Chapter Seventeen: The Awakening

Isabella slowly blinked her eyes open, her surroundings unfamiliar. The softness of the bed beneath her felt almost surreal, the plushness unfamiliar to the bare, stark, minimalist furniture of the safe house she had been hiding in just hours ago. She couldn’t make sense of what was happening, her mind fogged by confusion, sleep, and the lingering disorientation of being torn from one place to another in such a short span of time.

She was lying in a large, luxurious bed. The faint scent of leather and expensive cologne hung in the air, a smell she hadn’t been accustomed to, especially not after the sterile scent of the safe house. The sheets she was tucked in were soft and smooth, much finer than anything she’d ever encountered. Her body still felt warm, though her skin was covered in goosebumps, the chill of uncertainty creeping over her like a cold fog.

Her eyes fluttered open, her lashes brushing the soft fabric of the pillow. The soft light from the room's overhead chandelier bathed the space in a dim, warm glow. The room had an air of opulence and power—antique furniture, marble floors, thick velvet curtains that shielded the outside world, and gold-framed paintings on the walls. None of it felt right, none of it felt like it belonged to her.

And yet, she felt an undeniable tension, an undercurrent of danger in the air—something she couldn’t place, but that sent a chill through her body.

She tried to sit up but quickly noticed that her legs were tangled in soft sheets, making it difficult to move easily. Her hands reached instinctively for the bed frame to steady herself, her fingers gripping the cold, polished wood. As she gathered herself, a deeper confusion settled in. How had she gotten here?

The last thing she remembered was falling asleep in the safe house. The dark, modest room with its dull walls and simple bed where she had felt a sense of isolation and fear, yet comfort. But this place? It didn’t feel safe. It didn’t feel like a refuge.

Her head felt heavy, and her thoughts raced to make sense of the situation. Her father. Yes, that was it. Her father had sent her there, told her to hide away for a while, to stay safe. But why wasn’t she there anymore? What was happening?

She looked down at her clothes and froze. She was still in the same attire as when she had fallen asleep—her white silk shorts and a thin spaghetti-strap top. The light fabric brushed against her skin, too light for the cold she suddenly felt running through her veins. A soft sigh escaped her lips, a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Her gaze darted nervously around the unfamiliar room, her heart thudding in her chest.

And that’s when she saw him.

Antonio.

He was standing in front of her, tall and imposing, his back to her as he gazed out the window. His broad shoulders were tense, his dark hair tousled as if it had been raked through with a hand at some point during the night. His usual suit jacket was discarded somewhere, his sleeves rolled up to expose the powerful muscles of his forearms. He was dressed in nothing but a crisp white shirt, the top button undone, the sleeves rolled up to reveal the tattoos she hadn’t noticed the last time they had met. Tattoos that seemed out of place, like a hidden part of him that she wasn’t meant to understand.

Her heart skipped a beat as she felt a knot tighten in her stomach. She hadn’t been prepared to see him like this. Her chest tightened with anxiety. What was he doing here? What did he want with her?

Before she could gather her thoughts or make sense of anything, Antonio slowly turned around to face her. His piercing, dark eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment, the world felt still. Her breath caught in her throat, and she instinctively pulled the sheets tighter around her body, as if they could shield her from his gaze.

He didn’t say anything. His expression was unreadable—cold, distant—but there was an edge to it, something sharp that made Isabella feel vulnerable and exposed.

“Antonio…?” she whispered, the name foreign on her lips as she stared at him. Her voice shook slightly, and she couldn’t hide the confusion in her gaze.

He didn’t speak at first. His eyes traced her form, lingering for a moment longer than necessary. And in that moment, Isabella felt as though he was seeing through her—everything she was, everything she wasn’t.

Finally, after a long silence, Antonio spoke, his voice low and smooth, like dark velvet. “So, you’re awake.”

Isabella frowned, her stomach churning with unease. “What’s going on? Where am I? Why am I here?”

His lips twisted slightly, a smile, but it wasn’t a friendly one. He took a step forward, his boots clicking softly on the polished floors, and the small sound echoed louder than it should have. It sent another tremor down Isabella’s spine.

“You’re in my home,” Antonio said, his tone flat, yet there was an underlying menace that made her skin crawl. “You’re here because you belong here now. And whether you want it or not, this is where you’ll stay.”

Isabella’s pulse quickened. The words didn’t make sense, and they didn’t feel right. The overwhelming sense of power in his voice, the way he said it, like it was an undeniable fact that left her with no choice.

She opened her mouth to protest, to demand answers, but he raised a hand to silence her.

“No more questions,” he commanded, his voice sharp, commanding. “No more running. No more hiding.”

Isabella’s heart raced as her hands clenched the sheets tighter. She was afraid. She was confused. And she had no idea what was happening to her life. “You can’t do this,” she said, her voice shaky. “I want to go home.”

He stepped closer, and the air around them seemed to thicken. “Home?” he asked with a small, dark laugh. “This is your home now, Isabella. You’ll learn to accept that. You’ll learn what it means to be mine.”

Isabella blinked rapidly, unable to comprehend his words. “You’re insane,” she spat. “I’m not your property. I won’t stay here.”

Antonio’s gaze darkened, his jaw tightening as he approached her, stopping just a few feet away. “You don’t get to choose,” he said coldly, his eyes flashing with something dangerous. “You never had a say in this. And you never will.”

Her breath caught in her throat as she stared up at him, a mixture of disbelief and fear swirling in her chest. He was serious. She could see it in his eyes—how cold he was, how detached from any emotion but control. She didn’t know what to make of it.

“I don’t understand,” Isabella murmured, almost to herself, feeling helpless. “Why? What do you want from me?”

Antonio leaned down, his face now mere inches from hers. His breath was hot against her skin, and Isabella had to fight the urge to pull away. “What do I want from you?” he repeated, his voice a soft whisper that felt like a threat. “I want you, Isabella. I want you to be mine, in every way possible. And there’s nothing you can do to change that.”

Her heart thudded in her chest, her body tensing as a wave of panic washed over her. This wasn’t what she had expected. This wasn’t anything like she had imagined. How had it come to this?

Antonio straightened up, looking down at her with a cold, indifferent gaze. He didn’t seem to care that she was trembling, that she was terrified. To him, it was all part of the plan.

“This is your life now,” he said, his voice final. “This is the life you’ll live from now on. And don’t bother trying to escape. There’s nowhere to go. You belong to me.”

Isabella’s mind raced as his words sunk in. She wanted to scream, to fight, but she knew better. She was trapped. There was no way out. Her father, her own flesh and blood, had put her in this position—he had led her straight into the lion’s den.

And now, there was nothing she could do but accept the reality of her situation.

A soft sob escaped her lips as the gravity of it all sank in. She was helpless. She had no choice.

Antonio had won.