Chapter 20: The Breaking Point

Antonio’s anger simmered as he strode through the front door of his home, his mind still swirling from the failed business deal. The cold, calculating plans he had put into place earlier in the day had been destroyed by incompetence. His men had failed him, and the result was a setback that could cost him—both financially and in terms of power.

The weight of it settled heavily on his shoulders as he threw his leather jacket across the coat rack, the sound of it slapping against the wood echoing through the quiet house. His fists clenched by his sides as his frustration bubbled up, threatening to spill over.

His steps were heavy as he walked into the living room, expecting to find Isabella preparing dinner, as she always did. But when he entered the kitchen, the space was eerily quiet. The smell of food was absent, and the stove was cold.

Fury ignited in his chest.

“Isabella!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

He heard her footsteps from upstairs, and a few moments later, she appeared at the top of the stairs. Her eyes widened at the sight of him, and for a split second, she froze, sensing the storm that was about to break.

“Antonio, I—” she started, but he didn’t give her the chance to finish.

“Don’t ‘Antonio’ me!” he roared, his voice sharp with anger. “I come home after dealing with your father’s incompetence and the mess he’s made of my business, and what do I find? A cold kitchen and no food waiting for me! You know what time I come home. You know what’s expected!”

Isabella’s heart thudded painfully in her chest. She had been preoccupied with Luca earlier, trying to calm him after the long day, and she had lost track of time. She had meant to start dinner earlier, but between dealing with the child and the overwhelming exhaustion, it had slipped her mind.

“I—I’m sorry, Antonio,” she said softly, her voice filled with apprehension. “I got distracted. Luca was—”

“I don’t care about your excuses!” he interrupted, his voice like a whip, sharp and cutting. “Do you think I have time for your distractions? Do you think I care about your little ‘moments’ with my son? I demand respect in this house, and this—this lack of preparation is disrespect!”

He advanced toward her, his tall figure looming over her, as if his presence alone could crush her.

Her chest tightened, and she took a hesitant step back. “I’ll start making something now, Antonio. Please, don’t be angry.”

He stopped in his tracks, his gaze hardening as he looked her over, noticing the way she recoiled from him. It only made his anger flare higher. He couldn’t help but see her as a reflection of weakness, a woman who couldn’t even manage to keep his household in order. A woman who had failed to live up to his expectations.

“Start?” he sneered, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Do you think you can just ‘start’ now and make everything right? You know what, Isabella? I don’t care. You’ve made it clear what kind of wife you are. So, you’ll be eating with us tonight. The least you can do is fulfill your role properly.”

Her throat constricted at the words, the reminder of just how far she had fallen into this cruel game he played. The idea that her only value was as a tool to fulfill his needs—his desires—felt suffocating.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, unable to say anything more as she lowered her gaze.

Antonio stepped past her, heading toward the living room where Luca was playing. The boy had heard the commotion and was looking up at his father with wide eyes, confused by the tension that hung in the air. Antonio’s heart hardened at the sight, but he quickly masked his emotions. He had no time for feelings, not when he was caught in the whirlwind of power and control.

“Luca,” Antonio called out in his usual commanding tone, his eyes narrowing as the boy came closer. “What’s wrong with you? You’re a big boy now, aren’t you? Why didn’t you tell your mother that dinner wasn’t ready?”

Luca, still small and innocent, blinked up at his father with confusion. “I didn’t know, papa...”

Antonio’s anger flared at the innocent response, and without thinking, he raised his voice again. “Well, you should have known! It’s not difficult to see what’s happening around here. Do I need to remind you that this is *your* home, Luca? You don’t have to be clueless. Act like you belong here.”

Isabella flinched, her heart aching as she watched the exchange. She saw the boy’s face fall, his smile slowly fading as the weight of his father’s words settled on his small shoulders.

“Antonio, please,” Isabella said, stepping forward, her voice trembling as she tried to intercede. “He’s just a child—he doesn’t understand—”

Antonio turned sharply to face her, his eyes flashing with anger. “Don’t defend him, Isabella. *He* is part of the problem too. You’re raising him to be weak. Do you think I can afford to be weak? That’s not how this world works!”

Luca looked from his father to Isabella, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Papa... Why are you angry?”

Antonio’s gaze softened for just a moment, and he looked down at his son. The vulnerability in Luca’s eyes threatened to pull at something deep inside him, but he quickly pushed it away. He wasn’t going to let the boy get to him. Not now.

“Go to your room, Luca,” he said sharply, his voice less harsh than before. “I need to speak to your mother.”

