(Alessandro’s POV)
I stared at Isabella, at the unwavering strength in her beautiful, determined face. Every instinct inside me, every fiber of my being that had been trained to protect, to control, to command, screamed at me to say no. To lock her in this penthouse and surround her with an army of guards until the threat was gone. To wrap her in my arms and never let her go.
But when I looked into her eyes, I did not see a fragile woman asking for permission. I saw a queen, demanding the respect of her king. She was right. Forbidding her, locking her away, would make me a tyrant. It would make me no different from my controlling father, or from the men in our world who saw women as beautiful, breakable property to be owned and protected. And Isabella was not property. She was my partner
