Page 6 of Twisted Vows

Isla considered ignoring the summons but knew defiance would only make her position worse. With a steadying breath, she made her way downstairs to the grand dining hall, where Matteo sat at the head of the long table, casually sipping his coffee as if nothing about their situation was unusual.

The table was an extravagant display—fresh fruit, pastries, eggs, meats—but Isla had no appetite. She reached for a cup of coffee instead, letting the bitter taste ground her.

Matteo finally glanced at her, his gaze sharp and assessing. "You will stay within the grounds of the villa. There is no need for you to leave."

Isla set her cup down with a deliberate clink. "No need? Or no choice?"

His lips curled into something resembling a smirk. "Does it matter?"

"It does to me."

He leaned forward slightly, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass. "Then let me make this clear. You are not to leave. You will not attempt to run. You will not undermine this arrangement. If you do, there will be consequences."

Her blood ran hot. "You think you can just dictate my life?"

"I don’t think, Isla. I know."

She clenched her fists beneath the table, fighting the urge to throw her coffee in his face. "I will never be yours."

Something dark flickered in his eyes, something dangerous. "You already are. Whether you accept it or not is irrelevant."

The weight of his words settled over her like a noose tightening around her throat. The air between them thickened, charged with a volatile energy neither of them could deny. Isla hated him, hated everything about him—but the sheer force of his presence, the dominance in his stance, sent a shiver through her spine.

She refused to let him see it.

"You’re a fool if you think I’ll make this easy for you," she spat. "I will fight you every step of the way."

Matteo smirked, the first hint of something almost amusing crossing his features. "I expect nothing less."

With a sharp nod to one of his men, the doors behind her locked with a final, decisive click. Isla’s chest heaved as she turned, searching for any sign of escape. But the villa was a fortress, its walls thick, its security tighter than a noose.

Matteo took a step closer, his presence a force all on its own. She refused to move, refused to yield even an inch, even as his scent—something dark and masculine—wrapped around her.

"Go to your room, Isla," he said, his voice low, measured. "You’ll find that defying me comes with consequences."

A sharp laugh escaped her lips. "Threats already? How predictable."

Matteo’s gaze darkened, his jaw ticking as if restraining himself from something far more dangerous. "Call it a warning."

Their breaths mingled in the charged silence, the space between them practically humming with tension. Isla could feel the heat of his body, the coiled strength beneath his composed exterior. And she hated that some reckless part of her wondered what it would be like if he let go.

She turned before she could think too deeply about it, storming toward the grand staircase, her mind already calculating her next move. Matteo might believe he held theupper hand, but he had no idea what he had just invited into his world.

She would escape. And when she did, she would burn this empire to the ground.

****

That night, the villa was silent, but Isla could feel its heartbeat—the distant hum of security cameras, the quiet shuffle of guards stationed at every exit. Escape wouldn’t be easy. But she had never been one to take the easy way.

Isla crouched in the shadows of the hallway, listening for movement. The villa was heavily guarded, but she had grown up in places like this. She knew the patterns. The weaknesses.

She had spent the last two days watching the shifts, noting when the guards switched at the east gate—an overlap of precisely thirty seconds. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

Keeping to the edges, she moved toward the staff exit, pulling a burner phone from her pocket. Nico had left it in her room earlier, his expression unreadable as he pressed it into her hand. “If you ever need an out,” he had murmured. “You know what to do.”

She did.

She texted the number—Be ready—before slipping the phone into her boot, pressing it firmly against her ankle to ensure it wouldn’t shift. Taking a steadying breath, she eased the door open, her pulse thrumming with the knowledge that this was her only chance.

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