Isabella didn't know how long Alessandro had been standing outside the door. Time had lost its meaning, turning into a viscous liquid mixed with fear and silence. She could hear her own frantic heartbeat, like a bird trapped in a cage, desperately crashing against her ribs, each impact carrying the desperation of impending death. His low voice, tinged with a hint of pleading, far from soothing her, was like a cold venomous snake that had slithered through the crack in the door and coiled around her ankle.

She bit her lip hard, swallowing back all whimpers and trembles into her throat. She couldn't open the door. She knew that once this door opened, she would be completely devoured by that bottomless darkness, with no possibility of turning back.


Finally, the footsteps outside the door gradually faded away.

Isabella collapsed onto the carpet like a boneless invertebrate, gasping for breath, cold sweat soaking through the silk nightgown on her back. The silence in the hallway was more terrifying than his presence, because it meant he had only temporarily left, and he would return. This manor was his kingdom, and she was his newly acquired, disobedient collectible.

After an unknown amount of time, when she thought she would suffocate in this airless despair, there was another knock at the door. This time, it wasn't Alessandro's oppressive, dull thud, but two crisp, restrained taps.


She looked up in terror, like a frightened rabbit.

"Miss Isabella," Luca's voice came through, steady, calm, devoid of any emotion, "The master asked me to bring you some food."


It was Luca. That silent man who existed like a shadow. The one who had shielded her from bullets with his own body, yet without hesitation broke someone else's neck. She couldn't tell if this person was a guardian or another devil.

She didn't answer, only hugged her knees tighter.

There was silence outside the door for a moment, then she heard the faint sound of a key entering the lock. The door opened. Luca stood at the doorway with a tray; he didn't enter immediately, just stood there quietly, his gaze falling on her curled-up figure. There was no aggressive scrutiny like Alessandro's in his eyes, nor pity, just an almost formulaic observation.

"Please eat something," he said, "You haven't eaten for a day."

Isabella shook her head, her voice as hoarse as if scraped by sandpaper: "I don't want to eat... I just want to leave this place."

Luca walked in, placed the tray on a table far from her, then turned and stood a few steps away from her. This distance was neither threatening nor too close, maintaining a professional detachment.

"I know." His response surprised her.

Isabella raised her tear-blurred eyes, looking at him in confusion.

"I know you're scared," Luca continued, his tone still calm, but each word exceptionally clear, "What you saw... wasn't a game."

"That was murder!" She finally screamed uncontrollably, her voice sharp and broken, "You are killers! Devils!"

Luca didn't argue, just silently bore her accusations. Only after her emotions had somewhat subsided did he speak: "Yes. But have you thought about what would have happened if we hadn't shown up at the bookstore that day?"

Isabella's breath caught.

"Marco's men won't be satisfied with just taking the cash from the store," Luca's voice was as cold as ice, "they'll drag you into the back alley, take turns... and then to leave no witnesses, they'll slit your throat. Just like they did to the last barmaid who offended them."

Isabella's stomach churned violently. She covered her mouth tightly to keep from throwing up again.

"What... what are you trying to say?" she asked tremblingly.

"What I'm trying to say is that the master has brought you into a dangerous world," Luca looked into her eyes, and for the first time, Isabella saw a hint of complex emotion in his eyes, "But what he did was to place you at the center of danger, which is also the only safe place."

"Safe?" she found the word coming from his mouth to be the greatest irony, "With him? I saw him order people killed with my own eyes! I..."

She could no longer continue speaking. How could she explain to this person that what she was infatuated with was the man who played the tyrant within rules and boundaries, not the actual tyrant standing before her?

Just then, like grasping at a final lifeline, a word that once made her feel both shame and excitement—now representing her only hope—painfully squeezed out from her cracked lips.

"Beige."

She raised her head, looked directly into Luca's eyes, and with all her strength, clearly repeated that word.

"Beige. That's my safe word. Tell him the game is over. I want to go home. I want to return to my boring, mediocre, beige world."

She thought saying this word would bring her relief, but it didn't. The word was like a knife, severing all the dysfunctional yet profoundly real connections between her and Alessandro, leaving her with an empty, excruciating pain.

Luca's expression didn't change at all, he just nodded, as if this was the most normal request possible.

"I will inform the sir." After saying this, he turned and left the room, gently closing the door behind him.

This time, the wait was longer than any before. Isabella sat on the floor like a prisoner awaiting the judge's verdict. She didn't know how Alessandro would react. Would he burst in angrily and tear her apart, or would he honor the rule established in another world?

After an unknown amount of time, the door was pushed open again.

Alessandro walked in. He had changed out of his blood-stained formal attire and put on a black silk shirt with the top two buttons undone, revealing his firm chest and a small patch of skin. He looked less like a demon lord who had just returned from a massacre and more like a CEO who had just finished a long meeting, slightly tired. However, the suffocating pressure emanating from him was more intense than ever before.

His face was as dark as the sky before a storm. In those deep eyes, there was suppressed anger and some emotion that Isabella couldn't understand, something close to hurt.

"You're leaving?" he spoke, his voice low and hoarse.

Isabella steadied herself against the wall, struggling to stand up. She couldn't show weakness in front of him. She raised her head, meeting his cold gaze, even though her legs were still shaking uncontrollably.

"Yes." She said, "Our 'game' is over. I said the safe word."

