Chapter 16 South wing shadows
Isla's POV.
I woke up to silence. As everybody disappeared.
The soft hum of the south wing filled my room.
The moonlight had faded. Only the sun slipped through the curtains, cutting lines across the floor.
My body ached so much. What happened in the gala last night didn’t leave my mind. My heart still thumped erratically.
I pressed my face into the pillow, remembering.
His lips, the warmth, and the control. The hunger that didn’t quite cross the line but left me trembling.
My heart ached with that familiar pull I couldn’t fight. Every time I replayed the kiss, every brush of his hand, it drew me closer.
I kissed him back. Just a little, even if I didn’t know why I did. I didn’t fully let go. And now… now it haunts me.
That tension, that closeness, the way he cornered me in the VIP suite… it was still fresh in my heart and it reminded me how alive I felt near him.
And yet… Why did I feel so confused?
I had always thought Dante, my husband, was cold and unreadable. But last night, for just a moment, I saw something different.
A warmth that made my heart ache. A softness I wasn’t supposed to want. And even now, thinking about him, I could feel it again.
But I wasn’t naive. I knew him, or at least the man I thought was my husband. I knew the power he wielded.
The darkness that followed him, the danger in his presence. That combination terrified me and thrilled me all at once.
I pushed myself up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed.
My fingers ran through my hair as I stared at the floor.
I couldn’t stop thinking, couldn’t stop remembering, and couldn’t stop feeling the pull.
At breakfast, the dining table smelled of coffee and fresh bread.
My husband sat at the head of the table, his posture was perfect, his expression was unreadable, eyes glinting with a quiet fire I couldn’t read.
He didn’t look at me, he didn’t say a word. He just sat there like the revolved around him and I wasn’t entirely sure I didn’t want it to.
I took a deep breath. “Good morning,” I murmured, sliding into my seat.
He didn’t respond. He didn’t even acknowledge me with a glance. He just stared at the coffee, tapping the cup lightly.
I tried again, quieter this time. “You… slept well?”
He just lifted his eyes a little, and then looked back at his cup. “Fine.”
Just fine. His words sounded cold and distant, my stomach knotted.
I bit my lips. Okay, he’s still probably holding the wall up.
I remembered the warmth and the brush of his hand last night, and the subtle pull when I leaned too close.
I wanted it back. But I also feared it.
Before I could gather my courage, the door opened.
Lucia. She glided in, smooth, polished and confident.
She walked in like she knew she owned this place. She gave me a quick glance.
A smirk tugged at her lips, just enough to hit. I could feel it slice through the fragile calm that I had been holding on to.
“Morning,” she said with all sweetness. “I didn’t expect to see you… so early.”
I didn’t respond so easily, I just tilted my chin, letting her words land. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction she was looking for.
His eyes lifted the moment she spoke. Just a flicker, then full attention. And just like that, my stomach sank.
The warmth I was holding onto, that flicker of something tender all vanished.
Every ounce of the attention I had been craving all went to her effortlessly without a thought.
“You look… different,” she continued, her voice light and teasing. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”
I held her gaze. Didn’t flinch or smile. “I’m the same,” I said flatly and cold. Just enough to show her I wasn’t afraid.
She tilted her head, eyes glinting, enjoying the push and pull. “Hmmm. Maybe. I just think… Some people aren’t meant for this life. And not every wife can handle him.”
My chest tightened but I stayed still and calm. “If you could handle him, he could’ve married you.”
She smirked, expression changed. I knew how to hit people where it hurts too. I just don’t show off.
“Don’t think because him marrying you means you have a place in his heart.”
His expression didn’t change even for a bit. But his hand clenched tightly around in his cup.
“I don’t care about his heart,” I said, voice cold. “Whoever wants it can have it.”
His jaw tightened, he said nothing. But the message was clear, she would not have the upper hand here. Not with him.
I could feel my heart pounding. Not for her, but for the subtle shift.
The tension and the acknowledgment that his attention could be stolen, that his warmth could be directed somewhere else and that it could be given freely to someone else.
Lucia, of course, basked in it. She wasn’t cruel… her words weren’t insults. But every glance, every smirk, and every chosen phrase she said was a blade made for me.
“Of course you don’t care about it,” she said softly, almost mockingly. “Because not everyone can get it.”
“If you have what it takes,” I said. “Make him marry you.”
His eyes flicked to me. One glance and flash of something hot, something unreadable. And then… his eyes went cold again. Like he wasn’t aware of the battle raging before him.
Lucia laughed softly, turning her attention back to him. “Don’t pretend you don’t want him. I’ve seen women like you pretend but want to throw themselves at him.”
I didn’t flinch. My eyes met hers. “Looks like you’ve been trying so hard,” I said. “Just keep trying, maybe he might look at you someday.”
She froze for half a second. Not because of me, but because I wasn’t reacting the way she had expected.
And that tiny crack in her poise… it made me feel a flicker of something fierce in my chest.
I wasn’t just reacting to his attention anymore, I was proving that I existed, and that I wasn’t a pushover either.
Then she gave a polite smile again. “Interesting. I really underestimated you.”
Dante finally spoke. His voice was calm, and casual. But the weight behind it felt like ice. “Enough, Lucia.”
She raised an eyebrow, her smirk still in place. “I’m just talking.”
“And I’m just watching,” he said. No more or less. And yet he didn’t say anything to defend me.
I felt my chest tighten and my stomach twist. I wanted warmth. That hint of protection, reassurance, and acknowledgment that I mattered… and he didn’t give it. Not today.
Lucia left, still smirking, while I stood there controlled and calm. But inside me, a war raged.
Every glance and every laughter, every subtle jab has carved doubt straight into my heart.
I didn’t leave hurriedly or storm out. I just walked back slowly, but each step I took felt like dragging a weight.
Each heartbeat reminded me how fragile the illusion of his attention was. That the warmth I had felt wasn’t guaranteed and that maybe I didn’t belong fully, not in his eyes.
Back in my room, I sat at the edge of the bed. Staring at the floor. Thinking, feeling, and wondering.
And then… my phone buzzed.
A message. It was cozy, intimate, and familiar. A teasing smile in words I couldn’t see. From him. From Damian.
“Thinking of you. Alone?”
My fingers trembled. My chest clenched. The warmth and the cold… everything tangled inside me.
And just as I was trying to catch my breath, my phone rang.
The screen flashed and a name I despised, yet feared showed up.
It was my father. “What does he want this time,” I muttered to myself.
When I answered, his voice dripped with menace. Every one of his words was a threat and also a reminder that I was never fully mine. That my freedom was a lie.
That he could always reach in and hurt me or the people I cared about, whenever he wanted.
“Isla,” he said, low and dangerous. “You’ve been uncooperative. Remember your brother, Iris. And don’t test me.”
The line went dead.
I dropped the phone on the bed. Heart hammering, thoughts racing. My emotions went raw and ragged.
Alone in my room, I felt the push and pull of the world around me.
Dante’s cold distance. Damian’s warmth at the gala, his teasing texts. Lucia’s smile, still mocking my father’s threats.
Everything collided. And for the first time, I realized my heart was no longer mine.
I belonged to the man I thought was my husband. The one who could be soft and cruel. Who could give attention and take it away whenever he wants.
I leaned back against the headboard. Eyes closed. Thinking and questioning.
Who was really in control here?
And more importantly… whose game was I caught in?