The Bad Boy I Couldn't Escape

Chapter 10

Selene’s P.O.V.

I kept my head down the entire drive.

The car was silent except for the low hum of the engine and Dante’s fingers drumming rhythmically against the leather steering wheel. I could feel his gaze drifting to me every few minutes—watching me with that quiet intensity that made my skin flush with heat and nerves. His stare wasn’t just physical—it was dissecting. Like he was memorizing the shape of my silence, the tilt of my shoulders, the way I curled slightly inward, still trying to protect myself even though it was already far too late for that.

I didn’t dare meet his eyes. If I did, I knew I’d unravel all over again.

I was still reeling from what we’d done. Still aching between my thighs, still shaken by how completely he’d unraveled me with a single night. He hadn’t just touched me—he’d branded me. My skin still felt feverish from his hands, his mouth, the way he’d whispered my name like a vow or a curse. I didn’t know if I felt powerful or powerless.

But I did feel his.

And that terrified me more than anything else.

The car slowed as it approached massive black iron gates, flanked by two stone lions and guarded by men in sleek black suits. Dante didn’t even need to speak. The moment the guards saw him, they opened the gates in complete silence. No questions. No hesitation. Just submission.

It was like watching the world shift to accommodate him.

When the car finally pulled up to his mansion, I felt my heart stop.

It wasn’t just a house—it was a fortress. Towering walls of deep gray stone stretched toward the sky, draped in vines and shadows. It looked like something pulled from a gothic fairytale—grand and haunting, beautiful and terrifying. Lights flickered in a few windows, but the rest was cloaked in darkness, like the building itself was alive and watching me.

Armed guards lined the perimeter like statues, their expressions unreadable, their hands hovering near their weapons. They didn’t speak. They didn’t smile. They just stared as the car came to a halt.

A part of me wanted to tell him to turn around. That I couldn’t do this. That I didn’t belong here in his violent, ruthless world. But my mouth stayed shut.

I didn’t say a word when he stepped out and came around to my side. He opened the door like a gentleman, extending a hand I hesitated to take. My fingers trembled as they met his, but he didn’t seem surprised. He just gripped them gently and helped me out like I weighed nothing.

The moment my heels touched the stone driveway, I felt it.

Power.

It pulsed in the air like a storm waiting to break—electric and suffocating. Everything about this place radiated control and danger. The way the guards bowed slightly as Dante passed. The way the front door opened without a sound, like even the house itself knew who he was. The way he moved with quiet dominance, like nothing could touch him.

Like this place didn’t just belong to him—like he was the place.

And now, by proximity… so was I.

Inside, the mansion was even more breathtaking than I could have imagined. The ceilings stretched impossibly high, carved with intricate gold trim that shimmered beneath the light of massive crystal chandeliers. The floors were black marble, polished to a gleaming shine that reflected our steps as we walked. The scent of leather, faint smoke, and something darker lingered in the air—familiar and foreign all at once.

Each room we passed felt like it had been taken from a different world: a study filled with ancient books, another with weapons mounted like art, a lounge draped in velvet and shadows. I tried not to gape at the sheer opulence of it all. The wealth. The power. The quiet threat behind every perfectly curated detail.

This wasn’t a home. It was a kingdom.

And Dante was its king.

“Welcome home,” he said beside me, voice soft but commanding, like every syllable echoed through the marble halls and etched itself into the walls.

I swallowed hard. “It’s beautiful… but it doesn’t feel like home.”

He stopped walking and turned to me, tilting his head slightly. His eyes—those piercing blue eyes—studied me like he could see every thought I hadn’t spoken aloud.

He reached up and brushed a strand of hair behind my ear with a tenderness that made my chest ache.

“It will,” he said. “Soon.”

I didn’t know if that was a promise or a threat. And I wasn’t brave enough to ask.

He led me up a grand staircase and down a long hallway lined with tall windows and thick velvet curtains. The deeper we walked, the heavier the air felt. Until we stopped at a massive dark oak door at the very end of the hall.

My stomach dropped.

I didn’t need to ask to know whose room this was. The energy around it was different. Intimate. Commanding.

This was his room.

The moment we stepped inside, I felt consumed.

The space was beautiful—dark wood walls, heavy black curtains, a fireplace already crackling with low flames. The furniture was minimal but exquisite. Clean lines, deep tones, everything sharp and expensive. But the centerpiece was the bed—king-sized, draped in black silk sheets, the headboard carved with vines and wolves. It looked like something made for sin.

I couldn’t move.

“This is…” I hesitated. “Your room.”

He dropped my small duffel bag by the closet and turned to face me.

“You’ll stay here,” he said.

“In here?” My voice cracked. “With you?”

His expression didn’t change. “You gave me your body, Selene. Don’t act surprised I want you in my bed too.”

I took a step back, overwhelmed, my chest tightening with emotion I didn’t fully understand. “This is too much.”

He stepped forward, calm and steady, his presence swallowing the space between us. “You agreed to come with me. You knew what that meant.”

I shook my head, suddenly feeling caged. “No, I didn’t. I didn’t know it would be this.”

He didn’t blink. “You’re mine now, and mine doesn’t sleep down the hall.”

The words hit like a brand. My. Mine. His.

I stared at him, struggling to find solid ground. “Why are you doing this?” I whispered. “You could’ve had anyone. Why me?”

His jaw flexed. For a moment, his eyes softened.

He closed the space between us, lifting a hand to my waist. The other slid gently to the back of my neck as he leaned in, lowering his voice to a whisper.

“Because no one ever made me feel the way you do,” he murmured. “No one ever dared to leave me. No one’s ever been strong enough to break my rules… except you. And I’m not letting you go again.”

My breath caught.

Tears burned behind my eyes, but I blinked them away, refusing to cry. Not here. Not in front of him.

I wanted to fight him. To tell him he was wrong, that this wasn’t right, that I wasn’t some possession to be claimed. But part of me knew it would be a lie. Because despite my fear… despite how much I wanted to run… I was already his.

I let myself rest my head against his chest, just for a second.

His heart beat steady and strong beneath my cheek, a constant rhythm against my chaos.

And for the first time since stepping into the mansion, the cold didn’t feel so sharp.

He held me there, his arms firm around my back, and for a moment, we didn’t speak. The fire crackled softly, shadows dancing across the walls. It felt unreal. Like we were suspended in time—between the person I used to be and the one I was becoming.

“Do you hate me?” he asked suddenly, voice low.

I looked up, startled by the question.

His eyes were still hard, unreadable, but something behind them flickered. Vulnerability, maybe. Or fear. I couldn’t tell.

I hesitated. “I don’t know what I feel.”

He nodded like he expected that. “That’s fair.”

He pulled back just enough to meet my gaze, brushing his knuckles gently across my cheek. “But I’ll make you feel everything. Even if I have to burn the world for it.”

And just like that, I knew…

This wasn’t going to be a love story.

This was going to be a war.

And I was already surrendering.

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