Chasing Sandro: A Dangerous Obsession

Chapter 32: The Manipulated Heart

Bella sat in the darkness of her lavish bedroom, staring at her reflection in the large mirror that covered the far wall. The woman looking back at her was someone she barely recognized anymore. Her usually sharp, self-assured expression had been replaced by one of confusion and regret, her once-pristine makeup smeared from hours of restless contemplation.

It had been days since Sandro's kidnapping, and though she had orchestrated every detail, the satisfaction she had imagined feeling was nowhere to be found. Instead, Bella's heart felt heavier with each passing moment, weighed down by an uncomfortable truth that was becoming harder to ignore: this wasn't going to make him love her.

From the beginning, Bella had told herself that everything she was doing was for Sandro. She had convinced herself that all her secret donations, her manipulations behind the scenes, and even the dangerous steps she'd taken now were justified. It was all because of her love for him—a love that burned so brightly it overshadowed every rational thought.

Sandro had been indifferent to her, cold even, and yet Bella had continued to believe that if she just gave enough, supported him enough, and stayed close enough, he would eventually see her for who she truly was. She imagined that, one day, he would wake up and realize she was the only one who truly cared for him.

But now, as Sandro sat imprisoned, with her holding the key to his freedom, that fantasy was crumbling.

Bella gripped the arms of her chair, her knuckles turning white. She had gone so far for him—further than she ever thought she could. The thought of him being held captive, terrified and alone, should have given her some sense of control, some satisfaction that now, at last, she had the upper hand. But instead, all she felt was an overwhelming emptiness.

The notes she had sent to him, carefully crafted to keep him guessing, to keep him paranoid—they weren't working the way she had hoped. Sandro's responses, though she couldn't see them firsthand, were relayed to her by the men she had hired. They told her how frightened he had become, how desperate he was to escape.

But that wasn't what Bella wanted.

She didn't want Sandro to fear her. She didn't want him to see her as some shadowy figure pulling the strings of his suffering. She had only wanted him to see her, to notice her in a way he never had before. Her intentions, once pure in her mind, had twisted into something unrecognizable, and now, the results were far from what she had hoped.

Bella thought back to their earlier interactions—how he had smiled at her politely at fundraisers, how he had thanked her for her contributions, how he had made her feel seen, even if just for a moment. Those fleeting moments of connection had fueled her obsession, had kept her believing that, one day, he would love her back.

But what had she done to that dream now?

Instead of building a bridge to his heart, she had locked him in a cage.

Bella stood abruptly, her movements sharp, her heart racing. She walked toward the mirror, staring into her own eyes, searching for the woman who had once been so sure of herself, so certain of what she was doing. But all she saw was a stranger—someone who had crossed lines she never imagined crossing.

The room felt suffocating as her thoughts spiraled. She had wanted Sandro to see her as powerful, indispensable, the one who could fix everything for him. But now she wondered if all he saw was a puppet master, pulling him into a nightmare he hadn't asked for.

Was this really how she thought she would win his love? By taking away his freedom, his dignity? Bella's chest tightened with the weight of the realization. This plan—this entire scheme—wasn't about love anymore. It was about control. It was about desperation. And the truth was finally crashing down on her with a force she could no longer ignore.

She wasn't making him fall in love with her.

She was making him hate her.

Tears stung Bella's eyes as she sank down onto the edge of her bed. She covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking as sobs wracked her body. She had spent so long convincing herself that everything she had done was for Sandro, but now, in the silence of her room, she couldn't lie to herself anymore.

This wasn't love.

Love wasn't supposed to feel like this. It wasn't supposed to hurt this much. She had twisted her feelings into something dark, something poisonous, and now she had no idea how to undo it.

Sandro would never love her—not after this. How could he? Even if he didn't know it was her behind the kidnapping, even if she never revealed her role in his suffering, Bella knew deep down that this act would always hang between them. It would be a shadow that tainted everything, a secret that would destroy any hope of the connection she had once dreamed of.

The sobs came harder now, as Bella rocked back and forth on the bed, her mind racing. She had wanted to make Sandro see her, to make him love her, but instead, she had destroyed any chance of that ever happening. All she had done was ensure that she would always be the villain in his story.

Bella wiped her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. She had to face the truth, as painful as it was. Her plan had failed, and now, she was trapped by her own actions. There was no going back, no way to erase the damage she had caused—not to Sandro, and not to herself.

The realization left her feeling hollow, like a shell of the person she had once been. She had sacrificed everything for a man who would never love her, and now she had nothing left but the bitter truth of her own mistakes.

Bella stood up, her legs weak beneath her, and walked over to the large window overlooking the city. The lights of the skyline blinked back at her, indifferent to her pain, to her unraveling. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass, her breath fogging up the window as she whispered to herself.

"What have I done?"

She had manipulated everything—his career, his success, his life—thinking that if she just held on tightly enough, he would eventually love her back. But she had never stopped to consider that love couldn't be forced, that it couldn't be taken by manipulating someone's heart.

In trying to control everything, she had lost the one thing that truly mattered—any chance of real love.

As Bella stared out into the night, her mind raced with questions. What should she do now? Should she release him? Should she end the kidnapping and try to fix what she had broken, or was it already too late?

A part of her knew that there was no fixing this, no going back to how things were before. But another part, the part still clinging to the fantasy that had driven her this far, whispered that there might still be a way to make him love her.

But how? How could she ever undo the damage she had caused?

Bella's heart ached with indecision as she turned away from the window, her mind torn between guilt and the desperate hope that, somehow, she could still win Sandro's love. But deep down, she knew the truth.

This wasn't love.

It never had been.