Twisted Desire

Chapter 1: The Prison

Adira had never believed in monsters, not really. She had always imagined that they lived only in stories tales meant to scare children into obedience, figures lurking in the shadows of imagination. But here, sitting in the opulence of Dante's mansion, surrounded by walls gilded in luxury, Adira knew that monsters were real. The most terrifying ones didn't hide under beds or crawl out of dark closets. They smiled at you over candlelit dinners, kissed your forehead before bed, and whispered promises of forever while tightening invisible chains around your wrists.

She sat on the plush leather couch in the sitting room, the velvet drapes heavy with silence. Dante had left hours ago a rare mercy. She could still feel his touch on her skin possessive, violent, and cruel. The air in the room felt thin, as though even it had been commanded to behave in his absence. No matter where she was in this house, it felt like a prison, and no matter how many doors remained unlocked, there was no way out.

Adira shifted, her wrists still bruised from the previous night. Dante had a way of making everything look like love on the surface, but beneath it was rot. When they had first met, his charm had overwhelmed her, the sophistication in his every move pulling her into a world she had only ever dreamed about. She was seduced by his wealth, his power, the way he seemed to see through her, making her believe she was special. Dante was the perfect lover in public, a nightmare in private.

She didn't know when it had started to go wrong. Maybe it had always been wrong, and she had just been blind. But what began with subtle control had morphed into something far more sinister late-night interrogations about where she had been, who she had talked to. The gaslighting, the subtle digs at her worth, the possessive grip on her life. And now... now it was the physical control, the bruises hidden beneath designer dresses, the way his hands had become weapons disguised as affection.

The mansion was massive, sprawling over the hills like a king's palace. From the outside, it looked beautiful, perfect even. But for Adira, each inch of that space was a reminder of her confinement, her isolation. No matter how large it was, she always felt trapped. There were cameras in every room, save for the bathroom, and she knew Dante watched her. His obsession with her had grown, festering into something dark, something she couldn't fight.

He'd made her cut off her friends. "They don't understand our love," he'd told her one night, after accusing her of looking too long at another man at a dinner party. She'd laughed at first, but the humor died when she saw the rage in his eyes. That night, he'd locked her in the bedroom, refusing to let her out for hours. And when he did, he wasn't the same man anymore. He'd become a warden, and her world, his prison.

Adira stood from the couch, moving toward the window. The vast gardens stretched out below, their manicured lawns perfect in every way. Flowers bloomed in neat rows, but there was no color in them for her anymore. They were just another part of Dante's design, another part of the world she could see but never touch. Her fingers trailed over the cold glass, the sunlight mocking her with its warmth. Beyond the high walls of the estate was freedom, but it felt like a dream intangible and impossible.

A knock at the door startled her. She turned quickly, her heart racing. For a moment, irrational panic surged through her. Dante was supposed to be gone for the day, attending to one of his many business ventures. But Dante had a way of appearing when she least expected him, as though he could read her thoughts.

The door opened, and to her relief, it was not Dante. Instead, it was Lucille, the housekeeper. She was a middle-aged woman with kind eyes, but they were always downcast. Lucille never spoke much, and Adira suspected it was because she, too, feared Dante. The man had a way of suffocating everyone in his orbit, even those who served him.

"Miss Adira, I brought your tea," Lucille said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Adira offered a small, tight-lipped smile and nodded. Lucille set the tray down on the small table and quietly excused herself. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Adira alone once more. She looked at the tea, but the thought of drinking it turned her stomach. Everything felt poisoned in this house, even the simplest pleasures.