Isaia: Chapter 32

The Ferrari smooths up the driveway to my house, and when he cuts the engine, the silence is stark.

My heart still pounds from the lingering heat between us, my body thrumming with an energy that has nothing to do with the motion of the car and everything to do with him.

I’ve thanked him for his cum four times tonight, and the submission to his demand felt…natural. Good. Especially when I saw his eyes flash with something dark and primal every time I said it, and the praises he’d whisper into my ear.

It’s like he’s woken something inside me that’s always been there—dormant, silent, waiting…for him.

Isaia turns to me, his dark eyes locking on mine in the dim light, filled with an intensity that makes it hard to breathe.

“You’re quiet,” he murmurs, his tone rich and full of the same unrelenting control that has me teetering on the edge of something I can’t name.

“I’m…processing,” I admit, my fingers nervously twisting the hem of my dress where it pools in my lap.

He leans back slightly, studying me like he’s trying to crack open my mind and sift through its secrets. “Processing what, exactly?”

“You.”

His lips curl into a dangerous smirk, a flicker of satisfaction lighting his eyes. “You’re good at that, aren’t you?”

“Good at what?”

“Overthinking.” He shifts closer, reaching to trace the mark on my neck where he bit me. “I want you lying in bed tonight, wearing nothing but my marks while you think of me. Only me.”

Isaia pulls back just enough to press a lingering kiss to my temple, his hand sliding down to gently squeeze my thigh.

“Go inside, troublemaker,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my skin. “Before I lose my restraint and take you right here in this car, and I’m not sure your body can handle more of me tonight.”

Judging by the dull ache between my legs, the way I’m reminded of what we did on that balcony when I walk, I’d say he’s right.

I swallow, my thoughts racing. “Thanks for not murdering Anthony tonight.”

“It’s a postponement.”

“Isaia.”

He shrugs. “If he values his life and wants to keep breathing, then he needs to stay at least two states away from you at all times.”

I roll my eyes. “You should tone down that possessive setting you’re on, Mr. Del Rossa.”

“Not a fucking chance.”

I open the door and step out into the cool night air. My legs feel like jelly as I walk to the front door, acutely aware of his eyes following my every step.

“Everly?”

I turn to look at him.

“Lock your door.” The way his lips tilt upward just enough to carry an edge of danger, hinting at dark, sultry promises has my heart fluttering in my chest, and I smile as he drives off, hoping like hell he breaks into my house tonight.

I slide my key into the lock and hear Luna bark, but she sounds far. She’s definitely not on the other side of the door. Confused, I walk inside and shut the door behind me, flicking on the light, the sudden brightness making me squint.

“Luna?” I call. “Where are you, Luna-bug?”

My steps falter as I glance toward the kitchen, expecting to see her scrambling toward me like always. But she doesn’t come. The house feels…wrong. Off. Too quiet.

“Everly.”

“Jesus!” I leap back, my heart slamming against my ribs as my hand flies to my chest. “Michele.”

“What would your mother think if she knew you were out with a boy at this ungodly hour?”

Every nerve in my body screams at me to turn and run, but I plant my feet, gripping the back of the chair near the door to keep myself steady.

My voice comes out stronger than I feel, cutting through the oppressive silence. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Michele doesn’t flinch. Instead, he leans back in the chair like it’s his throne, his fingers tapping the armrest with a rhythm that sets my teeth on edge, looking the same as always—impeccable suit, slicked-back hair, and an evil expression that makes my skin crawl.

“Is that any way to greet family?” There’s a mocking smile on his disgusting lips.

“You’re not family,” I snap, venom lacing my words, surprising even myself. “Not anymore. You’re trespassing.”

He chuckles softly, but there’s no humor in it. The sound crawls under my skin like something sharp and cold. “I’d watch that tone, Everly,” he says, adjusting the cuffs of his perfectly pressed suit. “You might forget who you’re talking to.”

