His Confession
419 Words
Chapter Six – His Confession
The silence in Suite 1703 was dangerous.
It pressed against Isabella’s chest, filled every corner of the room, tangled with the scent of wine and Matteo’s cologne—leather, smoke, something dark and unnameable.
She forced herself to speak. “Why me?” The words slipped out softer than she intended, betraying the tremor in her heart.
Matteo set his glass aside, eyes never leaving hers. “Because you’re mine.”
The simplicity of it stole her breath. No hesitation, no explanation—just certainty, as though the universe itself had etched those words in stone.
Her laugh came shaky, nervous. “You don’t even know me.”
“Oh, Isabella.” He stepped closer, close enough that her pulse hammered in her throat. “I know more than you realize. Your favorite perfume. The way you bite your lip when you’re restless. How you walk faster when you’re trying not to cry.”
Her blood chilled. “You’ve been watching me.”
“Yes.” He said it without shame, without apology. “For months. From the moment I saw you, I knew. You carry the face of a ghost I once lost. Do you understand what that does to a man like me?”
His voice darkened, threaded with something dangerous, something aching. “It makes him willing to burn the world to keep her.”
Isabella’s chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. A sane woman would have fled, screamed, called the police. But she couldn’t move. His words, his presence, held her captive. And deep inside, where she dared not admit it—even to herself—she didn’t want to move.
“Matteo…” Her voice broke around his name, fragile yet trembling with something that wasn’t quite fear.
He reached out then, at last, his fingers grazing her jawline, tilting her face to his. The touch was reverent, almost gentle, but the fire behind it was undeniable.
“I will not hurt you,” he whispered, eyes blazing. “But I will not let you go. You will fight me. You will hate me. And still, you will be mine. One way or another, Isabella, you belong to me.”
Her lips parted, but no words came. The room pulsed with silence again, thick and suffocating, until she managed the smallest breath.
“You don’t get to decide that,” she whispered.
Matteo’s lips curved, but it wasn’t amusement—it was victory. “Fate already decided.”
- Writer
