Page 58 of Ruthless Desire

His hand shoots out, gripping my chin with bruising force. "I can do whatever I want," he hisses. "You are mine now, Natalie. Mine to shape, to mold, to recreate as I see fit. And I will not tolerate any lingering attachments to your old life."

I wrench away from his grip, anger and grief warring inside me. "I hate you," I spit, the words tasting like ash on my tongue. "I'll always hate you for this."

Something dark and dangerous flashes in Dante's eyes. "Hate me all you want, tiny raven. It changes nothing. You're mine, now and forever. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be."

He straightens, smoothing down his impeccable suit. "Now, it's time for dinner. I expect you downstairs in ten minutes, properly dressed and ready to eat."

With that, he turns and strides from the room, leaving me trembling in his wake. The puppy whimpers, nuzzling against my hand. I stroke his head absently, my mind a whirlwind of pain and fury.

How dare he? How dare he try to erase everything that makes me who I am?

In that moment, a cold resolve settles over me. I won't let him win. I won't let him break me down and rebuild me in his image.

I will find a way to escape this nightmare. No matter the cost.

Ten minutes later, I descend the grand staircase, my movements stiff and robotic. I've donned one of the designer dresses Dante insists on filling my closet with - a deep blue silk that clings to my curves like a second skin. My hair is pulled back in a severe chignon, my face a blank mask of compliance.

Dante waits at the bottom of the stairs, his eyes raking over me with predatory appreciation. "Beautiful," he murmurs, offering his arm. "You clean up well, moy voron."

I take his arm without a word, letting him lead me to the opulent dining room. The table is set for two, crystal and silver glinting in the soft candlelight. It's a scene straight out of a romantic movie - if you ignore the fact that he kidnapped me.

We take our seats, and servers appear as if by magic, placing covered dishes before us. Dante watches me expectantly as I lift the silver dome, revealing a perfectly cooked filet mignon, surrounded by roasted vegetables.

My stomach turns at the sight. The meat, pink and glistening, looks obscene in its decadence. I can't bring myself to touch it.

"Eat," Dante commands, his voice brooking no argument.

I pick up my fork, pushing the food around my plate without taking a bite. "I'm not hungry," I mutter, not meeting his eyes.

"Natalie." His tone carries a warning. "You will eat. Now."

I shake my head, a spark of defiance flaring in my chest. "No. I told you, I'm not-"

In a flash, Dante is out of his seat, looming over me. Before I can react, he's gripping my jaw, forcing my mouth open. With his other hand, he scoops up a forkful of meat and shoves it between my lips.

"Chew," he growls, his fingers digging into my cheeks. "Swallow. Now."

Tears spring to my eyes as I struggle to obey, the food turning to vinegar in my mouth. I gag, fighting the urge to spit it out.

"Good girl," Dante purrs, his grip loosening slightly. "See? That wasn't so hard, was it?"

He repeats the process, force-feeding me bite after bite until my plate is clean. By the end, I'm trembling, tears streaming down my face. I feel violated, humiliated in a way I didn't think possible.

Dante sits back, satisfaction gleaming in his dark eyes. "There. Was that really worth all the fuss?"

I say nothing, my gaze fixed on the tablecloth. Inside, I'm seething, a volcano of rage threatening to erupt.

He sighs, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from my face. I flinch away from his touch. "Oh, solnyshko. When will you learn? Life would be so much easier if you'd just submit. If you'd just accept your place by my side."

"Never," I whisper, the word barely audible. "I'll never submit to you."

A dark chuckle escapes him. "We'll see about that. Now, go upstairs and get ready. We have a gala to attend tonight."

My head snaps up, surprise momentarily overriding my anger. "A gala? What are you talking about?"

Dante's smile is all teeth, no warmth. "Did I forget to mention? One of your paintings is being auctioned off for charity tonight. And as the artist, your presence is not just requested, but required."

A chill runs down my spine. The thought of being paraded around like a prized pet, forced to schmooze with Dante's elite circle, makes my skin crawl. But I know better than to refuse outright. Instead, I force a brittle smile. "How... thoughtful of you to inform me at the last minute. What shall I wear to this grand event?"

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