Not yet."
She squirmed, fury heating her cheeks. "You think this proves something? That I'll melt for you because I was too tired to fight in my sleep?"
He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through her spine. "You didn't just sleep, bella. You surrendered. Your body knows where it belongs."
Her jaw clenched. "It was exhaustion, not choice."
"Exhaustion doesn't make you cling to me." His fingers flexed against her stomach, light but deliberate, making her breath stutter. "Exhaustion doesn't make you nuzzle closer."
"I didn't—"
"You did," he cut in smoothly, savoring the edge in her voice. "I felt it. The way you curled into me. The way you sighed when my arm wrapped around you."
Her face burned. "You're delusional."
Dante's lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. He pressed his nose briefly against her hair, inhaling deeply as though committing her scent to memory. "Delusional? Maybe. But I'm the only one here. And I know the truth."
She tried to twist out of his grip, but his hold was unyielding—gentle, yet absolute. The kind of strength that reminded her he could crush her if he wished. Instead, he restrained her with the tenderness of possession, which somehow felt more terrifying than brute force.
"Why do you keep me here?" she demanded, her voice low, sharp. "Is this your idea of power? Forcing me to sleep in your arms?"
"No." His voice darkened, his chest pressing firm against her back. "This is my idea of inevitability. Power can be taken. But inevitability?" His lips grazed the crown of her head, lingering. "That can only be endured."
Her pulse thundered. Her body screamed at her to push him away, but her muscles refused. Every nerve was alive, too aware of his warmth, his breath, his weight.
She hated him.
She hated herself more—for the way part of her wanted to close her eyes again and pretend, just for a moment, that this cage was safety.