Page 67 of Dangerous Beginnings

There’s a pause, thick with an oppressive silence. His gaze remains fixed on me, his face a mask of controlled fury. “You think you know what this is,” he says, his voice a low growl that vibrates through the stillness of the room. “But you don’t.”

I shiver, not from the cold, but from the sheer weight of his presence. “Then tell me,” I challenge, trying to meet his stare with defiance. “Tell me what you’re hiding.”

“You tell me whatyouare hiding, Isabella.” Suddenly theconversation takes a turn.

He inches closer, the space between us vanishing until I can feel the warmth radiating off him, a silent storm simmering beneath his composed exterior. His eyes search mine, and with an unsettling gentleness, he reaches out, his thumb brushing softly across my cheek, lingering over a dark bruise. The tenderness of his touch clashes with the fury in his gaze, making my pulse race.

A flicker of raw intensity flashes in his eyes, something dark and vengeful. He exhales slowly, his voice barely above a whisper yet seething with an unyielding promise. “I’m going to kill the person who did this to you, Isabella. It’s going to be slow, and I am going to make it very painful.” His fingers graze the bruise again, almost reverently. “Please,” he says, his voice tightening, “give me the name of who has done these things to you.”

The weight of his words, spoken so quietly, makes my breath catch. I shiver under his touch, caught in a mixture of fear, arousal, and something dangerously close to relief.

I hesitate, the weight of my secret pressing down on me, filling the silence between us. He watches me, his eyes intense, patient, and unyielding, as if he already knows and is just waiting for me to say it out loud.

His thumb lingers on the bruise, his gaze darkening further as his jaw clenches. “Isabella,” he murmurs, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. “Don’t keep this from me. Tell me who did this to you.”

My chest tightens, and I try to look away, but his fingers hold my chin gently, guiding me back to meet his gaze. The tenderness in his touch is jarring compared to the fury simmering in his eyes, and it unravels me.

“It’s…it’s my stepfather,” I finally breathe, the words falling out like a confession. My voice trembles, barely holdingtogether. Saying it out loud feels like tearing open a wound, exposing something I’ve buried for so long.

For a moment, there’s only silence. His thumb freezes on my cheek, his face hardening, his gaze flickering with a dangerous fire. I can see the rage building in him, dark and consuming, like a storm on the verge of breaking. His fingers press a little harder against my cheek, his breathing deepening as he struggles to control himself.

His eyes flicker with something raw. For a moment, he just looks at me, his expression unreadable, but his eyes tell a different story. They are filled with a heat that makes my pulse race, with a longing that mirrors my own, with empathy.

And then, as if some invisible barrier between us finally shatters, he reaches out, his thumb brushes over my lower lip, sending a jolt of electricity through me, and I can’t stop the soft gasp that escapes me. He watches me intently, his gaze flicking to my lips, and I can see the struggle in his eyes—the battle between what he wants and what he thinks he should do.

But then, as if some internal dam has finally broken, he makes his decision. His hand slides to the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair, and before I can fully process what is happening, his lips are on mine. The kiss is slow at first, a gentle exploration as if he is savoring the taste of something forbidden. But it doesn’t stay that way for long. The softness gives way to something deeper, more urgent, as the tension that has been building between us for so long finally erupts. I feel like I am being swept away by a tidal wave of emotions—desire, relief, fear, and something else, something that feels dangerously close to hope. His hands tighten in my hair, pulling me closer, and I respond with equal fervor, my arms wrapping around his neck as I kiss him back with everything I have. I’m sure now that I’m in fact the Devil’s favorite.

There is no room for hesitation and no space for second-guessing. The world outside ceases to exist; the only thing that matters is the heat of his body against mine, the taste of his lips, the way he makes me feel alive in a way I haven’t felt in a long time.

When we finally break apart, we are both breathing heavily, our foreheads resting against each other’s as we try to catch our breath. My heart is racing, my mind spinning, but all I can think about is the way his hands feel on my skin, the way his lips have claimed mine.

There is a flicker in his eyes, a shadow that passes too quickly to pin down but leaves me with a gnawing sense of unease. His gaze, once so intense and focused, now seems distant, as if he is looking through me rather than at me. The heat of the moment has cooled, and with it comes an unsettling chill. I search his face for some sign of the vulnerability I have just seen, but it is gone. In its place is a guarded mask, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he is weighing something heavy in his mind.

And the next words that come out of his mouth are laden with an icy finality. “I warned you about me.’

Chapter 40

Unsure

One week later.

Isabella

He hasn’t contacted me for over a week. It has been a whole fucking week, and he hasn’t replied to any of my messages. I’ve even called him a couple of times, but he never answered either. I have no idea what he is up to, but one thing is for sure - he’s not concerned about me or anything that we shared a week ago—the kiss.

I’ve been locked up in the house for over a week, with Sasha coming in to bring me food and that’s it. No one else has been here, not even Dominik. But since he is like his right hand, he probably joined Aslanov wherever. Sasha occasionally comes into my room and has a little chat with me, but it’s short. Something has shifted. I don’t know any codes for any doors, and the guards outside do not look friendly. I’m stuck here. With only the reminder of his touch on my skin.

Doubt started to fill me after two days, but by now, I just have full-blown anxiety about what happened. Was it a mistake? Did he regret it? I sigh as I stare through the big window, sitting in the corner of it. Snow slowly falls to the ground, trees are covered in it too. It must be cold outside.Is he okay?

The thought lingers in my mind. But then again, I don’t even know him well; I know barely anything personal about the man, for all I know, he could live a second life. The hickeys he gave me have almost disappeared by now, just a very light purple mark visible.

I tried to distract myself, to focus on anything other than theabsence of his presence. But no matter how hard I tried, his image lingered in my mind, haunting me every waking moment. Was it all just a game to him? A momentary distraction from the chaos of his life? Or have I somehow misunderstood his intentions, reading too much into a fleeting connection?

I bury my face in my hands at the frustrating thought that keeps filling me. I stare at the screen of my phone, ten messages unanswered. Since there is no other contact on the phone than his, I have no one else to talk to. I start to feel like I’m his locked-up play doll rather than someone he could ever care about. I must admit, he has had me manipulated. Now I’m in his house, locked up inside with no contact with the outside world. My anxiety intensified at night mostly. My mind keeps me awake. Since I’m stuck here, I have been committed to cleaning up my room and bathroom every day, keeping the place tidy. I have read multiple books by now, but often my mind wanders off the pages. I even tried to cook something with Sasha; she taught me how to bake something simple and to cook a simple meal. I did have fun for a little while with her, but as I asked her if she knew where he was, she closed off. Nobody knows about our situation, so I can’t casually ask her anything about that.

It’s midnight now, the start of day eight without him in here. I get up from my bed, putting on socks and a bathrobe. I haven’t been snooping around because I wanted to respect him and not get in trouble—again. But I’m bored and hungry for answers. If he doesn’t give me anything, I’ll have to get them myself.

I tiptoe down the hallway, dimly lit just enough for me to see my own shadow. The carpet under me feels cold, the smell of his cologne immediately fills me as I reach his room.

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