“I know exactly who I’m talking to,” I bite out, trembling with barely contained anger as I step closer. My pulse thunders in my ears, but I force myself to meet his icy gaze. “And I want you out of my house. Now.”

Another laugh escapes him, darker this time, dripping with disdain. But it’s his eyes that unsettle me the most—cold, calculating, filled with that unshakable arrogance that comes from knowing he always gets what he wants. And right now, that arrogance is trained entirely on me.

“Your manners haven’t improved, I see. Such a shame.” His gaze sweeps over me, slow and cold, like I’m something unpleasant he’s forced to endure.

Luna whines softly from the hallway, and my glare sharpens. “Where’s my dog?”

“She’s in the bedroom,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Had to put the damn mutt away. She was drooling all over my suit.”

My hands tighten as I fight the urge to throw something at him. “You need to leave.”

“I think I’ll stay,” he replies. “We need to talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Then listen.” His words cut through the air, sharp and commanding. “You’re going to pack your things and return to New York with me.”

My body tenses. “Like hell I am.”

“I’m done playing this game with you, Everly.”

“Finally,” I snap, stepping toward the door and flinging it open. “Because I’ve been over it for years. So, leave, and stay out of my fucking life.”

My chest tightens as he rises from the chair, his movements slow, intimidating, every inch of him radiating control. “You’re going to marry Anthony.” The words are flat, delivered like a decree.

I scoff, bitterness lacing my voice. “You must be confused. Anthony’s actually a good man—something you wouldn’t know anything about. He won’t agree to a forced marriage.”

“You’re leaving with me tonight,” he says, stepping closer, the space between us shrinking with every word. “We’re going back to New York. You’re going to marry Anthony, and you’re going to make him believe it’s what you want.”

A harsh, bitter laugh escapes me. “Anthony won’t marry me if I’m forced into it. He’ll see right through your bullshit.”

“That’s why you’re going to convince him that this marriage is exactly what you want.”

“You’re insane.” My pulse thunders in my ears. “Get out of my house.”

He steps closer, his shadow swallowing the sliver of space I’ve tried to maintain. “You should rethink the way you speak to me. I came here as a courtesy to give you a chance to cooperate.”

The weight of his presence presses down on me, but I stand my ground, my skin crawling under his scrutiny.

“I don’t care what you came here for. I’m not going back to New York, and I’m sure as hell not marrying Anthony.”

His expression hardens into something sinister as he steps closer, his presence swelling until it feels like the walls are pressing in around me.

“You think you have a choice in this?”

The air in the room thickens, every breath like dragging cement into my lungs. Isaia’s warmth is gone, replaced by Michele’s icy control.

“Let me remind you of something—your mother’s health, it’s hanging by a thread.”

Ice floods my veins, freezing me in place, but I grit my teeth and force myself to stay composed. “What are you getting at?”

“She’s already on the fence about treatment.” He tilts his head in that infuriatingly calm way, like he’s explaining something trivial. “You know how uncertain she is. It wouldn’t take much—just one doctor, her doctor—to convince her it’s not worth the fight. To convince her that she should spend her final days in peace.”

The words hit like a hammer to my chest. “You wouldn’t.”

His shrug is maddeningly indifferent, his expression unreadable. “Wouldn’t I? Her doctor works for me, Everly. A few carefully placed words from him, and she’ll be too convinced, too afraid to even consider treatment. And when she refuses, well… that’s the end, isn’t it? She’ll die, and you’ll lose her.”

“No.” The word barely escapes my lips, a whimper more than a protest, as the weight of his threat crushes the breath from my lungs.

Michele steps even closer, his cold eyes locking on mine. “It’s simple. Do what I say, or watch the cancer eat its way through her until there’s nothing left of the mother you so dearly love.”

My body is shaking, my vision blurred with unshed tears, and he’s looking at me like he’s soaking it all up, like his victory is right there, welling up in my eyes. Every bone in my body feels like it’s breaking, and I clamp my jaw shut, forcing the hot rush of emotion down until it churns in my stomach like poison.