Alessandro's jawline was tightly clenched as he walked toward her step by step, each step feeling like it was treading on her heart. He stood before her, his tall figure completely enveloping her in his shadow. Isabella could smell his unique scent, a mixture of expensive cologne and faint gunpowder, a fragrance that once intoxicated her but now only made her want to escape.

"Very well." He forced the words through gritted teeth. His gaze was like a scalpel, cutting through her disguise to stare directly at the fear deep in her soul. "I follow the rules."

Isabella's heart suddenly loosened, but was immediately gripped tight again by his next words.

"You can leave," he said, his voice devoid of any warmth, "I can even send a car to take you back to your 'safe' world full of old books and dust."

He leaned close to her ear, his scorching breath hitting her skin, each word like a poisoned branding iron.

"But remember this, Isabella. All that blood you saw was spilled to protect you. Do you think Marco would just let things go after being humiliated like that by me? He's like a rabid dog now, and you," he paused, his voice carrying a cruel, possessive undertone, "you have already been marked with my brand. You're no longer the bookstore owner that nobody cared about; you're a woman that Alessandro Vitale has touched. Guess how long it would take him to find you if I let you go? And what methods would he use to tear you to pieces to get revenge on me?"

In an instant, Isabella felt all the blood in her body freeze.

She jerked her head up, crashing into his obsidian-like eyes. There was no desire there, no warmth, only a cold and cruel reality. Every word he spoke was like a heavy hammer, shattering her last illusions.

She thought that by saying the safe word, she could cut off everything like unplugging a power cord. But she was wrong. This wasn't a game that could be stopped at any time. From the moment she stepped into his world, she had already been drawn into the center of the vortex. Leaving him meant facing the entire dark world of blood and violence alone. While staying by his side meant sharing a bed with the devil.

This was an unsolvable deadlock.

"You... you bastard..." Her lips trembled as tears uncontrollably spilled from her eyes. This was a new kind of despair, more bone-chilling than mere fear. She was afraid of him, yet realized that in this world, perhaps only he could protect her. This contradiction was like two immense forces threatening to completely tear her sanity apart.

Alexan-dro watched her breakdown, a flicker of complex emotion passing through his eyes, but quickly returning to their icy state. He made no attempt to comfort her, only roughly wiping away her tears with his fingertips.

"Crying is useless," he said coldly, "In this world, tears are the cheapest thing. Think clearly, Isabella. Will you stay here as my woman, or walk out there and become a corpse torn apart by wild dogs."

Having said that, he turned and left the room, leaving her alone, trembling in the elaborate and desperate cage he had constructed. Their relationship, at this moment, developed the first deep and irreparable crack.

The night grew deeper.

Isabella didn't know how long she had been crying, until her tears dried up and her throat hurt, only then did she collapse exhausted onto the bed. She stared at the intricate crystal chandelier on the ceiling with hollow eyes, feeling like a butterfly caught in a spider's web, no matter how she struggled, she would only make the supple threads sink deeper.

Just when she thought she would be completely consumed by this despair, the door was gently knocked once again.

It was Luca again.

He walked in, with no tray in his hands, just standing there quietly.

"The master will not be coming tonight," he said.

Isabella did not react, like a lifeless statue.

Luca remained silent for a moment, as if weighing something in his mind. Then, he did something Isabella had never imagined he would do. He pulled up a chair and sat down a few steps away from the bed.

"Miss Isabella," he began, his voice somewhat deeper than usual, "I know you think the master is a brutal monster."

Isabella finally showed a hint of reaction, slowly turning her head to look at him with swollen, red eyes.

"I first met the master when he was just fifteen years old," Luca didn't look at her, but gazed out at the night through the window, as if lost in distant memories. "Right here in this manor, his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Vitale, were shot dead by family traitors right before my eyes. When the bullet pierced through his mother's body, she was still holding him tightly."

Isabella's heart suddenly contracted.

"Old Vitale died on the spot. The lady... the lady, bleeding in the master's arms, told him to survive, to live like a king." Luca's voice showed no fluctuation, as if stating a fact unrelated to himself, but Isabella heard in it a bottomless sorrow. "That night, a fifteen-year-old boy died. The next morning, the one who stood up was the new Godfather of the Vitale Family."

He turned his head, his gaze directly meeting Isabella's for the first time. Those eyes, usually as precise as a machine, revealed a complex human emotion that she had never seen before.

"From that day on, he has lived in solitude and danger. He cannot trust anyone, cannot show weakness to anyone. Everyone around him either wants to get something from him or wants to kill him and take his place. He never truly cared about anyone, until he met you."

Isabella's breathing almost stopped.

"The brutality you see is the only way he knows to protect what he cherishes. Because everything he has learned, everything he has experienced tells him that only absolute power and merciless methods can safeguard what he possesses from being taken away again. Just like that year when he was fifteen." Luca stood up and put the chair back in its place, "He's not good at expressing himself, Miss Isabella. He only knows his own way. He brought you to his side not to imprison you, but because... only under his wings can you avoid being torn apart by this world that has already set its sights on you."

After speaking, Luca gave her a slight bow, then quietly withdrew from the room.

Silence returned to the room once more. But this time, something else lingered in the quietness. Luca's words, like a stone thrown into still waters, stirred rippling waves across the troubled lake of her mind.

Alessandro... that brutal, cold man who terrified her to her very core... his image began to blur, overlapping with the lonely figure of a fifteen-year-old boy holding his mother's cold corpse.

His brutality was his only way of protecting what he cherished.

These words, like a faint light, shone into her endless darkness, bringing a trace of... understanding that made her suffer even more.