The car ride back to the mansion was silent.
Not the comfortable kind of silence, but the kind that had weight to it—heavy, sharp, suffocating. The kind that sat between them like something living.
Isabella kept her eyes on the window, watching the soft blur of Italian countryside slide past.She didn't look at Elijah.She didn't have to.She could feel him watching her, jaw tense, hands closed around the steering wheel like he was holding back the urge to break something.
When they reached the mansion, they walked through the doors without a word.
Isabella didn't look back as she climbed the grand staircase.She didn't slam her bedroom door, though she wanted to.Slamming it would have meant she cared.
She didn't want him to have that.
She sat on her bed for a long time, staring at her hands, her breath still uneven.Everything inside her felt tangled—fear, anger, confusion… and something warm she refused to name.
Eventually, exhaustion pulled her under.
She fell asleep on top of the blankets, still in yesterday's dress, her hair messy, her face tear-stained.
It was deep into the night when she woke to the feeling of an arm slipping around her waist.
Warm. Solid. Familiar.
Her breath caught.
"Elijah," she whispered, not because she meant to say his name, but because her body remembered before her mind allowed it.
He didn't speak at first.He just held her. His chest pressed against her back. His hand splayed over her stomach, pulling her closer—as if he was afraid she would fade or evaporate if he didn't.
His breath moved slowly against her neck.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. Low. Too honest.
"You are mine."
Not a threat.A confession.
She closed her eyes, her throat tightening.
His lips brushed her neck—soft, slow, deliberate—tracing the same place where he had once bitten her. The memory burned through her like heat.
"You always were," he murmured.His voice was rougher now, almost pained."And you always will be."
She wanted to push him away.She wanted to melt into him.Both at the same time.
"Elijah…" Her voice trembled. "Stop."
He didn't pull away.
He only tightened his hold, forehead resting against her shoulder.
"No," he breathed. "Not tonight."
She felt the words inside her chest, not just in her ears.
His lips brushed her jaw.Slow. Careful.Like she was breakable and holy at the same time.
"I won't lose you," he whispered.
Isabella didn't answer.Her body stayed stiff.Her heart didn't.
And he stayed there—arm around her waist, face buried against her neck—until sleep took both of them.
Together.