Twisted Desire

Chapter 6: Possession

The mansion was quiet in the early evening, but the stillness in the air was far from peaceful. It was suffocating, thick with the tension that filled every corner of Dante’s world. Adira moved silently down the long corridor, her footsteps light on the marble floor. The echo of her heels tapping softly against the stone reminded her of the ticking clock, the inevitable pull toward the next confrontation.

She had learned to anticipate these moments—when Dante’s mood would shift from the polished, charismatic man he showed the world to the cold, cruel tyrant he became when the doors were closed. Adira knew the signs. The way his voice lowered, his touch became more possessive, and his eyes—once so entrancing—turned into dark pools of control and dominance.

It was the way he had always been, though it had taken her far too long to see it.

As she neared the master suite, her heart quickened. There was a hollowness in her chest, a familiar ache that came from the constant suppression of fear, the need to remain composed, even when she wanted to scream. Her fingers brushed the smooth wood of the door before her, pausing for just a second longer than she should have.

Inside, she knew what awaited her: Dante, his unyielding control, and the possessiveness that consumed every aspect of their relationship. He had made her feel wanted once. Now, she felt only like a beautiful object in his collection, a prized possession he would never let go of.

She opened the door.

Dante sat in the center of the room, on the edge of their bed, his back to the door. The soft lamplight threw shadows across his face, sharpening the angles of his jaw and the lines of his expression. His posture was relaxed, but Adira knew better. The tension in his shoulders, the way his hands rested too still on his knees—it was all an illusion of calm.

She entered the room quietly, closing the door behind her, sealing herself in with him. Her throat tightened as she took a step forward, the weight of his presence pressing down on her.

“You’re late,” he said, his voice deceptively soft. He didn’t turn to look at her, but his words hung in the air like a trap, waiting to spring.

Adira swallowed hard. She had been late—deliberately. She had spent an extra minute downstairs, lingering in the kitchen, pretending she needed more time to finish the wine she wasn’t even drinking. She knew Dante would notice, knew that it would provoke him. And yet, she had done it anyway.

“I was finishing some things,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. Her words felt small in the vastness of the room, easily swallowed by the silence.

Dante stood, finally turning to face her. He looked at her with those dark, cold eyes, and for a moment, the memory of the man she had once fallen for flashed through her mind. He had been charming, attentive, intoxicating. But that version of him was long gone. The man standing before her now was something else entirely—something cruel and possessive.

“You know how I feel about being kept waiting,” he said, his tone still low but now edged with danger.

Adira stiffened, instinctively bracing herself for the next move. She knew what was coming, the cycle of violence and control they had fallen into. It was a twisted dance they had repeated countless times, each step calculated, each movement designed to remind her of her place.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, though the words felt empty.

Dante took a step toward her, closing the distance between them. His fingers brushed her cheek, soft at first, before they gripped her chin, forcing her to look up at him. His touch was deceptively gentle, as it always was in the beginning.