Isabella didn't sleep that night.
The room she was shown to was more luxurious than any place she had ever stayed. Velvet drapes, golden sconces, a bed so large it made her feel small. But comfort couldn't quiet her thoughts, not with Fernando Rossi just a hallway away.
The man terrified her.
But more dangerous than her fear… was her fascination.
She stood by the window, arms wrapped around herself, watching the waves crash violently below the cliffside. The same waves that had roared behind the Rossi estate for generations. They had witnessed blood. Secrets. Power passed down like a crown carved in shadow.
And now, they watched her.
What did he want from her? Really?
Because men like Fernando didn't invite women like her into their world for nothing. She wasn't a debutante, or some innocent flower. She had history. She had scars. And yet… he looked at her like she was his beginning and his end.
The knock came just before dawn.
Soft. Intentional.
She turned slowly, heart thudding.
The door opened an inch, and a low voice said, "Dress warm. We're leaving in ten minutes."
Before she could ask where, the footsteps vanished.
***
The black SUV rumbled down a private road, framed by sleeping trees and morning mist. Fernando drove, gloved hands steady on the wheel, his jaw tense with silence.
"Are you going to tell me where we're going?" Isabella asked.
"You'll see."
"I don't like surprises."
He glanced sideways. "You'll like this one."
She didn't trust him—but part of her wanted to. And that part was growing louder.
After twenty minutes, they reached a private dock. A sleek boat waited, the water perfectly still, as if it had been ordered not to make a sound.
They boarded. No guards. No crew.
Just the two of them and the hush of early morning.
As the boat cut across the surface, Isabella couldn't help but ask, "Is this how you spend your mornings? Kidnapping women and taking them on romantic boat rides?"
Fernando let out a soft, amused breath. "You're not kidnapped, Isabella."
"Could've fooled me."
"You walked through my door."
"And now I'm trapped behind it."
He slowed the boat and turned off the engine. Silence fell. Just them, the water, and the vast sky overhead turning from violet to soft blue.
"You're not trapped," he said gently. "You're protected."
"From who?"
He turned to face her fully.
"From the people who want to use you. From the men who only see your body. From the ghosts you're trying to outrun."
A pause. "From yourself."
Her breath caught.
No one had ever said that. No one had ever *seen* that.
"How do you know?" she whispered.
"Because I've watched you for longer than you realize," he said. "And because I know what it means to fight your demons every single day."
She swallowed hard, trying to steady her voice. "Why me, Fernando ? Out of every woman you could have—why choose someone like me?"
He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. His touch was soft. Unbelievably soft for a man with blood on his hands.
"Because you're not *like* anyone," he said. "You've survived what should've broken you. And yet, you still stand. You still fight. You still love."
He leaned in slightly, voice low. "You make me want something more than just power."
She stared at him, searching for the lie.
There wasn't one.
Her defenses cracked just a little.
And when he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, she didn't pull away.
"I don't know if I can be what you need," she said honestly.
"You already are," he replied. "You just don't see it yet."
***
Back at the estate, she stood in front of a mirror, watching her reflection.
Same eyes. Same past. Same broken pieces.
But something had changed.
Fernando Rossi didn't promise her a fairy tale.
He offered her a throne. One she'd have to fight for. One laced with danger and scars.
But it would be hers.
And maybe—just maybe—she was done running.
Maybe she was ready to become the queen of his crime.
---
Isabella didn't sleep that night.
The room she was shown to was more luxurious than any place she had ever stayed. Velvet drapes, golden sconces, a bed so large it made her feel small. But comfort couldn't quiet her thoughts, not with Fernando Rossi just a hallway away.
The man terrified her.
But more dangerous than her fear… was her fascination.
She stood by the window, arms wrapped around herself, watching the waves crash violently below the cliffside. The same waves that had roared behind the Rossi estate for generations. They had witnessed blood. Secrets. Power passed down like a crown carved in shadow.
And now, they watched her.
What did he want from her? Really?
Because men like Fernando didn't invite women like her into their world for nothing. She wasn't a debutante, or some innocent flower. She had history. She had scars. And yet… he looked at her like she was his beginning and his end.
The knock came just before dawn.
Soft. Intentional.
She turned slowly, heart thudding.
The door opened an inch, and a low voice said, "Dress warm. We're leaving in ten minutes."
Before she could ask where, the footsteps vanished.
***
The black SUV rumbled down a private road, framed by sleeping trees and morning mist. Fernando drove, gloved hands steady on the wheel, his jaw tense with silence.
"Are you going to tell me where we're going?" Isabella asked.
"You'll see."
"I don't like surprises."
He glanced sideways. "You'll like this one."
She didn't trust him—but part of her wanted to. And that part was growing louder.
After twenty minutes, they reached a private dock. A sleek boat waited, the water perfectly still, as if it had been ordered not to make a sound.
They boarded. No guards. No crew.
Just the two of them and the hush of early morning.
As the boat cut across the surface, Isabella couldn't help but ask, "Is this how you spend your mornings? Kidnapping women and taking them on romantic boat rides?"
Fernando let out a soft, amused breath. "You're not kidnapped, Isabella."
"Could've fooled me."
"You walked through my door."
"And now I'm trapped behind it."
He slowed the boat and turned off the engine. Silence fell. Just them, the water, and the vast sky overhead turning from violet to soft blue.
"You're not trapped," he said gently. "You're protected."
"From who?"
He turned to face her fully.
"From the people who want to use you. From the men who only see your body. From the ghosts you're trying to outrun."
A pause. "From yourself."
Her breath caught.
No one had ever said that. No one had ever *seen* that.
"How do you know?" she whispered.
"Because I've watched you for longer than you realize," he said. "And because I know what it means to fight your demons every single day."
She swallowed hard, trying to steady her voice. "Why me, Fernando ? Out of every woman you could have—why choose someone like me?"
He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. His touch was soft. Unbelievably soft for a man with blood on his hands.
"Because you're not *like* anyone," he said. "You've survived what should've broken you. And yet, you still stand. You still fight. You still love."
He leaned in slightly, voice low. "You make me want something more than just power."
She stared at him, searching for the lie.
There wasn't one.
Her defenses cracked just a little.
And when he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, she didn't pull away.
"I don't know if I can be what you need," she said honestly.
"You already are," he replied. "You just don't see it yet."
***
Back at the estate, she stood in front of a mirror, watching her reflection.
Same eyes. Same past. Same broken pieces.
But something had changed.
Fernando Rossi didn't promise her a fairy tale.
He offered her a throne. One she'd have to fight for. One laced with danger and scars.
But it would be hers.
And maybe—just maybe—she was done running.
Maybe she was ready to become the queen of his crime.
---