Page 5 of Chains of Obsession

She scoffs, her beautiful eyes narrowing. There’s fire in those eyes, golden flecks that dance like sparks threatening to ignite. She doesn’t realize how easily I could extinguish them if I wanted to. Or maybe she does. Maybe that’s what excites me about her.

“You think this is survival?. Binding me to you like some bargaining chip?” she spits, her voice trembling with rage.

I rise slowly, deliberately, savoring the way her shoulders stiffen as I move closer. She doesn’t back away. She just watches as I reach her, I stop inches away, close enough to see the rise and fall of her chest as she fights to keep control. I lower my voice, leaning in just enough for my words to brush against her ear.

“This is survival. Your family made choices,cara mia. Now, so will you.”

She doesn’t flinch, but her breath hitches. A small, fleeting sound that only I catch. I should leave it at that, let her stew in her fury, but something about her pulls me closer. A need I can’t quite name, but one I refuse to ignore.

“You’ll fight me. But make no mistake, this is your new reality. The sooner you accept it, the easier it will be.” I say, stepping back and meeting her gaze head-on.

Her eyes flash, and for a moment, I wonder if she’ll slap me. Part of me almost hopes she does. At least it would be honest. Instead, she tilts her chin up, defiance dripping from every inch of her. “I’ll never accept this. Or you.”

I let a slow smile spread across my face, knowing it’ll infuriate her further. “You will. One way or another.”

She doesn’t respond. She just glares at me, her silence speaking volumes. As I walk away, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve just lit a match in a room soaked with gasoline. Let the fire come.

*Two days later*

The priest’s voice drones on, reciting vows that mean nothing to me. I glance at Amelia standing beside me, her spine ramrod straight, her hands clenched so tightly around her bouquet that her knuckles are white. Her defiance radiates off her in waves, her fury simmering just beneath the surface. She hates me. She hasn’t said the words outright—yet—but her glare says enough.I expected this marriage to be a challenge. I didn’t expect her to look so damn beautiful while plotting my demise.

“Do you, Matteo Moretti, take Amelia Ricci—”

“I do,” I interrupt, my voice firm.

Amelia stiffens beside me, and I catch the subtle flare of her nostrils, the only sign of the fire burning inside her. Her turn comes, and for a moment, I wonder if she’ll refuse. Part of me wants her to, just to see how far she’s willing to push. But she doesn’t. After a long, intense pause, she says, “I do,” her voice sharp enough to cut glass.

The priest declares us husband and wife, and the weight of what I’ve just done settles over me. No regret, I don’t regret anything—but there’s a certain finality to this moment. I’ve taken her name, her freedom, her life, and bound it all to mine.

As we leave the chapel, the small crowd of witnesses clap politely. They’re all here for appearances, none of them important enough to question the reason behind this marriage. I guide Amelia toward the car waiting outside, my hand resting lightly on the curve of her back. She stiffens at the contact.

The estate is quiet when we arrive, the weight of the day pressing down on us like a suffocating fog. I lead her through the halls to the room we will now share. It’s tradition, of course. Appearances must be kept. She steps inside, her sharp gaze darting around the room.

I follow, closing the door behind me with a deliberate click. She stiffens at the sound. Good. She should be afraid. The room is dimly lit, the glow of the fireplace casting shadows along the walls. The bed, large and imposing, dominates the space. Deepred sheets, silk and smooth, a contrast to the cold reality of what this night signifies. There’s no escape here. No mercy. She turns to face me, chin raised, fire in her eyes despite the uncertainty laced beneath it. “I’ll never be yours,” she spits, voice sharp and defiant.

I smile. A slow, calculated thing. “You already are.”

I step forward, and she instinctively takes a step back, her back pressing against the carved wooden post of the bed. There’s nowhere left to run. The realization dawns on her, dark and suffocating. She swallows but doesn’t break. Not yet. I reach into my pocket, pulling out a small, silver key attached to a delicate chain.

It gleams in the low light as I dangle it between us. Her gaze flickers to it. “What is that?”

I close the space between us, my hand brushing the side of her neck as I lift her hair away. The shiver she tries to suppress doesn’t go unnoticed. I clasp the chain around her throat, the key resting just above her collarbone.

My fingers trailing over the metal. “It’s the proof that your mine.”

Her breath stutters, but she doesn’t look away. “You’re a monster.”

I chuckle, low and dark. “You,amore mia, are the one who walked willingly into the cage.”

I reach into the bedside drawer and pull out what’s waiting there. Cold iron cuffs. The glint of steel. The weight of control. She sees them, her entire body going still.

“You wouldn’t,” she whispers, voice trembling now.

I grip her wrist, pulling her forward, pressing the first cuff around her delicate bones. The click echoes through the room. “I will.”

The second follows just as easily. I watch her, fascinated by the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the way her lips part in stunneddisbelief. She tugs at the chains linking her wrists, testing, resisting. But they don’t break. Neither will she.

I tilt her chin up, forcing her to meet my gaze. “You thought this marriage was for love but your wrong. It’s a business arrangement.”

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