Bound By Obsession

The Gilded Cage

Matteo didn’t even let me breathe.

One second I was standing between them, two storms about to collide, every eye burning holes through me. The next, his hand clamped around my waist like a lock and he yanked me out. Away from Marco. Away from the whispers. Away from all of it.

The marble floor blurred under my stupid heels. I stumbled, nearly face-planting, but Matteo didn’t stop. He never does. He moved like gravity was his, like nothing could touch him.

And maybe I imagined it, but I swear, I swear, I heard Marco laugh behind us. Low. Mocking. Like he’d just lit the fuse and was waiting for it to explode.

The ballroom vanished with a slam of heavy doors. No music. No flashing cameras. Just a hallway echoing with my heels and Matteo’s silence.

He didn’t look at me. Didn’t say a word. Just dragged me like I was luggage. Oil paintings of old men stared down at me like, pathetic.

Finally, I snapped. “Let go of me!”

He stopped so fast I nearly crashed into his back. His grip turned to iron, pinning me in place as he leaned down, those black-ice eyes catching mine under the gold light.

“Do you have any idea,” he whispered, too quiet, too sharp, “what you just did in there?”

I glared. Shaking, but glaring. “What I did? You dragged me out like, like some purse you didn’t want anyone else touching. You humiliated me!”

His jaw ticked. “No. You humiliated me.”

My back hit the wall. He didn’t even have to push hard. His scent wrapped around me, dark, expensive, suffocating.

“You let Marco touch you,” Matteo said, voice like a blade. “You let him circle you in front of Milan’s elite. Do you know what message that sends?”

My face burned. “I didn’t let him! He talks to me because you don’t. He looks at me because you won’t. He…”

Matteo’s hand slammed against the wall beside my head. I flinched. He didn’t touch me, but his voice cut through me anyway.

“Because he wants me to bleed.” His eyes pinned me. “Don’t mistake his attention for kindness, Isabella. Marco doesn’t want you. He wants to destroy me.”

The words gutted me. Because I knew he was probably right. But some stupid, broken part of me wanted to believe Marco anyway.

It snapped out of me before I could stop it.

“Then maybe I’d rather be a weapon than your prisoner!”

Matteo froze.

His gaze went obsidian, unreadable, terrifying.

He leaned in, lips brushing my ear, voice so low it made my ribs ache. “You are my prisoner. And I decide how long your cage stays locked.”

I shivered. Not because I was scared. Because his voice was a chain and I was already wrapped in it.

His hand grabbed my chin, forcing my head up, his fingers rough against my skin.

“From now on,” Matteo said slowly, like carving the words into me, “you don’t speak to Marco. You don’t look at him. You don’t even breathe in his direction unless I allow it. Do you understand?”

My throat closed. My heart thudded against the walls of my chest.

“And if I don’t?” I whispered.

His lips curved into something sharp, not a smile, not even close. “Then you’ll learn what cages are really for.”

“Am I interrupting?”

Marco’s voice.

I froze. Matteo’s grip went to stone.

Marco strolled down the hall like the king of mischief himself, tux sharp, champagne glass still in hand. Like nothing touched him. His smile was soft. His eyes weren’t.

“Dragging her away in front of everyone?” His voice was light, teasing. A blade in silk. “Not very subtle, even for you, fratello.”

Matteo’s jaw was a locked weapon.

Marco’s gaze flicked to me, softening. “Are you all right, bella?”

My chest twisted.

My lips parted.

I wanted to scream No.

But with Matteo’s hand crushing my side, the word died.

“She’s mine,” Matteo growled, dragging me tighter against him.

The words scorched me alive.

Marco’s smile didn’t budge, but something cold lit in his eyes. “We’ll see about that.”

He raised his glass toward me in a mocking toast and walked back into the storm of the gala, leaving his cologne and his threat hanging in the air.

Matteo shoved me forward. I stumbled, scraping my heels on marble, lungs tight.

The doors opened. Milan’s night hit me sharp and cold. A black car waited at the curb.

The driver opened the door, blank eyes like this was all routine. Matteo pushed me inside, sliding in after me. The leather seats were ice against my shoulders.

Silence. Heavy.

I pressed against the window, watching the city lights smear past. My pulse was still caught between Marco’s warmth and Matteo’s fire.

I wasn’t free.

Not even close.

I was a bird in a cage.

And the worst part?

The cage wasn’t gold.

The cage was him.