I took a long, deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. The weight of the moment pressed down on me, and I knew I needed to say something, to make him believe me. “I didn't push her, that's true," I began, my voice trembling slightly. "But..." Clyde’s eyes never left mine, his face set in a serious, unwavering expression. "But what?" he asked, his tone gentle yet firm, urging me to continue. “But maybe I'm the reason," I admitted, the words spilling out of me in a rush. Clyde's eyebrows knit together in confusion, but he didn’t interrupt. His silence was a prompt, urging me to explain. “I mean," I continued, taking another shaky breath, "I didn’t physically push her, but I feel like I might have set things in motion. Maybe if I had acted differently, been more aware, this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe there was something I could have done to prevent it." And without wasting a second, he said, "No, you're not responsible for her death." His voice was firm, almost commanding, and it
I wanted him to leave me alone, but no matter how loudly I yelled at him to get out, he wouldn't listen. Clyde just stood there, a stubborn and unyielding presence in my room. His eyes held a mixture of determination and something darker, something I couldn't quite place. It made my skin crawl. "Should I start distributing our wedding cards since you denied to go back to your dad?" he asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm. Each word he spoke felt like a sharp jab, cutting deeper into the wounds I was desperately trying to heal. Clyde paused, his gaze never leaving mine. Then he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, almost seductive whisper. "This only means one thing." My breath hitched as his words hung in the air between us, heavy and suffocating. I could feel the heat of his breath against my skin, sending shivers down my spine. He continued, his voice barely audible now but laced with an intensity that sent chills through me. "That you want to take revenge on him for d
Clyde continued, seemingly relishing my shock. "She knew I was coming back for a reason," he said, his voice dripping with arrogance. "And since I'm smarter than Carmine, I used her for my own benefit." His self-satisfaction was infuriating. The way he spoke about manipulating Susan, as if it were some grand achievement, made my blood boil. He was playing a twisted game, and we were all just pawns to him. "You're so devilish," I spat, unable to contain my disgust. "And you shouldn't be proud of this." Clyde shrugged nonchalantly, as if the weight of his words meant nothing to him. His casual demeanor only fueled my frustration. "Don't be jealous because I'm smarter than your lover," he said, his voice dripping with condescension. "He's not my lover," I snapped, the denial bursting out before I could stop it. My face flushed with a mix of anger and embarrassment. Clyde always had a way of getting under my skin, twisting my words and emotions to suit his own purposes. Clyde's smirk
It had been a week since I arrived here, and the days seemed to stretch on endlessly, each one more suffocating than the last. Clyde had wasted no time in making his intentions clear—he wanted me to marry him. I hadn’t said yes, not immediately. But how could I outright refuse when the truth had come crashing down on me like a tidal wave? My father, ruthless and unyielding, was hell-bent on destroying Carmine, all because of me. The thought of Carmine fighting a battle he hadn't asked for, one he was drawn into just because he cared for me, twisted my insides with guilt. Every day I spent here, isolated and under Clyde's watchful eye, only amplified the helplessness gnawing at me. And now, as I lay on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, the weight of everything pressed down on me. The evening light filtered through the curtains, casting long shadows across the room. This was the time when Clyde and I were supposed to have dinner together, a routine that had quickly become a daily rit
It was strange, almost intoxicating, to be viewed this way. When I walked through the corridors, I felt the weight of their gazes, but it was different from what I had grown used to. Instead of judgment or pity, there was a quiet reverence in their eyes. They looked at me not just as a guest or a burden to be tolerated, but as someone who mattered, someone who held a place of importance in their world. I knew why, of course. Clyde had made sure they saw me this way. He had woven this narrative where I wasn’t just Isabella, but the woman who would soon stand beside him. It was a role he had crafted carefully, one that came with privileges I was only beginning to understand. And even though I knew this respect was born out of his influence, it didn’t stop me from feeling its allure. In this house, under Clyde’s roof, I was no longer an outsider looking in. I was someone of significance, and that feeling was both empowering and disconcerting. As I walked towards the hall, where Clyde wa
Clyde’s smirk faded slightly as he listened, his eyes studying me with a new intensity. I could see the gears turning in his mind, the way he was recalculating, reassessing. He hadn’t expected this from me, hadn’t expected me to stand my ground in the face of his taunts. But that was the thing about Clyde—he thrived on power plays, on challenges. “Alright,” he said finally, his voice softer now, but no less dangerous. “You’ve piqued my interest, Isabella. What’s your condition?” His question hung in the air between us, charged with a mixture of curiosity and caution. For a brief moment, I saw something in his eyes that looked almost like respect. It was fleeting, but it was there, a recognition that I wasn’t just going to be a pawn in his game. I was trying to carve out my own space, to find a way to keep a piece of myself intact in all of this. Taking a bite from my food, I gathered my thoughts, trying to steady the tumultuous emotions swirling inside me. The flavors of the meal we
Just as he turned on the screen, Carmine’s face immediately appeared, filled with concern. His brows were furrowed, his eyes wide with worry. I’d never seen him like this before, not in the two years I’ve known him. The tension in his voice was unmistakable when he asked, “Isabella, are you okay?” I was momentarily taken aback. The Carmine I knew was usually composed, often with a calm and easygoing demeanor. Yet now, he looked almost frantic, his usual confidence replaced by genuine anxiety. It was strange, seeing someone so unshakable suddenly appear so vulnerable. It took me a few seconds to process the situation, but then it hit me. For the first time, I realized that there was someone out there who truly cared about me. His concern wasn’t superficial; it wasn’t just out of politeness or obligation. No, this was real, unfiltered worry, and it was directed entirely at me. I had grown used to managing things on my own, rarely expecting anyone to be truly invested in my well-being
The pit in my stomach grew, knowing how much Carmine would be hurt by whatever Clyde was planning to say next. I could almost see it in my mind: the hope in Carmine’s eyes shattering, replaced by the raw pain of betrayal. That’s exactly what Clyde wanted—to destroy any sliver of hope either of us might have had. “Stop!” I whispered sharply, the words escaping my lips before I could even think. My voice was hoarse, strained with the effort of keeping my emotions in check. I knew shouting would only feed into his sick pleasure, so I tried to hold back the rage simmering inside me. But it was impossible to mask the desperation in my tone. Clyde’s smirk deepened, that familiar proud and taunting smile spreading across his face—the one that made my blood boil. He was reveling in this moment, thoroughly enjoying the power he held over me. He had me cornered, and he knew it. It was infuriating, knowing that no matter what I said or did, he was always one step ahead, always pulling the stri