Isabella’s POV
That night, I sat on the edge of the massive bed in the suite Alessio had assigned me. The room, with its plush rugs and golden sconces, was a prison disguised as luxury. The air was thick, suffocating. I hated it.
I hated all of this.
Death hovered over my life like a shadow. My father’s debt, the constant fear, the way Alessio played me like a puppet on strings—none of it felt real. Yet here I was, trapped in his mansion, begging for scraps of control, and losing what little I had left of myself.
The tears burned at the back of my throat, but I refused to cry again. The shower earlier had drained me. Crying wouldn’t fix anything.
I kicked off my shoes, the soft thud barely registering as I stared at the ornate mirror hanging on the wall. My reflection mocked me—eyes p
