4. she was angry

Emilia returned to the dining hall, her steps slower than before, as if the weight of her mother’s words had seeped into her very bones. She scanned the room and found Luca waiting for her near the head of the table. His piercing dark eyes locked on her instantly, and his brow furrowed slightly at the look on her face.

“You’ve been gone a while,” he said, his voice calm but with an edge of curiosity. “What happened?”

Emilia forced a small, dismissive smile, hoping to deflect his attention. “Nothing that concerns you,” she replied lightly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “My matters aren’t yours.”

The atmosphere shifted instantly. Luca’s jaw tightened, and his eyes darkened, his posture becoming rigid. Without saying a word, he reached for her wrist, his grip firm yet not painful, and pulled her away from the crowd.

“Luca—” she began to protest, but he silenced her with a sharp look.

He guided her to a shadowed corner of the grand hall, away from the prying eyes of the guests. The noise of the festivities dimmed as they stood in the quiet alcove, the tension between them almost palpable.

Luca’s voice was low and dangerous when he spoke, his gaze boring into hers. “Let’s get something straight, mia moglie,” he said, his words deliberate. “You may think your matters aren’t mine, but you’re wrong. You, along with your body, your soul, your mind, and your heart—they belong to me. Completely.”

Emilia’s breath hitched, and she took a step back, but Luca didn’t let her go. He leaned in closer, his presence overwhelming.

“You don’t get to decide what concerns me,” he continued, his voice a mix of authority and possessiveness. “Everything about you—your thoughts, your fears, your pain—is mine. Only mine.”

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her pulse racing as his words sank in. She wanted to argue, to tell him he had no right to speak to her like this, but the intensity of his gaze silenced her.

“And let me be perfectly clear,” he said, his tone softening slightly but losing none of its dominance. “If you think for one second that you can hide something from me, you’re mistaken. I will always know. I will always find out.”

His grip on her wrist loosened, but his hand lingered, sliding down to intertwine his fingers with hers. The gesture was surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to the fierceness of his words.

Emilia’s mind was a whirlwind of emotions—anger, fear, confusion, and something else she couldn’t quite place. Luca’s dominance was suffocating, but it was also strangely grounding. For the first time since the wedding, she felt seen, even if it was in a way that terrified her.

“You can’t control me,” she whispered, her voice shaky but defiant.

Luca tilted his head, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Is that what you think? That this is about control?” He stepped closer, his free hand brushing a strand of hair from her face. “This is about claiming what’s mine. And make no mistake, Emilia—you are mine.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away, refusing to meet his eyes. But Luca wasn’t having it. He gently grasped her chin, tilting her head back until their gazes locked.

“You can fight me all you want, amore mio,” he said softly, his tone almost teasing. “But it won’t change the truth. You’re bound to me now. In every way.”

Emilia’s resolve faltered, and she felt a surge of anger at herself for the way her body reacted to his closeness. She hated the way her heart raced, the way her skin tingled under his touch. But most of all, she hated that some part of her wanted to believe him—to find comfort in the certainty of his claim.

“Let me go,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

Luca studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, to her surprise, he released her hand and stepped back, giving her the space she desperately needed.

But before she could take a breath of relief, he leaned in close, his lips brushing against her ear as he spoke. “You can run from me, Emilia, but you’ll never escape me. Remember that.”

With that, he straightened, his demeanor calm once more, as if the heated exchange had never happened. He offered her his arm, his dark eyes glittering with amusement.

“Shall we return to our guests?” he asked smoothly.

Emilia hesitated, her mind racing. She didn’t trust herself to speak, so she simply nodded and placed her hand on his arm.

As they walked back to the dining hall, Luca’s grip on her hand was firm but not forceful, a silent reminder of his earlier words. Emilia kept her face neutral, but inside, she felt the weight of his claim settle over her like a heavy mantle.

The evening continued, and Emilia found herself playing her role with more determination than before. She laughed when it was expected, smiled when prompted, and danced when Luca led her onto the floor. But beneath the polished facade, her mind churned.

She was angry—at her mother, at Luca, at the entire world that had conspired to trap her in this marriage. But more than anything, she was angry at herself for the flicker of curiosity Luca’s words had sparked within her.

As the night drew to a close, Emilia resolved to keep her guard up. Luca may have claimed her, but she wasn’t ready to surrender—not yet.

But deep down, a part of her couldn’t help but wonder: how long could she resist him before his dominance became her reality?