Chapter 20: Losing Control

Isla barely made it back to her room before her composure cracked.

Her hands trembled as she pressed them against the cool surface of the vanity, her reflection staring back at her with wild, unsteady eyes.

Alessandro was right.

And she hated that.

She was fighting something that had already taken root inside her.

Something dangerous.

Something consuming.

Something that would destroy her if she let it.

No.

She wouldn't let him win.

This was still a contract. Still a game.

And she was going to remind him of that.

—

That evening, she did something reckless.

She dressed for war.

A silk gown. Deep crimson. A color of defiance, of temptation, of warning.

She pinned her hair up, leaving just enough loose tendrils to soften the sharpness of her features. Dark eyeliner, bold lipstick.

A woman who was unshaken.

A woman who wasn't affected by him.

When she stepped downstairs for dinner, she felt his presence before she even saw him.

Alessandro stood near the dining table, his usual aura of calm control wrapped around him like armor.

But when he turned and saw her—

Something shifted.

Something dark.

His gaze dragged over her slowly, deliberately, as if he was memorizing every inch of her.

She lifted her chin, smirking slightly as she approached. "Something wrong?"

Alessandro exhaled through his nose, his smirk lazy. "You're playing a dangerous game, cara mia."

She sank into her chair, reaching for the glass of wine a servant had poured. "I don't know what you mean."

Alessandro took his seat, watching her with quiet intensity. "Don't you?"

Isla sipped her wine, letting the silence stretch.

She was testing him.

Just as he had tested her.

And she wanted him to break first.

But Alessandro Romano was not a man who lost control easily.

Dinner was a slow-burn war.

Every glance. Every smirk. Every brush of fingers as he poured her more wine.

A game of who would fall first.

And when the meal was over, when she stood to leave, she almost thought she had won.

But then—

Alessandro moved.

Fast.

One second, she was standing near the doorway. The next, her back was against the wall, his body inches from hers.

Her breath hitched.

She had pushed him.

And now he was pushing back.

His hands braced on either side of her head, caging her in, his dark gaze burning with something untamed.

"You think dressing like this will undo me?" His voice was quiet, lethal.

She forced a smirk, ignoring the way her pulse pounded. "You seem… affected."

Alessandro's lips curled. "You have no idea what affected looks like, cara mia."

His hand skimmed down her arm, slow, deliberate.

A whisper of a touch.

A promise of something more.

Isla swallowed hard.

She should move. She should shove him away.

But her body—traitorous, weak—leaned in instead.

Alessandro's smirk deepened. "You play with fire, tesoro."

Her breath hitched as his fingers grazed her wrist, tracing over her pulse.

A test.

A warning.

A claim.

She lifted her chin. "Maybe I like the burn."

His eyes darkened. "Then let me show you what it means to lose control."

And then—

He kissed her.

Not soft. Not hesitant.

Devouring.

A punishment for making him want her.

A promise that she was his, whether she admitted it or not.

Heat surged through her as she clutched his shirt, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away.

Because this was not a kiss she could win.

This was surrender.

And for the first time—

She wanted to lose.