The dining room's silence was oppressive, the kind that made you hyperaware of every breath, every shift in the air. Dominic sat at the head of the table, his posture a study in control. The golden chandelier above cast sharp shadows on his chiseled features, making him look even more dangerous. The food between us might as well have been a battlefield, untouched and irrelevant.
"Eat," he commanded, his voice like iron scraping stone.
I crossed my arms, refusing to touch the elegant plate before me. "I'm not hungry." My tone was cold, defiant.
His eyes narrowed, a flicker of something primal flashing through them. "I didn't ask if you were."
"And I'm telling you I won't eat," I shot back, my voice sharp enough to cut through the tension. "What's the point, Dominic? Are you planning to poison me? Or is this just another one of your power plays?"
His fork clinked against the plate as he set it down deliberately. Slowly, he leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "Power play?" he repeated, his tone dangerously calm. "You think I've done this—kept you here—for power?"
"Haven't you?" I challenged, leaning forward. "You think locking me in this gilded cage makes you stronger? All it does is prove how weak you really are."
The words hung in the air, a gauntlet thrown. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought I'd pushed him too far. Then, to my surprise, he smirked—a dangerous, predatory curve of his lips.
"Weak?" he murmured, the word dripping with disdain. "You've got guts, Scarlett. I'll give you that. But let me make one thing clear: Weakness is a luxury I can't afford. And neither can you."
I leaned back, crossing my legs, feigning a confidence I didn't entirely feel. "What is it you're so afraid of, Dominic? The truth? Or the fact that you might not be as untouchable as you think?"
His eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of us. The air between us crackled, charged with something I couldn't name but couldn't ignore.
"Careful, Scarlett," he said softly, his voice a velvet warning. "You're playing with fire."
"Then let it burn," I shot back.
Something shifted in his expression, a flicker of intrigue mingling with the simmering anger. For the first time, I saw a crack in his armor—a flash of something raw, human. And it scared me more than his anger ever could.
Dominic pushed back his chair and stood, his movements slow, deliberate. He circled the table like a predator stalking its prey, his eyes never leaving mine. When he stopped, he was inches away, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him.
"You think you've got me figured out," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. "But you don't. And if you're so sure of your innocence, prove it."
I tilted my chin up, refusing to look away. "I don't have to prove anything to you."
His hand shot out, gripping the edge of the table beside me. "You don't get it, do you?" His voice dropped to a whisper, lethal and cutting. "This isn't a game. You don't get to walk away until I say so."
I leaned closer, my voice equally quiet but no less fierce. "And you don't get to keep me here forever. If you're so certain I'm guilty, Dominic, then prove it. Or let me go."
His eyes searched mine, a storm brewing behind them. For a moment, I thought I saw hesitation, doubt. But then it was gone, replaced by the steely resolve that had become his trademark.
"You want me to prove it?" he said, his voice like a blade. "Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you."
He straightened, his gaze lingering on me for one charged second before he turned and strode toward the door. As it slammed shut behind him, I released the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.
The room fell silent, but my mind was anything but. He'd taken the bait, but now I'd have to deal with the consequences. And something told me Dominic would make good on his promise.