5. To night you are mine.

In the soft glow of dawn, Isla lay on the plush bed, her mind spinning with confusion and defiance after the night’s conversation with Dante. He was ruthless and domineering, no doubt — but the fact that he was now set on making her part of his life in such an unimaginable way was nothing short of madness. She clung to the hope that perhaps this was another test, a cruel game to see how far he could push her.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sharp knock on the door, followed by Dante’s head of staff entering with a cool, efficient smile. He was flanked by two assistants, each carrying garment bags.

“Good morning, Ms. Isla,” he said politely, though his expression was unreadable. “Mr. Rossi has sent over these items for you.”

Isla sat up, her gaze darting between the assistants and the rack of clothes they were wheeling in. “What… what is all of this?”

The head of staff simply gestured for the assistants to open the garment bags, revealing an array of dresses and outfits, each one more luxurious and revealing than the last. Rich, dark fabrics shimmered in the morning light — satin, silk, and lace, all meant to draw the eye to every curve. Her cheeks heated as she took in the designs: some with dangerously low necklines, others that clung to her figure, each one a masterpiece of allure.

One of the assistants stepped forward, holding up a striking red dress with a deep V-neck and a high slit. “Mr. Rossi selected these for you himself,” he said, a hint of admiration in his tone. “He was quite specific about what he wanted.”

Isla’s jaw clenched. “I’m not wearing any of this,” she said sharply, folding her arms over her chest. “Tell Dante that I don’t need his… gifts.”

As if on cue, Dante entered the room, his presence as commanding as ever. He raised an eyebrow at her defiance, his dark eyes gleaming with a hint of amusement.

“Isla,” he said, his voice smooth yet firm, “you don’t get to refuse what I’ve given you. These outfits are not a request.”

She met his gaze, anger flickering in her eyes. “I’m not your doll to be dressed up however you want,” she snapped. “I don’t need your clothes, and I certainly don’t need you telling me what to wear.”

Dante’s expression hardened, and he crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps until he was standing right in front of her. He leaned in, his face inches from hers, and she could feel the intensity radiating from him.

“You’re mine, Isla,” he said, his voice low, possessive. “Everything about you — from the clothes you wear to the way you speak — belongs to me now. I decide what you wear, where you go, and who you see. The sooner you understand that, the easier this will be for both of us.”

Her defiance wavered, her pulse racing as his words sank in. There was something both terrifying and intoxicating in his gaze, a mix of power and raw possessiveness that made her feel trapped and yet undeniably drawn to him.

“Why do you care so much?” she whispered, unable to hide the tremor in her voice. “Why does it matter to you what I wear?”

Dante’s gaze softened just slightly, though his hold on her remained firm. “Because I don’t want anyone else looking at you,” he murmured, his voice a dark caress. “Every time someone’s eyes land on you, it’s as if they’re taking something that belongs to me. And I don’t share, Isla. Ever.”

His words sent a shiver down her spine, but she refused to let him see the effect he was having on her. “So you think dressing me up like this will make me yours?” she challenged, her voice stronger than she felt. “Do you really believe that forcing me into these clothes will make me obedient?”

Dante’s lips curved into a smirk. “Obedience can be taught, Isla. I don’t expect you to fall in line immediately, but you’ll learn. And I’m patient enough to wait.”

She felt a surge of frustration, of helplessness, and yet there was a small, inexplicable part of her that was intrigued by the depth of his possessiveness. It was dangerous, it was wrong, and yet she couldn’t deny the spark that ignited every time he looked at her like this.

She glanced down at the red dress the assistant was holding, its bold color and daring cut a stark contrast to anything she’d ever worn before. Reluctantly, she took the dress from his hands, her fingers grazing the luxurious fabric.

“You’re really not going to give me a choice, are you?” she muttered, not meeting Dante’s gaze.

Dante’s hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear in a rare, gentle gesture. “You always have a choice, Isla,” he said softly, his tone almost kind. “But defiance will only bring you suffering. I don’t want to hurt you, but I also won’t tolerate disobedience.”

She looked up, meeting his gaze, her eyes filled with a mixture of anger and resignation. “Fine,” she said quietly, gripping the dress tightly. “I’ll wear your clothes. But don’t think for a second that it changes anything.”

Dante’s smirk returned, a hint of satisfaction in his eyes. “We’ll see,” he murmured. “Now, get dressed. I want you to join me for dinner tonight, and I expect you to look exactly as I envisioned.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned and left the room, leaving her standing there, heart pounding and mind reeling. She stared down at the dress, conflicted by the emotions swirling inside her. She hated the control he wielded over her, the way he made her feel like a pawn in his game — and yet, some hidden part of her couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to truly be his, to surrender to the possessive power that radiated from him.

Later that evening, she found herself standing in front of the mirror, dressed in the scarlet gown that Dante had chosen. It hugged her figure in a way that felt both foreign and strangely thrilling, the fabric soft against her skin. The plunging neckline and high slit made her feel exposed, vulnerable, and yet there was an undeniable allure in the way the dress fit her, as if it had been crafted specifically for her.

The door opened behind her, and she caught Dante’s reflection in the mirror as he entered. His gaze traveled over her, his expression unreadable, but the intensity in his eyes told her everything she needed to know.

“You look… perfect,” he murmured, his voice low, almost reverent. He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to brush her bare shoulder, and she felt a shiver run through her at the contact.

She turned to face him, her heart pounding, a mixture of anger and confusion swirling within her. “Is this what you wanted?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “To turn me into something I’m not?”

Dante’s hand slid from her shoulder to her chin, tilting her face up so that she had no choice but to meet his gaze. “I didn’t turn you into anything, Isla,” he said softly. “This is who you were meant to be — fierce, beautiful, and unbreakable. All I did was show you what you’re capable of.”

She stared at him, unable to look away, captivated by the conviction in his voice. For a moment, she forgot the fear, the anger, and allowed herself to be swept up in the intensity of his gaze, in the dark, possessive power that surrounded him.

He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear, his voice a dark whisper that sent shivers down her spine. “Tonight, you’re mine, Isla. And no one else will ever come close to taking you away from me.”

Isla’s breath hitched, her heart racing as she felt herself drawn into his orbit, trapped between her anger and a longing she didn’t understand. She knew he was dangerous, that he held her in a cage of his own making. But in that moment, as she stood before him in the scarlet dress, she couldn’t deny the pull he had over her — a pull that both frightened and thrilled her.