The little boy hesitated but obeyed, his small feet padding across the floor as he walked out of the room.

Once Luca was gone, Isabella stood there, her hands clasped tightly together, her heart pounding in her chest. She had no idea what to say, how to calm him down. It seemed like no matter how hard she tried, she was always walking on eggshells around him.

“You think you can just apologize your way out of everything, don’t you?” Antonio’s voice broke through her thoughts, his words dripping with disdain. “You think you can smile and play the part of the sweet, obedient wife, and I’ll forget everything? That I’ll just ignore the fact that you can’t even do the simplest tasks properly?”

Isabella opened her mouth to respond, but the words didn’t come. She didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to defend herself anymore. She had tried, hadn’t she? Tried to keep things together, tried to keep the peace for Luca, but it was never enough for Antonio.

“No,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I’m sorry.”

Antonio took a step toward her, his shadow falling over her, as if he was trying to loom over her completely. His presence was suffocating. “Sorry doesn’t fix this. Sorry doesn’t fix your incompetence. Sorry doesn’t bring me what I need.”

Isabella swallowed hard, the tears stinging at the back of her eyes. She wasn’t sure what hurt more—the way he treated her or the fact that he didn’t even seem to care. She was nothing more than an object, a vessel for his anger and control.

“I’ll do better, Antonio,” she said softly, willing herself to look him in the eye. “Please, I’ll do better.”

Antonio’s expression remained cold, unreadable. “You better. Because if this continues... there will be consequences.”

His words lingered in the air, chilling her to the core.

He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving her standing there in the dimly lit hallway, her heart heavy with the knowledge that no matter what she did, it would never be enough for him.

The evening sun had barely dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the living room. The air was thick with tension, a storm of emotions brewing behind Antonio's steely gaze. Isabella lay over his lap, her heart pounding in her chest as she braced herself for what was to come. Her breath hitched as his large hand hovered above her bare buttocks, the heat from his palm radiating through the thin fabric of her dress.

"Antonio..." she whimpered, her voice trembling. "I tried my best, I really did."

He didn't respond immediately, his fingers twitching with restrained fury. He had warned her multiple times about the importance of timely meals for their son, but tonight, it had been twenty extra minutes of hunger, and there would be no leniency. His hand came down with a resounding slap, the sound echoing off the walls like a gunshot.

Isabella cried out, tears springing to her eyes as the sting radiated across her skin. "It was the potatoes," she sobbed. "They took longer than expected, and I couldn't get them done in time."

Another smack landed, harder this time, making her whole body jolt. "You know how important it is to me that he eats on time," Antonio growled, his voice low and dangerous. "You failed him, Isabella."

She shuddered under his touch, her face pressed against the cool leather of the couch. "I'm sorry," she whispered, each word laced with anguish. "I didn't mean to let you down."

His hand paused briefly, the hesitation only serving to heighten her anxiety. "This isn't about letting me down," he said finally. "This is about discipline, about responsibility. You need to learn."

Without further warning, his hand descended again, and again, each strike more punishing than the last. Tears streamed down her face as she clenched her fists, trying to endure the pain without losing control entirely. The spanking continued relentlessly, each blow driving home the gravity of her mistake.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Antonio slowed, the intensity of his strikes diminishing. He remained silent, allowing her to catch her breath, to process the punishment she had received. She could feel his heavy breathing beneath her, his anger still simmering just beneath the surface.

"Please," she begged softly, her voice cracking. "I won't let it happen again."

He sighed deeply, his hand resting lightly on her now-reddened skin. "We'll see," he muttered, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Now, stand up."

Isabella hesitated, the movement painful as she tried to extricate herself from his grip. She slowly rose to her feet, wincing as she adjusted her dress to cover her throbbing backside. Her eyes met his, filled with a mixture of fear and shame.

"Go to your room," he instructed, his voice cold and final. "And think about what you've done."

She nodded meekly, her legs feeling like jelly as she turned to leave. Each step sent a fresh wave of discomfort through her body, reminding her of the consequences of her failure. As she reached the doorway, she looked back at him one last time, hoping to find some glimmer of warmth in his eyes, but all she saw was the hard, unyielding mask of authority he wore so well.

Her bedroom door clicked shut behind her, and she collapsed onto the bed, her body shaking with sobs. The evening had started with such promise, yet now it was marred by pain and regret. She knew she deserved the punishment, but it didn't make it any easier to bear. As she curled up into a ball, clutching a pillow to her chest, she silently vowed to do better, to prove to Antonio that she was worthy of his trust—and maybe, someday, his love.