Chapter 6: Teach Me How To Treat You Better

ISABELLA

THREE DAYS LATER,

Why hasn't he done anything yet? I mean, being bought at an auction, I expected the buyer to be a monster. To do something awful. But this guy? He's done nothing. He's actually... nice. A beautiful room. Abundant food. New clothes. Even a bathtub overflowing with the heady lavender and rose scents and the shimmering, pearlescent lotions. It's so weird. My heart pounds in my chest, and my hands tremble. 

Is this some kind of game? Is he fattening up his prey before... before he pounces?

I closed my eyes and thought that life had delivered a devastating blow: my father had passed away. Even though he was always busy, he never failed to support me. He was always there. Now that he's gone, I feel lost and utterly alone. It's true what they say—people show their true colors when you're no longer useful. That realization cuts deep.

I hadn't realized I'd fallen asleep in the bathtub. Moments later, strong arms lifted me from the warm water. I was numb, my body heavy, my breath shallow. Then, the horrifying truth hit me: I'd almost drowned.

He touched my lips, performing CPR. My eyes snapped open, and I instinctively tried to push him away while my hand fluttered against his chest.

"N-No," I gasped, my voice barely a whisper.

He barked, "Were you trying to kill yourself?!"

I was frozen, unsure how to react. The fact that he'd seen me naked, lifted me from the bath, was deeply unsettling. No one, ever, had seen me like that. We stared at each other, a silent, charged moment. "I wasn't trying to kill myself," I said, my voice tight. "I fell asleep."

His gaze shifted, lingering on my chest as if searching for injuries. I instinctively covered myself, hands flying to shield my body. "W-What are you doing? You pervert."

"Pervert?" he scoffed. He grabbed a towel, enveloping me in its warmth, then lifted me into his arms, laying me gently on the bed. He leaned over me, his voice a low whisper. "You're lucky I'm not the monster you imagined, the one who would take advantage of you."

I sat up on the bed, my cheeks flushed with embarrassment. If not for him, I'd be dead, drowned in that tub. "T-Thank you, Mr. Belluci."

"Dante," he said, not looking at me. "Call me Dante from now on."

"Okay, D-Dante."

He turned on the heater, and his actions were so unexpectedly kind. Could I trust this? Was it pity? Or was he playing the hero, waiting to reveal his true intentions?

"What do you want from me?" I asked, my voice trembling. "Just tell me. I'm tired of guessing. Tired of being used." My voice cracked with each word. Betrayal, loss—it was all too much to bear.

He paused, then turned to face me. His expression was serious, almost dark, but it didn't hide how stunning he was—he made Caspian look ordinary. I let out a quiet breath as he moved closer. He put a hand on the bed, leaning in. I jerked back, eyes wide. "What are you—?"

"I bought you for a reason," he said, his voice low. "I want you to be my bride."

The word hit me like a physical blow. His bride?

“Well, even if I don't want to be your bride... I don't really have a choice, do I? You own me. And I can't go back to where you found me. It was dark and miserable there. It's dark and miserable here too, but... maybe I feel safe with you." I said, my voice barely whispering, trying to be logical.

Three days. Three days and he hadn't done anything monstrous. He'd only saved me. If he wanted me to be his bride, then fine. I have lost everything. I wouldn't lose this. I'd use this opportunity.

I'd make him fall in love with me.

"The Bellucci Hotel. Don't you remember?" he asked.

"What about it?" They owned a chain of those ultra-luxurious hotels, the ones where celebrities and billionaires went to hide.

"That's where I first saw you," he said, a strange half-smile playing on his lips.

"Oh." I gasped as his hand traced the line of my leg.

"You have no idea, Isabella," he murmured, his smile widening.

I raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "No, I don't. If you don't explain, I'll just assume you're a stalker who's been waiting for this moment."

He smirked. "Exactly. You're quite clever, aren't you?"

My eyes grew huge, and a shiver went down my spine. He was utterly serious or a terrifyingly skilled manipulator. I tried to push his hand away, but he stopped, letting go. Then, his hand moved to my neck, his touch feather-light as he traced my jawline. "I'm not trying to frighten you, Isabella. I've been fighting it for three days. I don't know... I don't know how to treat a woman. Will you teach me how to treat you... properly?"

His face hovered inches from mine, close enough to feel his breath on my lips. I desperately tried to pull away, but he mirrored my movement, closing the gap. What does he want? I was paralyzed, unable to muster the strength to push him. He was too imposing. I managed a shaky smile. "Maybe we could try... personal space? You're a little close, Dante. It's not really how you're supposed to interact with a woman. It feels... intimidating. Like you're going to kiss me."

He seemed to snap out of it, pulling back abruptly, swallowing hard, as if fighting to control himself. Control himself from what?

I bit my lip, tightening the towel around me.

He glanced at me. "And then what?"

My eyes widened. He wanted me to teach him. How to treat me. A chance to manipulate him? Tempting.

"And you should never kiss or touch a woman without her consent."

"I'm not that kind of man," he said, his voice low. "But I don't trust myself around you. I might forget myself."

"Forgot self-control?" I repeated, a sardonic smile playing on my lips. He was trying to intimidate me, to play the dangerous predator. But I wouldn't let him. "Then you'll have to learn," I said, my voice steady. "You'll ask. Every time. For everything." I met his gaze, refusing to back down. "Or perhaps," I added, tilting my head slightly, "you're hoping I'll forget mine?"