Page 8 of Chains of Obsession

I think back to the wedding. The vows spoken like threats, the cold weight of this ring on my finger, and the searing heat of his lips on mine. He didn’t kiss me like a husband kisses his bride. He kissed me like a conqueror marking his territory.

I stand abruptly, pacing the garden. The sun warms the chill in my bones. I hate this. I hate him. Yet, there’s a part of me that can’t ignore the pull of his darkness. It’s intoxicating, dangerous, and impossible to escape. A soft rustle behind me makes me turn. It’s the housekeeper. She bows her head slightly, a gesture of respect I neither want nor need.

“Signora,” she says quietly, holding out a tray with a delicate teacup.

I nod, taking the tea, but my throat tightens at the title.Signora.The word feels foreign, like it doesn’t belong to me.

Elena hesitates before speaking again. “If I may, Signora, the garden is very beautiful this time of year.”

I force a small smile. “Yes, it is.”

With a quick nod, she retreats, leaving me alone once again. I sip the tea, the bitterness grounding me. My mind drifts back to my father, to the choices he made that led me here. Was he trying to protect me by keeping me ignorant? Or was he simply underestimating the reach of men like Matteo?. They call himIl Re Oscuro—The Dark King. The name isn’t just a title; it’s a warning. Matteo doesn’t just command his empire; he reigns over it with an iron fist.

To the outside world, he’s a polished businessman with a devilish smile and a tailored suit. But beneath the charm lies a man who wouldn’t hesitate to spill blood to protect his throne. The whispers I’ve heard around the estate confirm as much. Men speak his name in hushed tones, their voices tinged with a mix of reverence and fear. Matteo’s power isn’t just in his wealth or influence—it’s in his ability to destroy anyone who threatenshim. I try to imagine what it must be like for him to carry that weight. To be the man who decides the fate of so many.

But then I remember the cold way he looks at me, the calculated intensity in his eyes, and I know he thrives on it. This isn’t a burden for him; it’s a game that now I’m part of. A pawn in his twisted empire, shackled to a man who sees me as both his possession and his prize. I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms. I hate this. I hate him.

But most of all, I hate the part of me that’s fascinated by him. He’s ruthless, yes, but there’s something else beneath the surface. A flicker of vulnerability he tried to hide behind his mask of control. It’s there in the way his jaw tightens when he thinks no one is looking. In the way his hands trembled, just for a moment, when he slid the ring onto my finger. I shake my head, trying to banish the thought. I can’t let myself feel anything for him. Not pity, not understanding, not even hatred. Because any emotion I show will only feed his obsession. The sound of heavy footsteps pulls me from my thoughts.

“Amelia.”

His voice startles me, deep and rich, cutting through the stillness like a blade. I glance up to see Matteo standing a few feet away, his hands tucked into the pockets of his tailored slacks. He looks every bit like the devil in disguise, handsome and dangerous.

“What do you want?” I ask, my tone sharp.

He steps closer, his gaze locked on mine. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I didn’t realize I was required to be at your beck and call. Or is that another rule you forgot to mention?” I say, standing.

His lips twitch, not quite a smile but close. “You have a sharp tongue. But you should be careful. One day, it might get you into trouble.”

I cross my arms, refusing to let him intimidate me. “Is that a threat?”

“An observation and a reminder.” he says smoothly.

“For what?” I challenge.

“That you’re mine.”

The possessiveness in his voice makes my stomach twist, equal parts fury and something I refuse to name. “I don’t belong to anyone, Matteo. Least of all you.”

He takes another step forward, and suddenly the air between us feels charged, electric. “Keep telling yourself that,” he murmurs, his voice low.

I refuse to back down, meeting his gaze head-on. “You can force me into this marriage, Matteo, but you’ll never have me.”

For a moment, neither of us speaks. The tension is palpable, heavy with unspoken words and unacknowledged truths. Then, without warning, he reaches for me, his hand curling around my wrist, tracing over the indents from the cuffs.

“Do you ever stop fighting?” he asks, his tone a mix of frustration and fascination.

“Not when it comes to you,” I snap.

His grip tightens, not enough to hurt but enough to remind me of his strength. “You drive me insane, you know that?”

“Good,” I spit back.

And then it happens again. His lips crash against mine, fierce and unyielding. It’s not a kiss born of tenderness, it’s a battle, a clash of wills. I want to pull away, to shove him back and scream at him, but my traitorous body has other ideas. I kiss him back, matching his intensity with my own. His hands move to my waist, pulling me closer, and I hate the way my body responds to him, the way my pulse races and my breath catches. This isn’t supposed to happen. I’m supposed to hate him, to resist him at every turn. When we finally break apart, I’m breathing hard, mylips tingling. He looks just as affected, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath.

“This will not change my mind” I say, my voice shaking with anger.

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