Chapter 8: My possession.

Dante’s POV.

“She was quite a hot one,” I muttered to myself, “I should’ve seen this coming.”

I lit a cigar. I’m sure Damian hadn’t seen her like this before. He didn’t care.

She looked calm and pitiful on the outside. Beneath her innocent face lies a fire that I couldn’t resist, no matter how hard I tried.

I stretched my hand toward the whiskey on the table, pouring myself a glass.

I dragged another smoke.

Everybody has always avoided me, my gaze alone makes people tremble.

But the way she challenged me, nobody had ever dared to do that.

I sip a little from my glass, my jaw clenching.

She had really gotten my attention. And I won’t let her go.

Smoke curled over my face, I smirked. She’s mine and no one touches what belongs to me. Not even Damian.

I stood from my seat, and walked toward the window, glass in hand and a cigar in my mouth.

If anyone dares to touch or threaten her, I just end them. Simple.

My hand grips the edge of my window. I decide who gets near her, I decide what happens to her.

Isla Bennetti. Nobody has ever made me feel this way.

But why does she make me feel unhinged? Why can’t I stop thinking about her?

I walked back to my seat. I picked up my phone and called my assistant. “Get me all the information about

Isla Bennetti, I want to see them before the end of today…”

“Yes, sir…” he replied, and I ended the call.

I hated that I wanted her, to the point of madness.

She doesn’t even know what she’s doing to me. One look and I’m already planning how to keep her close…

How to claim her before the world even realizes she’s mine.

And God help any man who thinks he can take her…

I lit up another cigar, whispering to myself. “If she ever tries to resist, I’ll go after her..”

I couldn’t sit still.

The more I thought about her, the more restless I became.

Every moment felt like a slow torture. A pull I couldn’t break, and a craving I couldn’t kill.

I loosened my tie, but it did nothing.

The air felt hot, but my heart felt hotter.

I should’ve never switched with Damian at the wedding.

I had known it the moment I saw her walk down that aisle.

The way her eyes searched the crowd. The way her hands trembled as she held the bouquet.

The fragile grace, the quiet fear, and the stubbornness hiding under all that softness.

She wasn’t the kind of woman who you’d ever hand over to someone else… even if that someone shared your face.

I gripped the edge of the table, jaw clenched until it ached.

Damian wore the ring and he said the cows.

Damian stood beside her in the altar, pretending to be me.

Damian brought her home. But I was the one losing my mind over her.

I lit another cigar, inhaling sharply.

I hated that my own brother touched her first, even if only it was through the illusion of marriage.

I hated that she believed he was me. I hated that she looked at him like he was her husband.

But above all…

I hated how she trembled when I held her today… not because she feared me, but because she felt me.

My phone buzzed.

A message from my assistant:

“Sir, I’ve gathered some information. There’s something unusual about her family records.”

My brows dipped. Unusual?

I typed back: send it.

A file appeared and I opened it.

The moment I read the first line, my face darkened like that of a panther.

Her father, her sister, and her background, something was wrong.

Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

I didn’t have time for this, not tonight.

Not when her scent was still in my hand. Not when her eyes kept flashing in my mind, and not when her voice still echoed in my head, softly and too innocent for the kind of man I was.

I needed to see her again, to confirm what I already feared.

That I was slowly, painfully becoming addicted to someone who wasn’t mine.

Or rather…

Someone who should’ve been mine from the beginning.

I exhaled smoke slowly. Tonight, she will come.

She didn’t have the courage to disobey me… not yet.

Even if her hands shook, even if she hated me, even if

she pretended not to care…

She would come.

Because she felt it too. That pull neither of us could explain.

That silent current that dragged us toward each other no matter how much she tried to resist.

Night came quietly. The mansion was silent, except for the hum of guards outside, and the soft sound of the fountain in the courtyard.

I walked toward the west wing… the one place in this entire mansion no one dared to enter unless I demanded it.

I walked slowly, the way a predator moves when he already knows his prey is walking straight into his palm.

When I entered the room, it was dark, quiet, and still.

Of course she wasn’t here yet. I checked my watch. 11:02 PM.

She would come.

I leaned against the table, cigar between my fingers, letting the smoke drift lazily toward the ceiling.

Minutes past. Five, ten, fifteen.

My jaw tightened. Was she actually going to disobey me?

The thought irritated me more than it should have.

My fingers tapped against the table. Once, twice, a warning to myself.

