47

The silence that followed Dante’s declaration hung in the air like a heavy fog. I stood there, facing him, unable to move, as if his very presence had rooted me to the spot. It was strange how something so suffocating could feel like a chain, invisible but so real that I could almost feel it tightening around my chest. I had wanted to fight, to push him away, but something about the way he looked at me made me hesitate.

I wasn’t free. I never had been, not truly. Not while I was under his roof, in his world, caught in the orbit of his obsession. Every step I took away from him seemed to only draw me closer, as if he was the force pulling me back, no matter how hard I tried to resist.

"You think you can escape me?" His voice was low, dangerous, his gaze sharp as he stepped toward me. I wanted to take a step back, but my feet refused to move, as if they were planted in the ground. His eyes traced my every movement, a predator studying its prey, and I knew in that moment, he would never let me go.

"I’m not your prisoner," I managed to say, though my voice trembled with something I refused to acknowledge. Fear? Or was it something else entirely? Something darker, more dangerous than fear.

He smiled then, but it wasn’t the kind of smile that brought comfort. It was a smile that promised pain, that promised control. "You already are. You just don’t know it yet."

His words pierced through me, and I felt my heart beat faster, my breath quicken. I wanted to fight. I wanted to scream, to demand that he let me go. But I also knew, deep down, that I couldn’t. I didn’t have the strength to walk away. Not yet. Not when everything about him called to me in a way I couldn’t explain.

I turned away from him, unable to look at him for one more second. The walls seemed to close in around me, and the air felt thick, suffocating. I needed to breathe, to escape this tension that had been building between us for days, for weeks, maybe even longer.

Without thinking, I moved toward the window again, desperate for some semblance of freedom. I wanted to see the world outside, to remind myself that there was something beyond these walls, beyond Dante and his control. But as I looked out, the city below felt distant, unreachable. And no matter how much I strained my eyes, I couldn’t see a way out.

Dante’s presence loomed behind me, like a shadow that refused to fade. "You’ll never be free of me," he said softly, his voice just behind me now. "Not unless I let you go."

I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart. I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want to believe it. But his words had a way of sinking deep into my soul, embedding themselves in places I didn’t want to acknowledge. And the truth, no matter how much I denied it, was that he was right.

I was his. And there was nothing I could do to change that.

"Why?" I whispered, more to myself than to him. "Why are you doing this?"

Dante didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stood there, watching me, his eyes cold and unreadable. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, almost thoughtful, as if he were contemplating something deeper than the words he was about to say.

"Because I want you," he said simply, and the weight of those three words hit me like a blow to the chest. "I’ve always wanted you. And I always will."

I wanted to tell him he was wrong. I wanted to tell him that he couldn’t have me, that I wasn’t something he could claim or possess. But I didn’t. Because in the back of my mind, I knew it wasn’t true. I was already his in ways I didn’t understand, in ways I couldn’t escape. It was a dark, twisted truth, and I hated it.

I didn’t know how long I stood there, trapped in my own thoughts, before I felt his hand on my arm, pulling me gently toward him. I didn’t resist. I couldn’t. His touch, though gentle, was possessive, as though he owned every part of me. And the strangest part of all was that I didn’t hate it.

"You can fight it all you want," Dante whispered, his lips brushing against my ear. "But in the end, you’ll come to me. You always do."

I closed my eyes, unable to stop the tears that threatened to spill. It was the truth, wasn’t it? No matter how much I wanted to deny it, I was already falling into his grasp. And I didn’t know if I would ever find a way out.

The days blurred together after that conversation. Dante seemed to watch me more closely, his gaze never far from mine. I couldn’t escape it. I couldn’t escape him.

I tried to occupy my mind with anything other than the ever-growing tension between us, but every time I looked at him, my body betrayed me. His presence was like a magnetic force that drew me in, and no matter how much I resisted, no matter how many walls I built around my heart, they all crumbled in the face of him.

It was maddening. It was suffocating. And yet, in a twisted way, it was all I could think about.

One night, I found myself alone in the room, sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall. The silence was deafening, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to change, that something was about to break.

I heard the door open, and I didn’t need to turn around to know it was Dante. His presence filled the room like a storm, and I could feel him before I saw him.

"Don’t," I said, my voice hoarse as I stood up. "Please. Just let me be for a moment."

But he didn’t listen. Of course, he didn’t. He never did.

He was in front of me in an instant, his hand on my chin, forcing me to look at him. "You can fight it all you want," he murmured, his lips brushing against mine in a kiss that was more demand than invitation. "But I will never let you go."

I should have pulled away. I should have slapped him, screamed at him to leave me alone. But I didn’t. Because in that moment, I knew I couldn’t. And it scared me more than anything else.

Dante’s hold on me was like quicksand, and the more I fought it, the deeper I sank. The struggle was pointless. Every time I thought I had a moment of clarity, he would be there, pulling me back into his web, reminding me that I was his, and he wasn’t going to let me go.

What terrified me the most, though, wasn’t the way he controlled me. It was the fact that part of me didn’t want to escape.