Episode 4 – The First Attempt

The villa was beautiful, but Ishani had no illusions—it was a cage wrapped in silk. Every hallway smelled faintly of salt and old money, every guard watched her with blank eyes. Yet Ishani was no damsel waiting to be rescued. She had built her career fighting impossible battles, and she wasn’t about to bend now.

So, she waited.

For three days, she studied everything. The guards’ shift patterns. The doors that clicked locked and the ones left ajar. Even the kitchen staff’s routes when they carried food trays. Dante didn’t confine her to the room; he let her roam within the villa’s walls, maybe as some twisted show of generosity—or arrogance. He probably thought she wouldn’t dare.

That arrogance would be his mistake.

On the fourth night, the chance came. Dinner had ended, Dante distracted with a phone call in his study. She slipped out of the dining hall, moving silently down the servants’ corridor. The dupatta she wore brushed the floor as she clutched her sandals in one hand, her heart hammering with each step.

The back door near the kitchens was unguarded, just as she’d observed. She pressed her palm to the handle—unlocked.

Freedom was one push away.

Ishani stepped into the humid night air, the crash of the sea louder now. She ran, bare feet slapping against the cold stone path, lungs burning. For a moment, hope surged. Maybe she could reach the road, flag a passing car, find the police—

A shadow moved.

And then a hand clamped around her wrist, jerking her backward with brutal force. She stumbled, a gasp tearing from her lips—straight into the chest of Dante Moretti.

His grip was iron, his breath steady even as hers faltered. He had followed her. Or worse—he had expected this.

“Brava,” he murmured in her ear, voice smooth, dangerous. “You lasted longer than I thought.”

She thrashed against him, fury and fear colliding. “Let me go! You can’t—”

He spun her to face him, his hand still crushing her wrist, his eyes blazing like frozen fire. “You think you can walk out of my world so easily?” His voice dropped to a lethal whisper. “No one leaves me, avvocato. Not alive.”

Her chest rose and fell, her eyes defiant even as her pulse raced. “You can cage me, threaten me, even kill me—but you will never own me.”

For the first time, Dante’s mask cracked. His jaw tightened, his lips curling into something between anger and hunger. He released her wrist only to cup her face roughly, tilting her head up.

“You say that now,” he murmured, his thumb brushing her jaw, “but I see it in your eyes. Fear. Fire. You’re mine whether you admit it or not.”

She spat out the words, venomous. “I will never be yours.”

He studied her for a long, dangerous moment—then laughed softly, darkly. Not with humor, but with certainty.

“Then I’ll enjoy proving you wrong.”

Without another word, he dragged her back inside, ignoring her struggles. The villa doors slammed shut, sealing her fate. Guards averted their eyes as Dante’s voice thundered through the hall.

“From now on, she doesn’t step outside without my permission.”

His obsession had teeth now. And Ishani realized, with a cold twist in her stomach, that the real battle wasn’t escaping the villa—it was surviving Dante Moretti’s hunger to break her.

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