Chapter 4 Chains Without Bars
The morning sun crept through the heavy curtains. Isabella blinked against the light, her body stiff from a restless night in the unfamiliar bed. She pushed herself up against the headboard, her body still heavy with exhaustion.m, for one blissful moment, she almost forgot where she was. Then the memory of last night rushed back, the car, the gates, Dante’s cold eyes.
A soft knock startled her from her thoughts. Before she could answer, the door opened, and a woman in her late fifties stepped inside, carrying a neatly folded set of clothes. Her dark hair was tied back in a bun. Her her face softened the moment her eyes met Isabella’s.
“Good morning, dear,” the woman said in a soft tone. “I hope you rested a little.”
Isabella blinked, surprised by the warmth in her voice. “I… tried.”
The woman smiled faintly, setting the clothes at the foot of the bed. “I’m Rosa, I help around the house. Dante asked me to bring these to you. He’s waiting downstairs for breakfast.” she explained.
Breakfast. The word felt strange here, in this place that already felt like a cage. Isabella’s stomach tightened.
Rosa noticed Isabella's worry. She hesitated, then added gently, “Don’t worry, child. He doesn’t bite, at least not without reason.”
Isabella let out a shaky laugh. “That’s not exactly comforting.”
Rosa’s eyes softened, full of quiet pity. She lowered her voice as if sharing a secret. “Then let me say this, he’s strict about time. He hates lateness. Best not to keep him waiting.”
Rosa straightened the blouse she’d placed on the bed, smoothing an invisible crease. “Wear this, tt will fit you. If you need help, call me.”
For the first time since stepping into the mansion, Isabella felt something almost human.
“Thank you,” Isabella whispered kindly.
Rosa gave her a reassuring nod before moving toward the door. “Hurry up a bit.”
Then she was gone, leaving Isabella staring at the clothes, her heart pounding at the thought of what awaited her downstairs.
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Isabella tightened the sleeves of the blouse the maid had handed her and stepped into the vast dining room. Sunlight spilled across the long dining table, the scent of coffee and warm bread drifted in the air, making her empty stomach growl.
At the head of the table sat Dante Moretti, unreadable as ever. He wore a crisp black shirt, sleeves rolled neatly at his forearms, revealing veins and strength in every motion. He didn’t look up immediately, but she felt his awareness sharpen the moment she entered.
Isabella felt herself been drawn into his charms for a moment.
“Sit,” he said smoothly, folding the newspaper in his hand.
Her legs moved before her mind caught up. She slid into the chair opposite him, her hands tightening around the edge of the table. The maid placed a plate in front of her eggs, bread, and fruit but Isabella barely touched it, she didn't have any appetite. She was too aware of Dante, every flick of his gaze, controlled gesture.
“You’re late,” he said at last, breaking the silence. “ You should know that I hate lateness.”
She swallowed. “I didn’t know there was a schedule for eating.”
“There is,” he replied. “My schedule. And now it’s yours.”
His words pressed down on her. She clenched her fork. “Last night you said I belong to you. That you’d tell me my role. I want to know what that actually means.”
Finally, he set his coffee cup down and leaned back, studying her. His eyes were cold, sharp, yet there was a flicker of something else, interest, calculation.
“Belonging to me means your life is no longer your own,” Dante said, his voice low but certain. “You will eat when I tell you. Appear where I tell you. Speak only when it benefits me. Your brother’s debt tied your existence to mine, and now your choices are mine to command.” He poured out mercilessly.
Panic consumed her but she forced herself to look at him. “So I’m your prisoner.”
“Prisoners live in chains,” he said plainly. “You sit at my table, eat my food, and wear my clothes. You are not a prisoner, Isabella. You are mine.”
The words burned. She gripped her fork harder. “And what do you expect me to do? Be some decoration? An obedient shadow that trails after you?”
His lips curved slightly, not quite a smile. “Not just decoration. A symbol. When people see you beside me, they’ll see control. They’ll see that even the stubborn can bend when I demand it. That is power. And I intend to use it.”
Anger flared beneath her fear. “So I’m just leverage.”
“You’re survival,” he countered, his tone turning sharp. “Do you think your brother would still be breathing if I hadn’t found you worth more alive than dead? You kept him alive by surrendering yourself. That makes you useful. Don’t confuse usefulness with weakness.”
Her hands trembled under the table. “And if I refuse to play along?”
Dante leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes locking with hers. “Then the deal ends. And Marco’s blood will stain your mother’s hospital floor before the day is over.”
The room went silent. The only sound was the faint tick of the grandfather clock in the corner. Isabella’s breath caught in her throat. He said it so casually, as if her brother’s life were nothing more than a line on a balance sheet.
“You’re a monster,” she spat out angrily.
“Perhaps,” Dante said, not denying it. He picked up his coffee again, sipping slowly. “But I’m a monster who keeps his word. Remember that.”
For a long moment, Isabella stared at him, fury and helplessness tangling in her chest. She wanted to scream, to throw the glass across the table, to wipe that calm, unreadable look off his face. But she stayed still, her heart pounding. Because beneath all the fear, one truth had already settled inside her like poison:
She had chained herself to Dante Moretti, and he wasn’t going to let her go.
“Eat,” he said again, as though nothing had passed between them. “You’ll need your strength.”
Just then,
A tall figure strolled in, interrupting them, he had broad shoulders, dark hair slicked back, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. His eyes flicked to Isabella, then back to Dante, and that grin deepened into something sharper.
“Well, well,” the man said, voice filled with amusement. “You didn’t tell me we had company at the table, brother.”
