Chapter 5 No One Tells Me No

Bella's POV

I wake to the feeling of being watched.

My eyes flutter open and there he is, Dante, Sitting in a chair beside the bed like some kind of dark guardian angel who forgot the angel part. The early morning light from the window cuts across his face. He's still wearing yesterday's clothes but his suit jacket is gone and his shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows.

He looks tired but dangerous. Yet, beautiful in a way that makes my stomach flip. Did he not sleep all night?

I sit up too fast and the room spins. "I am sorry. I did not mean to oversleep. What time is it? I should-I can clean. I will clean the house and make breakfast and-"

The words tumble out before I can stop them because this is what I do. This is what I have always done. Wake up early, clean the house, make breakfast for Father and Elena and Clara before they even open their eyes. Scrub the floors until my knees ache. Wash dishes until my hands are raw. Stay quiet and useful and maybe, maybe they will not look at me with that expression that says I am a burden they wish they could discard.

I swing my legs off the bed and stand. "I will start with the kitchen. Do you take coffee or tea? I can make both. I am sorry, I should have asked last night what you-"

"Stop."

His voice cuts through my rambling like a knife. I freeze halfway to the door.

"You are not a servant here, Isabella."

I turn to look at him. He has not moved from the chair but something about his posture has changed. More alert. Like a predator that just noticed its prey trying to run.

"I do not understand."

"You are my wife. Not my maid."

The words sound strange. Foreign. Like he is speaking a language I should know but do not.

"But I need to-someone has to clean and cook and-"

"I have staff for that." He stands and the chair scrapes against the hardwood floor. The sound makes me flinch. "You will not clean my house. You will not cook my meals. You will not act like a servant in your own home."

Your own home. The words echo in my head but they do not make sense. This is not my home. This is a prison that looks like a palace.

"Then what am I supposed to do?" The question comes out smaller than I intended.

He walks toward me and I have to fight the urge to back away. He stops close enough that I have to tilt my head back to look at him. Close enough that I can smell his cologne mixed with something darker. Whiskey, maybe. And cigarette smoke.

"You are supposed to obey me." His voice is low and rough like gravel. "There are rules, Isabella. You will learn them now."

My heart hammers against my ribs. "What rules?"

"First. You do not leave this estate without me. Not to visit friends. Not for any reason. Do you understand?"

I nod because what else can I do?

"Second. You do not contact your family without telling me first. I will decide when and how. No surprises."

Something cold slides down my spine. "But my mother is sick. I need to know if she-"

"She is receiving the best care money can buy. I told you that. You will not contact them."

"That is not fair. I just want to know she is okay. I just want to-"

"Third rule." He steps closer and I back up instinctively. My spine hits the wall. I am trapped between expensive wallpaper and six feet four inches of muscle and menace. "You will attend all public events as my wife. You will smile. You will be gracious. You will play the doting wife, and you will make everyone believe you are happy to be married to me."

"I am not happy." The words slip out before I can stop them.

His eyes darken. "I do not need your happiness, Isabella. I need your obedience."

I should stay quiet. I should nod and agree and make myself small the way I always do. But something about being caged against this wall with this man who married me without even pretending to care makes something crack inside my chest.

"You cannot just lock me away and expect me to smile about it."

"I can do whatever I want. You signed the papers, remember?"

"I signed because you threatened to kill my family."

"Yes. I did." He says it like he is commenting on the weather. Like threatening to murder people is just another Tuesday for him. Which it probably is. "And now you belong to me. That means you follow my rules."

His face inches clos, his lips just an inch from mine. He is so close I can feel the heat radiating off his body. So close I can see the flecks of darker gray in his storm-cloud eyes. For a second I think he'll close the space between our lips so I turn my face away.

He makes a sound that might be a laugh but has no humor in it. "Look at me when I am speaking to you."

"No."

The word comes out as a whisper but it might as well be a shout. His whole body goes still.

"What did you say?"

"I said no." I force myself to meet his eyes even though every instinct screams at me to apologize and look away. "I do not want to look at you."

