The morning light filtered through the massive windows, casting a soft glow over the bedroom. Isabella lay still, staring at the ceiling, her mind tangled in a storm of emotions. She hadn't slept—not after Ethan's words last night.
"You won't leave."
That wasn't a warning. It was a statement of fact.
Ethan wasn't just controlling. He wasn't just obsessed.
He was certain.
A part of her wanted to fight that certainty, to prove him wrong. To run. But another part of her—the part she refused to acknowledge—wasn't sure she wanted to.
She was trapped in this twisted game between fear and desire.
The door creaked open, and she turned her head, heart pounding. Ethan stood there, looking effortlessly put together in a crisp black shirt and tailored pants. His piercing eyes met hers, and for a moment, the world outside this penthouse didn't exist.
"Good morning, sweetheart," he murmured, stepping inside.
She swallowed hard. "What do you want?"
He smirked. "Breakfast?"
She sat up slowly, watching him with wary eyes. "You expect me to sit and eat with you after last night?"
Ethan sighed, slipping his hands into his pockets. "I expect you to accept reality."
Her fists clenched the bedsheets. "And what is reality, Ethan?"
He took a slow step forward. "That you and I are inevitable."
Her breath hitched. He always spoke like this—with the kind of certainty that made it impossible to argue. Like his words weren't just opinions, but facts.
She shook her head. "You can't force love, Ethan."
He studied her for a long moment, then—unexpectedly—he laughed. A dark, humorless chuckle.
"Love?" He walked closer, stopping right beside the bed. "Who said anything about love?"
Her chest tightened. She had.
She was the fool who had started to wonder if this madness—this obsession—was something more.
Ethan leaned down, caging her in with his arms. His scent surrounded her, a mix of expensive cologne and something inherently him.
"You think love is what keeps me up at night, Isabella?" His voice was soft, dangerous. "You think love is why I can't let you go?"
She swallowed hard, unable to look away from him.
"You're mine," he murmured, his lips just inches from hers. "And that's all that matters."
She hated the way her heart raced. Hated the way her body betrayed her.
But most of all, she hated the terrifying truth buried beneath his words.
He wasn't the only one trapped.
She was, too.
—
The dining table was silent, save for the soft clinking of cutlery against porcelain. Isabella barely touched her food, her mind still stuck on their conversation from earlier.
Ethan, on the other hand, ate with the kind of ease that made her stomach turn. How could he be so unaffected while she felt like she was drowning?
He must have noticed her staring, because he set his fork down and leaned back. "You should eat."
She ignored him. "How long do you plan on keeping me here?"
His expression remained unreadable. "As long as it takes."
Her fingers tightened around the napkin in her lap. "As long as what takes?"
Ethan tilted his head, watching her like she was some unsolvable puzzle. "As long as it takes for you to realize that you don't want to leave."
A sharp laugh escaped her lips. "You're delusional."
He smirked. "Am I?"
She hated him.
She hated him.
So why did her body react every time he looked at her like that?
Why did she feel something dangerously close to understanding when he spoke?
She pushed her chair back abruptly, standing up. "I'm done."
Ethan didn't stop her as she walked away, but his voice followed her.
"I'll be waiting for you, Isabella."
She paused but didn't turn around.
"You'll come back," he continued, his voice dripping with certainty. "You always do."
She forced herself to keep walking.
She had to get away from him.
Or worse—she had to get away from the part of herself that was starting to believe him.
—
The hours stretched on, and Isabella found herself in the library, curled up in a chair with a book she wasn't really reading.
She was exhausted.
Physically, emotionally—she was tired of this battle between them.
Her fingers traced the edges of the page, but her thoughts were elsewhere. She didn't hear him come in, but she felt it the moment he was there.
Ethan didn't speak right away. He stood by the fireplace, watching her in silence.
After a long moment, he finally said, "You can keep fighting me, Isabella, but we both know where this ends."
She exhaled sharply. "I hate you."
He chuckled. "I know."
She turned her head, glaring at him. "Then why do you keep me here?"
Ethan's expression darkened. "Because you're the only thing I can't afford to lose."
The weight of his words settled between them like a storm ready to break.
She should have hated him for saying it.
She should have felt nothing but fear.
But instead, her heart ached in a way she couldn't explain.
Because for the first time, she saw something in Ethan's eyes she wasn't sure he had ever let anyone see before.
Not just possession.
Not just control.
Something dangerously close to need.
And maybe—just maybe—that was the most terrifying thing