Chapter 7
1300 Words
Chapter Six – Possession
⸻
POV: Joan
Blood still stained the corner of her lip.
Matteo hadn’t hit her, not exactly. But the way his fingers closed around her throat… The way his eyes burned like she was already dead…
It had awakened something inside her.
He’s finally seeing me.
She stood in front of her vanity mirror, dabbing concealer over the bruises blooming along her jawline. The marks would fade—but the memory wouldn’t. Matteo had come into her penthouse like a devil, furious over that little brat Ariana, and nearly snapped her neck.
And still, Joan smiled.
Because rage was better than indifference.
Anger was close to passion.
And once, long ago, he had looked at her like that—with fire in his eyes. Two years ago, on that night she would never forget.
“You were always going to be mine, Matteo,” she whispered aloud, running her fingers over her collarbone. “Whether you like it or not. What happened two years ago… was fate.”
She sat down, letting the weight of memory drape over her like silk.
Two Years Ago.
Her father had just solidified the alliance with the De Luca family. Joan had been sent to the De Luca estate to negotiate terms—one part diplomat, one part bait. Matteo had been grieving his wife, cold and closed-off, impossible to reach.
But that night, something had broken in him.
And she had comforted him.
Her version of it anyway.
She’d poured the wine.
Pressed her lips against his throat.
Undressed in his dim-lit study while he stared at her with blank, desperate eyes.
He never touched her.
But she knew he wanted to.
She knew something passed between them.
And ever since then, she’d worked to make herself indispensable. She learned how to move like Ariana. Speak sweetly when Matteo passed. Cry softly when he dismissed her.
She was playing the long game.
And Ariana?
She was just an obstacle. One that needed to be removed.
Not quickly, no.
That would make him hate her.
But eventually?
Yes.
Joan stared into the mirror and imagined Ariana’s body in a shallow grave behind the villa garden. Eyes shut. Mouth still.
She smiled.
“I’ll be the one he touches at night. The one he marries. The one he owns.”
Her fingers drifted to her neck, imagining Matteo’s hands again—strong, furious, godlike.
He’s mine. She’s temporary.
And soon… she’d prove it.
POV: Ariana
She waited until midnight.
The villa was still, hushed with secrets.
She dressed in silence—pink crop top that hugged her curves, short denim skirt, and an oversized gray hoodie that swallowed her upper half. She tied her curls in a messy bun, slipped on her black boots, and crept out the side door.
If Matteo saw her now, he’d kill her.
But he wasn’t speaking to her. Not since the fight. Not since Joan laid hands on her and he sided with her.
It had shattered something.
So now she would burn what was left.
⸻
Lucas Anvordas waited by the car, engine idling. One arm slung lazily over the steering wheel, the other holding a cigarette. He looked up when she approached, then whistled low.
“Damn, princess. You look like trouble.”
Ariana slipped into the passenger seat and rolled her eyes. “Shut up and drive.”
Lucas grinned and hit the gas.
⸻
They stopped at one of his safehouses outside the city. She kicked off her boots, pacing in front of the fireplace while he poured drinks.
“So,” he said, handing her a glass, “you said this was about your stepfather.”
She swallowed. “It’s more than that.”
Lucas raised an eyebrow.
She took a sip, gathered her breath, and finally said the words she’d never admitted out loud.
“I want him,” she whispered. “Not as a father. Not even as a protector. I want him… inside me. Around me. Over me. I want him to ruin me.”
Lucas let out a slow, impressed exhale. “You really mean it.”
She nodded. “It’s always been him. Since I was fifteen. He barely looked at me back then. But after Mom died, he became my entire world. And now—now I can’t breathe when he walks into a room.”
Lucas leaned back on the couch, watching her carefully. “So what do you want from me?”
“I want you to help me seduce him.”
Silence.
Then a low laugh.
“Seduce Matteo De Luca. The ice king himself.”
“I know he wants me,” she said fiercely. “The way he looks at me sometimes… like he’s afraid of it. Like he wants to eat me alive but hates himself for it.”
Lucas chuckled. “Yeah, that sounds like him.”
“So teach me,” she pleaded. “How to make him lose control.”
Lucas drained his drink and stood. “You’re already dangerous, Ariana. But if you want him to break, you’ll need to become irresistible. Controlled chaos. Fire in silk.”
She straightened. “Show me.”
⸻
He led her to a walk-in closet filled with outfits—dangerous things: corsets, chokers, lace, leather. She ran her fingers along a sheer black bodysuit.
“Too much?” she whispered.
“For him?” Lucas said. “No such thing.”
She turned to face the mirror.
For the first time, she didn’t see a broken girl in the glass.
She saw a weapon.
⸻
They practiced.
Not in touch—but in energy. In poise.
He coached her in how to look at Matteo without blinking.
How to let silence speak louder than words.
How to wear her pain like perfume.
By the time she slipped back into her hoodie and stepped into the night again, she wasn’t the same Ariana who had walked in.
She was dangerous now.
And she had a plan.
⸻
Back at the villa, she slipped inside undetected. Her hoodie was zipped high, her hair still messy—but her heart thundered with adrenaline.
She tiptoed up the stairs.
But as she neared her room, a shadow peeled out from the dark.
Matteo.
He was standing at the end of the hall, half-lost in the shadows.
His jaw was clenched.
His sleeves were rolled.
And his eyes—God, his eyes—burned with barely leashed fury.
“You think I wouldn’t notice?” he said softly.
Ariana froze.
“What are you talking about?” she asked, voice trembling.
“You smell like smoke and sin,” he growled. “And I warned you about Lucas.”
She stepped closer. “You don’t get to tell me who I see. Not when you’re kissing women who scratch me up like I’m trash.”
His hands curled into fists.
“I told her to stay away from you.”
“You defended her.”
“I almost killed her that night!” he snapped.
The silence crashed between them.
Matteo’s eyes flicked down—just once—to the bare line of her midriff beneath the hem of her hoodie. His throat bobbed.
She stepped closer.
“You keep trying to protect me, Matteo. But what if I don’t want protection anymore?”
He backed away like she’d struck him. “Go to your room.”
“Why?” she asked, stepping even closer. “Afraid I’ll make you admit it?”
His breath hitched.
She didn’t touch him.
She didn’t have to.
She simply looked up at him, lashes lowered, lips parted.
Then turned.
And walked away.
But she felt his eyes on her the entire time.
Burning.
Wanting.
Cracking.
- Writer
