A Twisted Engagement

Chapter 50: A Twisted Engagement

The night was still, an eerie quiet hanging over the DeLuca mansion. The aftermath of the battle had left its mark — bloodstains on the polished floors, shattered glass, and the faint smell of gunpowder lingered in the air. Yet, despite the chaos of the evening, Dante remained resolute, like a stone pillar in a storm. His emotions were a dangerous cocktail, but right now, the only thing on his mind was Isla.

Isla, who had been the focal point of his every thought, every action. Isla, who had risked everything for him and yet, had somehow always remained just beyond his complete control.

Now, more than ever, she was the one thing that tethered him to his humanity.

But as much as he loved her — and the intensity of that love was something he couldn't even begin to explain — there was a darkness in him. A darkness that told him that he couldn't simply love her. He needed her. Needed her to be his, in every possible way.

The sound of her soft steps on the staircase brought him back to the present. He turned slowly, watching her approach. She was pale, still recovering from the wound she'd taken, but there was fire in her eyes, a resolve that matched his own.

Isla came to a stop in front of him, her lips pressed together in a line. She looked exhausted, but there was something else there, something deeper. She wasn't the same woman who had first walked into his life. She was hardened now, not just by the violence they had endured, but by her own choices. She had become a part of his world — a world that had no room for weakness, no room for escape.

Dante stood in front of her, his expression unreadable. The man who had been so consumed by rage, obsession, and power was now forcing himself to be still, to control the emotions that were threatening to overtake him.

"Dante," Isla spoke his name softly, as though testing the waters. Her voice was steady, but there was something in it that made his chest tighten. She didn't know it yet, but she was about to enter a new phase of their twisted relationship — one where there was no turning back.

"I need to know," she said, her eyes searching his. "What happens now? What are we doing, Dante?"

Dante's lips curled into a dark smile, but there was no humor in it. The question had been hanging in the air between them for so long, yet neither of them had ever dared to voice it. They had danced around the truth for months, and now, it was time to face it head-on.

"What happens now," he said slowly, "is that we solidify what we are."

She raised an eyebrow, confusion flickering in her eyes. "What do you mean by that?"

Dante took a step forward, closing the distance between them. "I've been patient with you, Isla. I've let you think you have choices. But the truth is, you're mine. And I'm not letting you go. You've become too valuable to me. Too essential."

Her heart skipped a beat as she looked up at him, his gaze intense, locking her in place. She had always known he was possessive — even before he'd admitted it — but this was different. The way he spoke now, the certainty in his voice, sent a chill down her spine.

"Dante," she began, her voice trembling slightly. "I don't want to be owned. I don't want to be your possession. I'm not an object."

He reached out and gently cupped her face, his thumb grazing her cheek in a gesture that could have been tender, if it weren't for the underlying threat that lingered in the air. "You already are, whether you accept it or not. But I'm going to make it official."

"Official?" she echoed, her pulse quickening. "What are you talking about?"

Dante's eyes darkened, and he pulled her closer, his lips barely brushing her ear as he whispered, "I'm proposing to you, Isla."

Her breath caught in her throat. For a moment, she thought she hadn't heard him correctly. But when she looked into his eyes — when she saw the glint of determination — she knew he meant every word. The cold realization hit her like a punch to the gut. This wasn't a romantic gesture. This wasn't about love, or even partnership. This was about control.

"You don't mean…" Isla whispered, her voice wavering with disbelief.

"I do," Dante said firmly, his grip tightening on her chin as he tilted her head up to face him. "I'm proposing, but not because I want to share my life with you. No. I'm proposing because I'm going to own you completely. And you will be mine. You'll wear my name. You'll stand by me, and no one will take you from me."

Isla's breath hitched. She had known it would come to this. She had known there was no way out, no way to untangle herself from the web they had woven together. She had thought she could walk away, thought she could regain her freedom, but now, she was facing the truth. She was tangled in Dante's world, and there was no escaping it.

"But I…" She trailed off, her mind struggling to find the right words. "I can't be owned, Dante. I'm not your possession. I'm not some object to be claimed."

Dante's grip on her tightened, his jaw clenched. "You already are. And you always will be."

He took a step back, moving toward a nearby table where a velvet box lay, hidden under the dim light of the chandelier. He picked it up, turning back to face her. Slowly, deliberately, he opened the box to reveal a ring — a dark, elegant piece, the kind that symbolized power rather than love.

"This is your future," he said, voice low and filled with meaning. "Not because I want to give you everything you desire, but because you no longer have a choice. You're mine, Isla. Completely."

Isla stood there, her heart racing. She knew that this moment would define everything. She could say no, she could fight back, but the consequences were clear. She was already too far gone. Too deep into this twisted world he had created for them. The man in front of her — the man she had grown to love and fear — was offering her a life that came with chains, shackles that would never loosen.

For a long moment, she was silent. Her mind whirled as she considered her options — or the lack thereof. But when she finally spoke, her voice was barely a whisper, a tremor of defeat in her words.

"I'll wear your ring," she said softly, her heart sinking with every syllable. "But don't think for a second that this will make me love you."

Dante's expression softened for a moment, and he took her hand, slipping the ring onto her finger with a sense of finality. "It's not about love, Isla," he said quietly, his voice rough with emotion. "It never was. It's about control."

And with those words, the twisted engagement was sealed.

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End of Chapter 50