Isabella’s POV
I sat there, staring at him, every nerve in my body stretched tight. The dress lay crumpled at my feet, my bare skin exposed to the cold air and his burning gaze. I should have felt ashamed. I should have felt terrified.
Instead, I felt alive.
All the anger, all the betrayal, all the humiliation boiled under my skin like a second heartbeat. I thought about my parents, about the lies they’d fed me my whole life. I thought about Elio, grinning as he whispered Natalie’s name at our wedding, like my dignity was a joke to him.
I hated every single second of it. For once in my life, I wanted to make my own choice.
I wanted to rebel. I wanted to burn it all down.
I lifted my chin and looked him straight in the eye. "I want to sleep with you," I said, my voice steady despite the tremble in my hands.
He didn't move, but his eyes darkened, dragging over me with a slow, heavy intensity that made the air between us thick and electric. He stared at me like he wanted to devour me, like he was weighing whether he should or if it was already too late to stop.
Heat flooded my cheeks, crawling down my neck and across my chest. Doubt flickered inside me, cold and sharp.
Was this a good idea? No. Not even close.
I’d never even kissed a boy properly before. And now I was standing naked in front of a stranger who looked at me like a wolf sizing up a lamb.
He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, and the space between us collapsed. I inhaled sharply, my heart hammering against my ribs. His hand reached out, rough fingers trailing along my jaw, brushing my lower lip. The simple touch made me shiver violently.
I knew then—this wasn’t going to be soft. This wasn’t going to be gentle. This was going to wreck me.
And still—I wanted it.
When his mouth finally crashed down on mine, it wasn’t a kiss.
It was a claim.
His lips were brutal, his teeth catching my bottom lip, pulling a gasp from deep inside me. I gripped his jacket, clinging to him as my body lit up, trembling under the force of him. He kissed me like he wanted to erase everything that had ever hurt me.
By the time he lifted me into his arms, my mind was a blur of heat and hunger. He carried me through the dark hallway, his mouth never leaving mine, each step fanning the fire raging inside me. He kicked open the bedroom door and dropped me onto the mattress, standing over me, breathing hard.
His eyes dragged over me—slow, possessive, burning.
"Are you sure?" he rasped, voice wrecked with restraint. I nodded, my breath catching in my throat.
"Yes," I whispered. "Please." That was all he needed.
He peeled his jacket off, tossing it aside, and the shirt came next. Every hard line of his body was carved like a weapon, all muscle and danger and temptation. He climbed onto the bed, hovering over me like a shadow, a storm.
His mouth found mine again, deeper this time, slower, dragging whimpers from my throat. His hands—God, his hands—explored my body like he had all the time in the world, tracing every curve, memorizing every inch.
When he finally pushed into me, it wasn’t perfect.
It hurt. It burned, but I clung to him, gasping for air against his skin, because the pain was real, and it was mine. The way he moved inside me—deep, rough, desperate—pulled everything apart and rebuilt it new.
I lost track of time.
There was only him. Only the way he shattered me into pieces and put me back together in the same breath. When it ended, I collapsed against the mattress, body trembling, skin slick with sweat. He didn’t say a word. Just lay beside me, one arm slung carelessly across the bed, staring at the ceiling like he could pretend none of this had happened.
I turned my head toward him, my heart still pounding.
"What's your name?" I whispered into the dark.
He didn't look at me.
"Sleep," he muttered, voice rough and distant.
I nodded and listened, despite the ache between my thighs, despite the bruises blooming under my skin, despite the fact that I had just handed my body to a stranger.
I closed my eyes and fell asleep.