Page 26 of Marriage of Revenge

But the image of him, shirtless and relentless, fucking Paola against that wall, won’t leave me. Those same burned, brutal hands that made her scream are now cradling me like I’m something precious.

His cheek, half-smooth, half-raw, scrapes against mine. I swear he’s inhaling me, dragging my scent deep into his lungs like it’s his last breath. My pulse skips, tangling with the haunting melody that fills the room, and I don’t know if I want to lean into him or shove him away.

“Isabella,” he rasps, his voice low and dangerous, fingers trailing up my spine, sending jolts through my already frayed nerves.

I need words.

I need air.

I need to remember he’s not my safety anymore.

But all I can focus on is the way those burned arms, so ruthless hours ago, are now wrapped around me like I’m something to be protected.

“Did you miss me?” he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear, more challenge than question.

I want to say no.

I want to lie.

But the truth chokes me, because despite everything, some twisted part of me did.

A shadow falls over us, and my stomach drops. Henrik. His jaw's tight enough to crack teeth, fists clenched like he's imagining all the ways he'll make me dance for him later. The room goes quiet, that horrible silence before everything explodes. I force myself to take a breath, but the air feels like shards of glass.

Then Antonio’s hold tightens—possessive, protective, or just territorial? "Don't stop dancing."

Antonio's eyes burn with the kind of cold that freezes everything it touches. For a heartbeat that my SVT decides to skip, I'm trapped in his gaze like that time I fell during Swan Lake—knowing the crash is coming but unable to stop it.

There's no trace left of the boy who used to watch me practice. Just passion turned to pain turned to vengeance.

The air between us thickens like fog on a stage, heavy with all the things we'll never say. Like: I'm sorry. Like: I didn't mean to. Like: Why did you make me watch you with her?

The world narrows until it's just us spinning in this deadly pas de deux.

The tension crackles like stage lights about to blow. My father's men move like a well-rehearsed corps de ballet, creating a wall between us and Henrik. Protection or prison? With my father, they're usually the same thing.

Antonio's body against mine feels like every dark romance novel come to life—all heat and hard muscle and promises that probably end in blood.

His hold is firm, every muscle taut, like he’s ready to fight—or to claim. My pulse pounds in my ears, drowning out the music.

Each step is a story of what we were (piano music and stolen glances), what we are (his hands on Paola, his eyes on me), and what he wants us to be (broken, maybe, or worse—his).

For one stupid moment, the girl who used to sneak into the ballroom to watch him play wishes things were different. But wishes are for fairy tales, and I gave those up somewhere between chemo and being auctioned off.

Henrik's laugh slices through the moment like a blade. "Dance with her now. While you can."

We ignore him, but his words settle on my skin like bruises waiting to bloom.

"Honeysuckle," Antonio growls, and his inhale against my neck makes my skin prickle. "You still wear the same perfume." Like that means something. Like we're still those people.

"So, we're not going to pretend we're at an auction where I'm another prize to be won?" My voice comes out steadier than my heartbeat, which is a small victory. "And we're definitely not discussing how I watched you f…” I need to say the word to him…

“Fuck,” he whispers.

“Yes… fuck someone else while promising to make our marriage meaningless?"

He guides me across the floor like I'm not damaged goods, like my body isn't a minefield of scars and betrayals. The whispers follow us like shadows, but for a moment—just a moment—muscle memory makes me feel like the dancer I used to be.

"Isabella." The way he says my name is pure sin wrapped in mockery, his breath hot on my neck, his fingers pressing into my skin like he's trying to leave marks. "If you want to talk about Paola, let's talk about why you stayed. Why you watched. Did you touch yourself after, picturing it was you against that wall? Did you imagine what it would feel like to have me inside you while I promised to destroy you?"

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