“Imagine what it’ll feel like standing beside her grave knowing you could have saved her, but you were too selfish, putting your own life above hers.”

My fists clench at my sides, nails digging into my palms so hard it feels like my skin might break. “You’re a monster.”

“I’m a realist,” he counters. “And you’re going to do as I say. You’ll convince Anthony that marrying him is exactly what you want. Otherwise…” He trails off, letting the weight of his threat suffocate the air between us, and the silence is more chilling than any words he could have spoken.

My legs wobble under me, but I lock my knees, refusing to let him see how close I am to breaking as I spit, “You’re disgusting.”

“You know how this works, Everly,” he says with maddening calm, shrugging as if he hasn’t just dismantled my world. “Sacrifices must be made. The question is, will it be you… or your mother?”

“Don’t do this,” I plead, my voice cracking as tears blur my vision. My chest heaves as I struggle to pull in air that feels too thick to breathe. “Please don’t do this.”

He doesn’t even flinch.

Car headlights sweep across the living room window, cutting through the darkness. Michele glances toward the light and straightens his cuffs with casual precision.

“Our ride is here,” he says like he’s announcing the weather. He steps past me, brushing against my shoulder, his scent making my stomach churn. “You have ten minutes to pack. Don’t make me come back in here.”

I don’t move as he walks away, his words echoing in my mind, sharp and inescapable. My fists are still clenched, my body frozen in place as images of my mother flash before me. If she doesn’t get the treatment she needs, she’ll die. I can already see her tired eyes and frail frame as she slowly fades away. And he won’t care. He doesn’t have a heart; he’s incapable of feeling.

He’s not bluffing. I know enough of my stepdad to know he never fucking bluffs. He’s holding her life in his hands—the key to getting me to do what he wants.

A sob catches in my throat, and I choke it back, but the tears come anyway, slipping silently down my cheeks. I clench my fists so tightly my nails bite into my palms, trying to hold myself together, trying to stop the panic threatening to rip me apart.

This can’t be happening.

Tell me this isn’t happening.

Oh, God. Please.

Dread claws at my chest, tightening its grip with every shallow breath. I can’t think, can’t catch the air I desperately need as the walls of the room press in on me, trapping me in a reality I can’t escape.

My mind races, searching for an answer, a way out, but every path leads to the same suffocating truth—there is no way out. No clever plan. No miraculous savior. Every choice is a trap. If I fight, I lose my mother. If I give in, I lose myself.

I try to focus, to push through the chaos in my head, but it’s impossible. The fear is everywhere now, settling into my chest, curling down into my stomach, and spreading like poison through my veins. It’s sharp and endless, gnawing at the edges of my resolve, and with every second, it eats away a little more.

God, I hate him.

I hate his smug smile, his calm, calculated tone, the way he makes cruelty feel like it’s perfectly reasonable. I hate the way he’s turned my mother into a bargaining chip, wielding her life like a weapon against me.

My hands tremble as I wipe my face, but the tears keep falling, hot and unrelenting. My body feels like it’s caving in on itself, my knees threatening to give out under the unbearable weight of it all.

I force myself to stay upright, trying to get my breathing under control, but the truth floods me. Drowns me.

I can’t win.

He’s already decided how this ends. He always decides.

For the first time, the fight drains out of me completely. There’s no winning this. No more running. No amount of defiance will change the fact that I can’t fight this—not when it’s her life on the line.

I can’t stop it.

I can’t fight it.

It’s over.

“Oh, God.” A sob catches in my throat, and I choke on it, but it spills out anyway, raw and broken.

My knees buckle, and I grab the edge of the chair to steady myself, but the realization is already crashing over me like a tidal wave. It drags me under, pulling me into a darkness I can’t fight.

My freedom, my future, every piece of the life I’ve tried so hard to hold on to—it’s all slipping away, faster than I can grasp it. Wet sand through desperate fingers.

It’s gone. Everything is fucking gone.

This is the moment I lose…

And I can feel it already breaking me.