For a moment I think he might actually hurt me. His jaw clenches and something dangerous flashes across his face. Then his mouth curves into something that is not quite a smile.

"You do not seem to understand that you are now my wife... and that means I own you. Every part of you."

He leans in, his breath brushing my cheek. "So if I want to kiss you, Isabella, I can."

My breath catches. "What?"

"You heard me." He leans in until his mouth is inches from mine. Until I can see the stubble along his jaw and the way his eyes have gone darker. "I own you now, Isabella. Every part of you. Including this."

His thumb brushes across my lower lip and I jerk back but there is nowhere to go. I am already pressed against the wall.

"Do not." My voice shakes but I force the words out anyway. "Do not touch me like that."

"Like what?" His hand slides from my face down my neck, fingers trailing along my collarbone, down to my chest, dangerously close to the swell of my breast. "Like you are mine?"

"I am not yours. I am just-I am trapped here because you gave me no choice."

"You always had a choice." His hand drops away but he does not step back. "You could have let your family die. You could have walked away. But you did not."

"Because I am not a monster like you."

Something flickers across his face. Anger, maybe. Or something that looks almost like respect.

"No. You are not." His gaze drops to my mouth again and I see him track the way I press my lips together. The way my breath comes faster. "But you will learn to be if you want to survive in my world."

I shake my head. "I do not want to be in your world. I just want-"

"It does not matter what you want." He reaches past me and I think he is going to cage me in completely but instead his hand lands on the wall beside my head. "You are in my world now. My house. My bed. My wife."

"I did not ask for any of this."

"Neither did I." For just a second, something raw flashes across his face. "But here we are."

The way he says it makes me pause. Like maybe he is as trapped as I am. But that is ridiculous because he is the one with all the power. He is the one who forced me to sign those papers.

I try to slide away from him but he catches my wrist. His fingers wrap all the way around it with room to spare. He could break me so easily. But his grip is not tight. Not painful. Just firm enough to keep me in place.

"Where do you think you are going?"

"Away from you."

"That is not an option." He pulls me closer instead of letting me go. "You are my wife. That means you stay where I put you."

"I am not a possession you can just-"

"Yes. You are." His free hand slides to my waist and suddenly I am very aware of how thin my nightgown is. How his palm burns through the fabric, and my body reacts in a way it has never done before. My nipples harden, goosebumps dot my skin. The reaction is dizzying and confusing.

"You signed yourself over to me, remember? Body and soul."

"The contract did not say anything about my soul."

"No. But I am taking it anyway."

The words should terrify me. They do terrify me. But underneath the fear is something else. Something hot and wrong that makes my face flush.

He notices. Of course he notices. His eyes drop to my neck where I know my pulse is hammering visibly.

"You are afraid of me."

"Yes."

"Good." His thumb traces slow circles on my hip and I hate that my body reacts. That heat pools low in my stomach. "You should be."

"Then let me go."

"No." He leans in until his mouth brushes my ear. "I am going to keep you, Isabella. And one day you will stop fighting me."

"Never."

"We will see." His hand slides lower, fingers catching the hem of my nightgown. "But first, you need to understand something."

My breath stops. "What?"

"No one tells me no." His fingers trace the outside of my thigh through the thin fabric. "Not my enemies. Not my men." His hand slides higher and my entire body locks up. "And definitely not my wife."

"Stop." I try to twist away but his grip on my wrist tightens just enough to keep me still. "Do not do this."

"Do what? Touch what belongs to me?" His hand slides higher still, pushing the fabric up my leg. "You are mine, Isabella. Every inch of you."

"No. Stop. Please-" Panic claws up my throat and I do the only thing I can think of. I turn my face completely away from him and squeeze my eyes shut. "Please do not do this. Please."

His hand stops. Just stops completely.

The silence stretches so long I think maybe I have broken something. Then he makes a sound that might be a curse and steps back. The loss of his heat feels like being doused in ice water.

I open my eyes to find him staring at me with an expression I cannot read. Anger, yes. But something else too. Something that looks almost like frustration. Or regret.

"Get dressed." His voice is hard. Controlled. "We have a long day ahead." And then he's gone.