Chasing Eternity: Bound Forbidden Devil

Isabella Greco's POV

Isabella’s heels clicked sharply against the cold marble of the Ricci mansion. She could feel the weight of her decision pressing on her like the air in his icy office. Alessandro Ricci — her soon-to-be husband and the devil himself, according to rumors that filled whispers across the city. It was more of a sentence than a wedding, signed and sealed with legalese and terms colder than winter.

She’d worked cases tougher than this man. Or so she’d thought.

“Sign here,” his voice, deep and calm as it cut through the silence, sent a chill along her spine.

Her gaze lifted to his face, a study in stoic elegance: those dark eyes locked onto hers like a loaded gun, daring her to make the first move. “What exactly am I signing up for here?” Her question was laced with sarcasm, a desperate attempt to mask the anxiety pricking her insides.

“Marriage, bella,” he murmured smoothly, folding his hands and leaning forward with a smirk. “A contract. Obedience.” He placed a heavy emphasis on the last word.

Isabella’s heart pounded at the challenge glinting in his eyes. “So, marriage is a contract to you?” She threw the question back, trying to meet him with the same intensity.

“A contract,” he affirmed. His smile widened, dark and knowing. “One you’ll honor... with your full attention, commitment, and submission. Every. Single. Day.”

She had to look away, her palms sweating. This was her choice, and she couldn’t afford a mistake now. She signed, her name like a final stamp on her soul. Isabella Greco, bound in ink and obligation to Alessandro Ricci.

Alessandro’s hand was cold as steel as it wrapped around her wrist, pulling her closer until she felt his breath brush her ear. “Call me Daddy.”

Her heart stilled. It wasn’t the command itself but the tone that sent a shiver through her, low and expectant, like he knew he held her fate in the palm of his hand.

She hesitated, the word caught in her throat. “I… can’t.”

“Oh, you can,” he whispered, his fingers brushing the collar around her neck he’d insisted she wear, a reminder of her place. “And you will. Because this, Isabella… this is what you agreed to. Every time we’re alone, you’ll address me properly. No exceptions.”

Her cheeks burned with fury, humiliation, and—God help her—a glimmer of forbidden thrill.

“Say it,” he prompted, the command harder, colder. A sharp reminder of her place in his world.

“…Daddy,” she breathed, barely audible, barely herself.

“Good girl,” he replied, satisfaction rich in his tone. His words settled over her, making her feel more exposed than her career ever had. She hated that she liked it.

Isabella stood by his side at an evening gala, her mind a whirl of conflicting thoughts. She had known what she’d signed up for—control, obedience, submission to his every whim—but being by his side in public was something else entirely. It was a strange mix of ownership and isolation. In every way that counted, she was his, and yet he didn’t even look at her the way he did his fleeting conquests.

Across the room, a woman laughed a little too loud at something Alessandro said, a hand grazing his shoulder. She saw it in his eyes—calculated indifference, mixed with the thrill of power. That cold side of him she couldn’t quite grasp, and it twisted something inside her.

“It’s just business,” he murmured in her ear when he returned. “Don’t get attached to illusions.”

“You mean don’t get attached to you,” she fired back quietly, hiding the hurt in her voice.

His smirk was infuriatingly calm. “Don’t confuse control with caring, Isabella. I own you, nothing more.”

The words stung, yet a part of her rebelled against them, unwilling to back down. “You think I’m so easy to break?”

“Not easy. Just inevitable,” he countered, his gaze piercing. And she knew he believed it, knew that in his world, breaking her would only prove his power.

Back at the mansion, she was left alone in his room, bound by his rules and the silence that filled the walls. Her thoughts were a mess. His touch was still warm on her skin, the harsh reality of his words clashing with the tenderness he sometimes slipped into without realizing it.

She lay there, the collar around her neck heavy with a different meaning now. This wasn’t love; it wasn’t freedom. This was a dark agreement, a game that spun between pain and a twisted pleasure she couldn’t help but crave.

“Isabella,” his voice echoed from the door.

She looked up, pulse racing at his approach. He held a glass of whiskey, his gaze unreadable as he studied her, the perfect blend of mystery and raw power.

“You’re here because you want this,” he stated, more of a fact than a question. “And no, I don’t think you’ll leave. Not even when you finally figure out what I am.”

She met his eyes, wanting to deny it, but the truth lodged in her throat. She wanted to break free, wanted to hate him, yet every inch of her was tangled in this dangerous game they played. It was a battle of wills, and she wasn’t sure who was winning.

“Or maybe you’re just too afraid to admit it,” he added, with that dark smile she’d come to know.

He leaned down, close enough that she could feel the heat of him, his breath ghosting along her cheek. “Tomorrow, Isabella. You’ll learn exactly what it means to belong to me.”

And with that, he left her in the dark, the weight of his promise a shackle she couldn’t escape.

Isabella lay there, feeling the emptiness of the room close around her. Tomorrow? The way he’d said it felt like a dare, a promise, and a threat all at once. The darkness seemed to stretch on forever, and for the first time, she felt a true, bone-deep fear of what she’d just signed away.

Her mind raced with unasked questions, but only one thought was clear: What would tomorrow bring?

The door clicked shut, and she was left to wonder—was she ready to find out?