The club was alive with sound and motion, a swirl of red and gold lights casting fleeting shadows across the crowded dance floor. Isabella found herself in a quiet corner, glass of wine in hand, letting the music hum around her like a protective bubble. Her thoughts had been relentless all day: the mansion, the Ashwell family, the impossibly opulent rooms, and the mysterious mark on her neck. She needed to escape, even for a little while.
The alcohol loosened her tongue, and before she even realized it, she was talking to someone — a man she didn't know, yet whose presence felt oddly intense. "I… I was invited to Italy for a wedding," she admitted, laughing nervously. "I don't even know the couple. My family got first-class tickets, and we're staying in this mansion — Ashwell Mansion. My room… it's… it's like a palace. And my father… he signed some contract years ago with Lucien Ashwell. I didn't even know until now!"
She paused, cheeks flushing as she realized how much she had spilled. The stranger nodded, listening intently, yet she didn't think much of it. She felt lighter, as if saying it out loud allowed her to release some of the tension that had been coiled inside her since arriving.
What she didn't notice was the man leaning slightly against the bar, his dark eyes trained on her from across the room. He had heard every word, every detail, every unintended confession. His presence was silent but commanding, a shadow that seemed to merge with the beat of the music.
He didn't speak, didn't step forward, only observed. There was a small, almost imperceptible smile on his lips as he watched her laugh at her own nervousness. He knew the story behind her every word, knew the truth she didn't yet grasp. She had no idea that the person she thought was a stranger was, in fact, her future husband — someone who had been waiting for her long before she had arrived in Italy.
As the evening progressed, Isabella found herself repeatedly looking in his direction. There was something about the calm confidence in his stance, the quiet intensity in his gaze. She felt an unexplainable pull, a connection she couldn't name, a magnetic force that drew her toward him even though she didn't know him.
Finally, the night wound down. The crowd thinned, the lights dimmed, and the music softened. The man approached, silent, steady, offering her a protective presence without a word. He didn't hold her hand — not yet — but as she walked toward the exit, her shoulder brushed lightly against his. A jolt ran through her, quick and electric. She startled slightly but didn't pull away.
Outside, under the amber glow of the streetlamps, the cool night air wrapped around them. He kept his distance, but the intensity between them was palpable. She felt it in her pulse, in the small quickening of her breath, in the strange, thrilling awareness that she wasn't alone.
"You don't know me," he said softly, almost to himself, yet audible enough for her to hear. His voice was calm, steady, measured — confident without being imposing. Isabella only nodded, unsure whether to respond. Her mind spun with questions she didn't dare ask.
Her thoughts flickered back to the mansion, the breakfast, the mysterious family, and the mark on her neck. And yet, a deep, unexplainable sense of anticipation settled over her. This man — who she didn't know — seemed tied to everything that had changed since she arrived in Italy.
He watched her climb the steps to the mansion, the soft hem of her dress brushing against the marble. She didn't know who he was. She didn't know that he knew everything — her family's past, the contract, even the secret of the mansion itself. But he would wait, and he would watch. Because some things, he thought, were worth waiting for.Then they went out of the cluband decided to go to his house.
The streets were quiet, the city lights reflecting off the wet cobblestones from a passing drizzle. Isabella walked beside him, her pulse still racing from the music, the wine, and the strange, undeniable pull she felt toward this man. He led her to a small, private townhouse not far from the club. The moment the door closed behind them, the world outside seemed to vanish. The air between them became charged, electric, yet intimate. Without a word, he stepped closer. His hands found hers, holding them firmly, and she didn't pull away. Their eyes met — hers wide with a mix of curiosity and nervous excitement, his calm but intense.
Then he leaned in, brushing his lips against hers. A soft, lingering kiss at first, full of quiet intensity. Isabella's hands rested against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her fingers. Each second stretched, charged with tension and unspoken words. He pulled her closer, their bodies pressed together, and she wrapped her arms around him instinctively. Their breathing matched, shallow and quick. The room seemed smaller, warmer, the space around them disappearing as they held each other tightly. Polite conversation, caution, and curiosity faded completely. Their foreheads pressed together, and he brushed a gentle hand across her cheek, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw.
Then he starts moving down and licking her too. later he takes off his shirt and hers too. he opens her bra and starts sucking her breast and squeezing the other, he also bit her breast. then he kisses her stomach and takes off his pants and Isabella's too and then her panties. first he licks her whole pussy with his tongue and then pushes 2 fingers inside her. Isabella breathes deeply and moans. then he pushes his penis in with all his might and Isabella screams even louder. Elijah then kisses her neck and leaves bites, while Isabella pulls his hair and with her other hand presses her nails into his back.
They stayed like that for what felt like hours — close, connected, and perfectly aware of each other. Polite smiles and measured words had vanished; there was only this — the quiet rhythm of two people drawn together by something neither could yet name.
Eventually, he pulled back just enough to look at her, his dark eyes soft but unreadable. She smiled nervously, trying to steady her racing heart. He mirrored the smile, leaning in for one last, lingering kiss before they separated.
"I should go," she whispered, breathless.
"Soon," he replied quietly, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "But not yet."
She nodded, even thought she was drunk, she sensed that relationship between them will develop into something more.