Taming Bird
1071 Words
Alesia sat by the window and, precisely at three in the afternoon, opened her computer. As usual, she clicked into her livestream room.
The screen displayed “Connecting.” She mechanically adjusted her posture and repositioned the microphone.
“Hello, everyone,” she whispered, her voice as light and fragile as a feather falling on a snowy night.
“Chapter 13 of Wuthering Heights,” she continued softly, her words echoing faintly through the microphone.
No responses came.
The chat room had only a handful of viewers. Occasionally, a comment popped up—random messages from passersby killing time: “Your voice is so nice,” “What are you reading?” “So quiet in here.”
She didn’t mind.
That hour of reading aloud was a way to confirm her own existence. She was still here, still able to speak, still able to be “seen.”
She read with deep focus, as if her entire consciousness was sinking into the story’s words.
Until downstairs—
The muffled slam of a car door.
The faint sound of a key sliding into the lock.
The quiet greeting of a servant, voice hushed.
He was back.
Dante was home.
Earlier than he had said he’d be.
She quickly ended the chapter she was reading and cut off the stream. The screen went black, reflecting her pale, numb face.
The door wasn’t knocked—it was pushed open.
Alesia glanced at him coolly. “Weren’t you supposed to be at that banquet tonight, catching up with your old flames?”
She asked casually, but there was a hint of challenge in her tone.
Because Dante always shared his schedule with her like charity—when he left, who he met, which club he went to, which banquet he attended. He said it was “to give you a sense of security,” but she knew better: it was just another form of complete control.
A faint, not-so-gentle smile curved his lips. “She got married. Not interested in cheating.”
He leaned in, fingers trailing teasingly along the inside of her thigh—a silent punishment. “So how about we have our own little affair?”
She remained still, expression blank. “You’re really good at finding replacements.”
“At least you’re still willing to open your legs, aren’t you?” he said, laughing low and dark.
Her eyes flickered. The next moment, he shrugged off his coat and slouched onto the couch like a ruler surveying his domain.
“The banquet was lively tonight,” he said casually. “Someone mentioned you: ‘That pretty Alesia—why has she suddenly disappeared? Is her good looks all she had going for her?’”
Alesia smiled slightly—a smile as cold and sharp as a blade. “Hmph.”
She stepped closer and stood before him, eyes unreadable and still. “Besides being tangled up with you, who else do I know?”
Dante’s cold fingers brushed her cheek, light as a feather but pressing down so heavily she could barely breathe.
“You used to cry, saying I didn’t belong to you. Now it seems like you’ve long grown used to being forgotten.”
“Yeah,” Alesia chuckled softly, eyes glinting faintly, “yeah… like Carlo. Maybe he’s already used to me staying out of his life.”
Carlo was once her fiancé—the political alliance, the family’s pawn. Polite and handsome on the surface, but always too cautious to really enter her world. Every time she saw him, he spoke carefully, his cheeks tinged with shyness.
The air froze for a beat.
Alesia noticed his unusual reaction, a faintly innocent smile playing on her lips. “What’s wrong? You don’t like hearing Carlo’s name?”
Dante’s gaze sliced across her face like a blade. Then, suddenly, he lunged, pinning her down onto the couch, one hand gripping her jaw. “You still can’t let him go, can you? You’re so eager to see him—planning to seduce him all along, aren’t you?”
“You’re insane,” she bit back, struggling.
“Insane?” He laughed quietly but coldly. “I warn you, Alesia—no more mention of his name while you’re with me.”
He pressed down harder, his breath scorching, eyes dark as the deepest ocean.
Alesia stopped fighting, slowly releasing her tension, as if suddenly resigned.
“…If you say no, I won’t say it. If you don’t want me to go out, then I won’t go.”
Her voice was barely a whisper—half a sigh, half a surrender.
Dante squinted, studying her like he was deciding whether she was genuinely obedient or just pretending. After several seconds, he finally released her.
“That’s better. So much better,” he murmured, his fingers tracing mockingly along her lips.
Later, the servants brought dinner.
Alesia changed into a beige knit dress and sat quietly at one end of the long table. She looked down, slowly cutting into the steak, as if their earlier confrontation had never happened.
Dante sat opposite her in a black shirt, sleeves loose and casual, exuding effortless laziness. He watched her eat, then said, “Tomorrow, help the housekeeper decorate the house. The New Year’s coming.”
She nodded softly. “Okay.”
After a moment, she seemed to gather courage and lifted her gaze toward him, voice controlled but gentle: “Can I see my brother one more time? Just once. It’s almost New Year’s…”
Dante’s eyelid twitched slightly; his expression stiffened for a split second.
Then he nodded slowly, voice low: “Mhm.”
She smiled faintly, her eyes soft like the first light of dawn. “Thank you, Dante.”
He set down his glass, eyes drifting from her face to the neckline of her dress, pausing briefly before speaking calmly, “Just saying thank you?”
Her fingers tightened, her breath catching subtly, a faint flush coloring her cheeks.
“I’m done eating… waiting for you in bed,” she whispered.
Dante stood, approaching her slowly. He reached out, pinched her chin gently, lifting her face.
“Good girl,” he said hoarsely, eyes shining with undisguised pleasure—as if her obedience was his proudest victory.
She didn’t pull away. Instead, their eyes locked.
Dante smiled slightly and bent down, pressing a soft, possessive kiss to her lips.
- Writer
