Chapter 5 – No Escape
1225 Words
Amara hadn’t slept properly in days. Every time she closed her eyes, Dante’s silver-gold gaze haunted her. Every sound in her dorm room made her jump, every shadow seemed to move with predatory intent. And worst of all, her stomach betrayed her, twisting into a subtle but undeniable ache whenever she thought about the missed period, the secret she could not yet admit.
She had tried to avoid him. Changed her routes, avoided her usual haunts, even skipped classes she could. But it was useless. Dante Moretti did not tolerate absence.
The text came just as she was making a late-night cup of tea.
“Come to my office. Now. Don’t be late. And don’t think about lying to me.”
Her hands shook as she grabbed her coat. The words were not a request. They were a command. And deep down, she knew she would obey.
---
By the time she reached Dante’s penthouse, she was trembling—not from the cold, but from the knowledge that whatever happened next, she would not have control.
He met her at the door, tall, imposing, radiating danger and dominance. His gaze swept her over like a hunter evaluating prey. “You look… tense,” he said softly, but the threat in his voice was palpable. “Why? What are you hiding, Amara?”
Her stomach knotted. She wanted to lie. She wanted to run. But the truth hovered at the edge of her lips like a knife.
“I… I… nothing,” she stammered.
He took a step closer, closing the distance between them. The air between them was electric, charged with need, obsession, and authority. “Do not lie to me,” he growled. “I can feel it. I can always feel it. One glance, one heartbeat… and I know everything. You belong to me, and I will not be ignored.”
Her breath hitched. He was right. She could not hide from him, not mentally, not physically, not emotionally. He had already claimed her in every way that mattered.
---
Dante led her to his private study—a room dimly lit by soft amber lamps, walls lined with books and rare artifacts. It smelled of leather, expensive cologne, and something darker, something dangerous. He closed the door behind them, then finally let his hands drop to her waist, firm, possessive.
“You can’t keep secrets from me,” he murmured. “Not after what’s happened. You belong to me. And I will find out everything.”
Her heart pounded. She tried to step back, but he tightened his grip. “Dante… I—”
“You don’t get to speak,” he said sharply, pressing her against the desk. His lips found hers in a kiss that was demanding, raw, and impossible to resist. “Do you feel it? Do you feel how impossible this is? You tried to hide from me. You can’t. You will never escape me.”
She gasped into the kiss, hands clutching at his shoulders, at his back, at anything that grounded her. Every nerve in her body was on fire, aching for him, even as terror coursed through her veins.
“You’re mine,” he growled, hands roaming over her body with brutal authority. “All of you. Every secret, every thought, every part of you… belongs to me. And I will not let go.”
---
Hours passed like minutes. Clothes were discarded, boundaries shattered. Every kiss, every touch, every command intensified the heat between them. Amara’s mind spun; pleasure and fear mingled until they were indistinguishable. She was addicted to him. She was his.
When it was over, Dante held her close, his hands pressed against her back, his voice a dangerous whisper. “You cannot leave me. You will not try. And if you do, I will come for you. Always. You understand?”
“Yes,” she whispered, trembling. “I… I understand.”
But even as she said it, her stomach twisted. The nausea, the faint soreness, the lingering tightness—she couldn’t ignore it any longer.
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Two days later, Amara tried to hide her secret. She avoided Dante’s calls and messages, but they kept coming, relentless. He knew where she was, who she was with, what she was doing. It was maddening. And then, just as she began to fear she could keep nothing hidden from him, the first sign could no longer be denied:
Her period was late.
Panic coiled in her chest, sharp and unforgiving. No. Not now. I can’t… I can’t deal with this.
She called her best friend, voice trembling. “Something’s… something’s wrong. I… I might be pregnant.”
Her friend’s gasp echoed through the phone, sharp and real. “Amara… are you sure? What are you going to do?”
Amara had no answer. She hung up, trembling. Her mind spun with fear, desire, and the undeniable pull of Dante’s obsession.
Because she knew, deep down, that Dante would never let her hide from him. And if he discovered the truth first… there would be no escape.
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That night, Dante arrived unannounced. His black car gleamed under the streetlights as he strode into her apartment building like a predator claiming his prey. She didn’t even try to hide.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “Why? Don’t you know you belong to me?”
“I… I just needed space,” she stammered, heart pounding.
“You do not get space,” he snapped, eyes flashing with possession. “You do not get freedom. You are mine, Amara. And if you think you can hide…” He let the words hang, a dark promise. “…you are very wrong.”
He pressed her against the wall in the hallway, hands on her waist, lips on hers. She trembled, torn between fear and the thrill of being dominated by the man who had claimed her completely.
“You’re hiding something,” he whispered against her neck, voice rough. “I can feel it. What is it, Amara? Tell me.”
Her stomach clenched. She tried to pull away, tried to breathe through the panic, but she couldn’t. And then, trembling, she whispered, “I… I think… I might be pregnant.”
Dante froze. For a brief moment, there was only the two of them in the hallway, breath mingling, hearts hammering. Then his silver-gold eyes burned with an intensity that made her knees weak.
“Mine,” he growled, almost a snarl. “Everything you carry… it belongs to me. And no one—no one—will ever touch you or take it from me. Understand?”
She could only nod, trembling.
“Good,” he said, voice dangerous, possessive. “Because I am not letting go. Not now. Not ever. And anyone who tries… will regret it.”
He pressed a final kiss to her lips, sharp and claiming, before letting her stagger back. She leaned against the wall, heart pounding, mind spinning.
Dante had escalated again. He was no longer just possessive—he was relentless, obsessive, terrifying. And now, with her pregnancy hanging between them, she understood the truth: there was no running, no hiding.
She was his. Entirely. And the storm that had begun that night at the club was only getting darker.
- Writer