Before I could take another step, I heard a soft click of the door.

I stilled, didn’t move an inch.

Her silhouette slid into the room, small and careful.

She closed the door slowly, as if afraid of the darkness waiting behind her.

She stood there, not moving. Her voice came out trembling and fragile.

“Why… Why did you call me here?”

I smirked into the shadows. My little bunny came after all.

I stepped forward. “You came.” I murmured.

She flinched. “You said you… had something for me.”

Her hand clutched her shirt like she needed to hold herself together.

Her eyes darted everywhere, except at me.

I walked closer. One step… Two… Three.

She backed away until her back hit the wall.

I placed my hand beside her head, caging her in.

“Don’t you want to know why I touched you today?” I whispered.

Her lips parted, but nothing came out.

My other hand traced her arm lightly… a slow, deliberate stroke that made her knees shake.

She didn’t run. She didn’t push me. She didn’t fight.

She trembled for me again.

Her voice cracked. “W-why are you doing this…?

Aren’t you married? Why are you…”

“Because you’re mine,” I said, cutting her off with a voice so low it vibrated against her skin.

Her breath hitched.

“And I don’t share what belongs to me.” Her eyes widened in confusion.

“W-what do you mean?”

I leaned closer, lips brushing her ear.

“Tell me something, Isla…” my finger trailed down her arm again.

“When you stood in that altar… when you said your vows…”

I paused, letting the silence suffocate her.

“Did you look closely at the man you married?”

She froze. Her lips parted again, but nothing came out.

I pulled back enough to watch her reaction.

“Tell me,” I murmured darkly. “Did you look? Or did you only assume?”

Her voice barely escaped. “You’re… y-you’re not Dante?”

I smiled, cold and cruelly. “Who said I wasn’t?”

She shook her head quickly. “N-no… stop… I don’t understand…”

“You will,” I whispered.

I gripped her chin and forced her eyes up to mine.

“Soon.”

I ghosted my lips over hers. Not a kiss, just enough to make her breath shatter.

She inhaled faintly.

Then… my phone vibrated violently.

I cursed and stepped back. “What?” I snapped.

My assistant’s voice came low and tense. “Sir… it’s urgent. We found something about Isla Bennetti.”

My eyes sharpened instantly. “And?” I growled.

“Sir… she wasn’t the intended bride.”

I stilled. My gaze snapped back to her. “Come again,”

I said quietly, voice turning cold.

“Her father… sent the wrong daughter.”

A slow, dangerous breath escaped me. I hung up without another word.

Isla swallowed nervously. “What happened?”

I walked toward her again, slower this time.

“You,” I said quietly, “…have been living a lie.”

She didn’t respond. I lifted her chin again, forcing her to meet my eyes.

“And starting tonight…”

“You’re going to learn exactly how deep that lie goes.”

Her lips trembled. “W-what do you mean?”

I didn’t answer, not tonight.

Tonight, she would suffer the silence. Tonight, she

would feel the weight of the truth without being allowed to touch it.

Tonight, I would let her down with questions that I had no intention of answering.

Not yet. I brushed my thumb over her lower lip, watching her eyes widen.

“Your father,” i murmured, “Is not the man you think he is.”

She stiffened. “And you,” I added, “are not the woman he sent here.”

Her voice broke. “T-then who… who was meant to…”

“Shh.”

Her breath trembled under my touch. “I don’t want your questions tonight.”

Confusion flooded her eyes. “I want your silence.”

She stared at me. Lost, scared, and unsure.

I stepped closer, my body touching hers. “You will not run, or hide, or even ask for answers.”

My lips brushed the shell of her ear. “When I’m ready,” I whispered, “I’ll tell you.”

Her knees have a small buckling tremor.

I smiled. “You came when I called,” I murmured against her skin. “Remember that.”

I pulled back, leaving her cold against the wall.

“But tonight, little bunny…”

I walked past her, the scent of fear and confusion clinging to me like perfume.

“…you go back to your room.”

She blinked. “W-what? You’re not going to tell me…”

“No.”

Her breath faltered.

I turned slightly, meeting her eyes with a look that made her shrink.

“You’re not ready for the truth.”

I opened the door but paused, my voice came low and cold. “And when the truth comes…”

“…You’ll wish your father never sent you here.”

I stepped out into the hallway. “But it’s too late now, Isla.”

My final words slipped out like a threat.

“You belong to the wrong twin… and I’m not done with you.”