Chapter 3 THE FIRST ENCOUNTER

The house's silence weighs more on my chest than the fear that is already there. Giovanni is currently in the next room, too inebriated to give a damn. I know better than to risk anything, though.

I've been caught in a vicious cycle of broken promises, bruises, and hushed apologies far too often. However, something inside of me explodes tonight.

I doubt it. I shift.

There is a slight smell of alcohol and perspiration in the dark hallway. My heart is racing, panicked and thumping. I carefully avoid making any noise as I reach for the door. As I turn the knob and step out into the chilly night, my hands tremble.

Never have I been so terrified of stillness. I can't remain, though.

Can I go somewhere else?

Across the street is Luca's residence. The window lights hardly move at all. I've never spoken to him or even had a real meeting with him. But he's always there, watching from the shadows behind the curtains.

I have a gut feeling that he might comprehend.

The heels of my shoes snap harshly on the pavement as I go quicker now. If I wake anyone, it doesn't matter to me. If he rejects me, it doesn't matter to me. I need a place to stay.

When I get to Luca's door, my fingers shake. For a long time, I stand there uncertain. Once I knock, there's no turning back.

I have no idea what I am hoping for. Defense? Denied?

I raise my hand.

And I ring the bell before I can stop myself.

The doorbell rings abruptly and sharply. I hesitate for a moment, then force myself to get out of the chair. The silence in the house is uncanny.

I don't receive any visits. No more.

With each stride becoming more strident, I make my way to the door. The weight in my stomach tells me that this is significant, even though my pulse is steady and slow. I have a gut feeling that this will completely alter my life.

I pull it open.

There she is. Isabella. I have been observing this woman for weeks, but we have never had a conversation. Something dark fills her wide-eyed eyes. Fear? Or is it simply the sense of emptiness that results from being alone, uncertain, and broken in a place like this?

She appears so tiny as she stands there. Breathing heavily.

She raises her hand a little, and it trembles, as if she wants to talk but is unsure how.

I begin, but the words fall out of my throat, "What are you?"

Now I can see it. Her eyes, plagued by memories she's too afraid to talk about, the indications that something is broken in her. Her hands were tightly clasped together as if they were clinging to some sort of control.

I'm conflicted.

The knight in shining amour has never been me. I never took the lead.

However, there's a desperate quality in her eyes that appeals to me in a surprising way.

I pause.

Her breath is shaky as she looks at me, and I'm not sure what's going on with me. I've constructed walls of control, distance, and crack.

I step back.

"Enter. For the time being, you're safe here.

The air changes as she enters, becoming heavy and dense with uncertainty. Feeling the consequences of my recent choice, I shut the door behind her.

She is present.

And I'm not sure why.

Perhaps all she wants is a place to hide. In a few hours, she might depart. Or perhaps she's managed to control me and make me feel as though I owe her something.

But I can't help but notice something about her.

I've always avoided close contact. Always. I'm not sympathetic. I don't give anyone my space.

Now, as I stand across from her, I'm not sure what to say or do.

Her wide-eyed gaze darts around my living room. I can see how she draws herself in and how the walls close in around her. I've seen that look before; she's a prisoner in her own skin. I've put it on.

I tell her in a rough voice, "I'm not here to hurt you." The words are not so much for her as they are for me.

She doesn't say anything, but her lips quiver.

I am aware of her fear. The question remains, though: should I send her away? Should I let her go and look for someone else to rely on instead? Should I leave her here instead?

I'm not interested in saving her.

But the idea of her by herself is too much for me to bear.

Before I stop myself, I open the door wider after taking a breath.

"Enter. For the time being, you're safe here.

I'm struggling to keep my composure. I can feel my tears threatening to spill, but I resist them. I can't break down here, not in front of him.

I sit on the couch, my hands gripped in my lap. I've never felt more exposed, more vulnerable.

Luca is quiet, waiting, and observing me. I'm not sure if I should be relieved or concerned when he doesn't ask questions right away.

I take a trembling breath and try to collect myself.

I begin, my voice hardly audible above a whisper, "I don't know where else to go." "I am Giovanni... he is."

I am unable to say it. I am unable to say what he does to me.

Luca narrows his eyes and leans forward a little. I can't find the words, but he's waiting for me to finish.

"Giovanni," I repeat, more firmly this time. "He is causing me pain." physically. In the mind. I'm not sure how long I can continue to live this way.

Thick and suffocating, the words linger in the air.

Luca remains silent for a while. There is something deeper, guarded, and menacing in his eyes when he returns to me after a little period of averting his sight.

He wants to say something, I know. He might be considering sending me away. He might not want to become involved.

However, he doesn't. He merely observes me.

And I feel like someone is looking at me for the first time in a long time.

"I'll keep you safe," Luca adds quietly. However, Isabella, there's something within me. Something sinister.

I shudder.

I'm not sure what he's saying. My heart races, though.

Breathing is difficult near him.

The room is filled with his substantial, hefty presence. I sense the tension building between us, like if something were about to snap.

Unquestionably, there is a pull, similar to gravity. I am drawn to him for some reason. I've always been afraid of being engulfed, yet at the moment, I want to be near him.

He gets up and approaches me gently. He never takes his eyes off mine. It's eerie.

I swallow hard, attempting to regain my composure. Even if he doesn't say anything, I can feel his eyes.

I can smell him now-dark, manly, rich, and dangerous-because he's so close. I am unable to avoid his presence, which permeates every inch of our relationship.

He says, "I'll help you," which is a threat as well as a promise.

There is a brief contact as his hand extends and touches my shoulder. However, it has a brand-like feel.

My hands are shaking, and my heart is pounding. I want to back off, but I can't.

A strange, magnetic force is pulling here.

I have no faith in it. I have no faith in him.

I don't want to go, though.

I hunt for anything in his eyes as I look up. But hunger is all I see.

And anxiety.

I have no idea what I'm getting myself into.

However, I am unable to leave.