Chapter 12: STUBBORN LITTLE HELLION

Vincenzo’s POV

I had finally gotten her. The stubborn little hellion, the one who had dared to speak back to me, who had made me lose my patience in front of everyone. Lyra. That woman was a problem, a puzzle I couldn’t wait to solve. If she thought her defiance would protect her, she had no idea what she was in for. The chain around her neck was a small token of my control, a reminder that she was mine now.

As I descended the grand staircase of my mansion, my hand lazily resting on the polished wood of the railing, I felt a satisfaction in the air. This was going to be a night to remember. She wasn’t going to make things easy for me, I knew that. But nothing about this game would be easy. It never was.

I passed a servant near the drink cart, and without a word, I motioned for a glass of wine. A small, subtle gesture. I didn’t need to say much. The servant hurried off to fill my request. The wine, deep and red, would be perfect—dark, heavy, just like the night ahead of us. I needed something to match her spirit. This would be both bitter and sweet—an experience neither of us would forget.

With the glass in hand, I made my way to her room, my footsteps echoing through the empty halls. The mansion was quiet—too quiet, as if it knew the chaos that was about to unfold. Lyra was waiting, though I wasn’t sure if she realized what kind of waiting it was. She was just a tool now, something I could mold, break, or bend to my will.

When I reached the door, I didn’t knock. There was no need. She wasn’t going anywhere. I stepped inside, the scent of stone and cold air hitting me, and there she was—on the floor, in the same position she’d been left in. A plate of food lay scattered beside her, untouched. Typical. She would be no different from the others—too proud to eat, too defiant to submit.

I watched her for a moment, savoring the sight. Her stubbornness was something I admired in some twisted way, but it wouldn’t last long. Not with me.

I set my glass of wine on the table and moved toward her. She barely acknowledged me, but that didn’t matter. I wasn’t here for pleasantries.

“Get up,” I said, my voice low, commanding.

She didn’t respond immediately, and I pushed her with my boot—just enough to get her attention. Her eyes snapped open, and she looked up at me, fury burning in her gaze.

“Is it really that hard to listen?” I mocked, my voice dripping with amusement.

Lyra sat up, her back stiff, the chain around her neck clinking as she moved. She met my gaze, the fire in her eyes never wavering. “I’m not your dog,” she snarled.

I leaned down, just inches from her face, the wine’s scent lingering in the air between us. “You’re not a dog, Lyra. You’re something much worse. You’re a slave.”

Her mouth tightened, but she didn’t say anything else. She knew exactly what she was—what I had made her.

Without waiting for her to comply, I grabbed the chain around her neck and yanked her up, forcing her to stand. She stumbled for a moment, but she regained her balance quickly. Her stubbornness was infuriating, but it only made me want to break her more.

“Move,” I ordered, shoving her toward the bed.

She stumbled again, but this time, she didn’t let me push her onto the mattress. With surprising agility, she rolled off the bed and landed on the floor with a thud. Her chain dragged behind her, clinking as she tried to crawl away, as if she could escape.

I stood there for a moment, watching her, a slow smile spreading across my face. “You think you can avoid me?” I chuckled darkly. “You think you can roll away from this?”

She glared at me from the floor, her defiance still intact. “I don’t need to avoid you,” she spat. “I’m not your plaything.”

I crouched down to her level, my face just inches from hers. I wanted to see the fire in her eyes up close. I wanted to feel it. “You’re exactly my plaything,” I said softly, my voice barely a whisper. “You’re here to be used, Lyra. To be broken.”

She gritted her teeth, her breath coming in harsh, angry bursts. “I’ll never be your toy.”

Her words made something in me tighten. This was why I enjoyed it—the fight, the resistance, the challenge. Most women crumbled at the slightest hint of force. But not her. Not Lyra.

I grabbed the chain again and yanked her toward me, her body crashing against mine for a brief second before I shoved her back onto the floor. Her breath hitched, but she didn’t whimper. She just glared at me with that fire.

“You think you’re strong,” I said, my voice low, almost a growl. “But you’re not. You’re nothing. Just a piece of property. And soon, you’ll realize that. I’ll make sure of it.”

She pushed herself up, her body moving with a desperation I hadn’t expected. “You’ll never break me,” she said, her voice defiant, her eyes burning with rage. “I won’t let you.”

I laughed, the sound cold and dark. “Let me? You don’t get to choose, Lyra. You don’t get to decide anything here.”

I stood over her, watching her struggle against the weight of the chain, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She was like a wild animal backed into a corner, desperate to claw her way out.

“Get on the bed,” I commanded once more, my patience thinning.

Her eyes flashed with something that could’ve been fear, but it was quickly replaced by that damnable defiance. She shook her head, refusing to move.

I reached down and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her up again. “You’ll learn eventually. You’ll learn who’s in charge.”