Chapter 3 THE DEVIL'S RULES

CHAPTER 3:

The morning sun broke through the tall windows, golden and soft, completely at odds with the chaos that had become Isabella's life.

She sat on the edge of the massive bed in her silk robe, staring at the ornate walls of the guest suite she'd been locked in since last night. Every detail of the room screamed wealth-gilded mirrors, velvet drapes, and an armoire carved with golden dragons. But it felt more like a prison than a palace.

She hadn't slept. How could she? Dante's words kept playing in her head.

"You're going to be my wife."

She curled her fingers into fists. "Not if I can help it."

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. It creaked open before she could respond.

A woman stepped in-tall, elegant, and wearing red heels that clicked with each step. Her long dark hair was sleek and glossy, lips painted blood-red, and her eyes were the color of venom.

LENA MORETTI. Dante's ex-fiancée.

The woman closed the door behind her with a loud click.

"Well," Lena said, letting her eyes sweep the room before landing on Isabella with icy precision, "you must be the charity case."

Isabella blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I said," Lena repeated, walking closer, "you must be the new toy Dante picked off the street."

Isabella stood slowly. "And you must be the woman he didn't want."

Lena's smirk faltered.

"That mouth of yours," she said coolly, "might have worked on your daddy, but it won't save you here."

"Good," Isabella replied. "Because I don't need saving. Especially not from women clinging to men who already moved on."

Lena's eyes narrowed. "You have no idea what kind of world you've been dragged into, girl. You're in way over your head. Dante isn't the type of man you talk back to."

"Then I guess I'm not your type either."

They stood in silence, two storms waiting to clash. Lena stepped closer, her voice dropping.

"You're nothing more than a debt wrapped in skin. Don't confuse survival with power. And don't get comfortable."

"I'm not staying long enough to get comfortable."

"Oh," Lena said with a mocking laugh, "you think you have a choice."

She turned toward the door, pausing before she left.

"Good luck, little bird," she said with a smirk. "Try not to get eaten."

Dante waited for Isabella in the sunroom, seated on a leather chair beside a crackling fireplace. He wore a crisp black shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms. His watch glinted in the sunlight, and his expression was unreadable.

Isabella was escorted in by one of his guards. She said nothing as she stood before him.

"Sit," he said simply.

"I'll stand," she replied.

Dante raised an eyebrow. "Defiant so early in the day. I almost admire it."

"What do you want from me now?"

"I brought you here to explain the rules," Dante said. "You'll need to understand your place before this arrangement begins."

"My place?" she repeated. "What am I, your pet? Your possession?"

"My wife."

"That's not a title I agreed to."

"You will," he said calmly. "Soon."

Isabella crossed her arms. "Go to hell."

Dante stood and walked toward her, slow and deliberate.

"Rule number one," he said. "You speak when I allow it. This is not a democracy, Isabella. You're here because your father owed me, and now his debt wears your face."

"I'm not a piece of property."

"You are now."

She clenched her jaw. "I won't marry you. I won't let you own me."

"You'll do whatever I say, or your mother suffers. Your choices are simple."

"You really are the devil."

He smiled. "And yet you're still standing here, aren't you?"

"I'm only standing here because you're holding my life hostage."

Dante shrugged. "Motivation is motivation."

She stepped toward him until they were nearly chest to chest.

"I don't care how rich you are. I don't care how powerful. You can drag me to hell, but I will never belong to you."

He looked down at her, unblinking. "You already do."

A silence passed between them-hot, thick, electric.

He was used to women trembling in his presence. Isabella didn't tremble. She blazed.

"You have fire," Dante said. "Most would have broken by now."

"You haven't seen me burn yet."

A flicker of something passed in his eyes-interest? Annoyance? A hint of amusement?

She turned to leave.

"We're not finished," he said.

"I am."

And with that, she walked out.

Isabella stormed down the hallway, her fists clenched at her sides. Rage burned beneath her skin. She had never felt so trapped in her life-and yet every fiber of her being screamed for freedom.

She had to get out. Somehow. Some way.

She wandered the mansion, looking for exits, back doors, any possible way out. But guards stood at every corner, and doors were locked tight. Cameras blinked from the ceilings. Even the windows were reinforced.

She was a prisoner in a palace.

She ducked into a sitting room and sat on the floor, tears burning behind her eyes. She refused to cry in front of him-but here, alone, she could crack.

Only slightly.

"I will get out," she whispered. "Even if I have to crawl through fire."

She thought of her Mom, how she tried to stop Dante from taking her from her house.

That evening, the staff prepared a dinner that could've fed a kingdom. Long candlelit tables, silver cutlery, and a view of the courtyard gardens. But there were only three people seated at the table: Dante, Isabella, and Lena.

Dante sat at the head. Isabella was to his right, Lena to his left. The tension was unbearable.

Lena sipped her wine with practiced ease. "Isabella," she said with a smirk, "did you enjoy your room? I decorated it, once upon a time."

Isabella stabbed a piece of steak. "Felt like a tomb. Fitting."

Dante didn't look up.

Lena tilted her head. "You'll have to forgive her, Dante. She's new. Poor thing's still learning manners."

"I'll forgive her when she learns obedience," he said coolly.

Isabella snapped, "I'm not a dog."

"No," Dante said without missing a beat, "dogs can be trained."

Isabella slammed her fork down. "I'm not doing this."

She stood.

Dante's voice turned to ice. "Sit. Down."

Her legs froze before her pride did. She looked at him, then slowly lowered back into her seat.

He looked at Lena. "Leave us."

Lena scowled, but obeyed.

The room fell into a thick silence.

Dante turned to Isabella. "I don't care if you hate me. I don't care if you fight. But you will follow the rules. You will not leave this house. You will not disobey orders. And you will marry me."

"Why me?" she asked again. "Why not Lena? Why not someone who actually wants you?"

Dante leaned back, expression unreadable. "Because I don't want someone who obeys. I want someone who understands what's at stake-and still stands. You interest me, Isabella. And that makes you dangerous."

She scoffed. "You don't want a wife. You want a war."

"Maybe I do."

Their eyes locked. Neither they blinked, Nor moved.

And then, finally, Dante stood.

"You're free to roam the estate. Guards won't stop you," he said. "But don't try to leave."

"Or what?"

His voice dropped.

"Or I'll break the legs you try to run with."

He walked past her, the scent of his cologne lingering like smoke.

She sat there long after he left, fists clenched, heart racing.