Chiara’s breath caught.
“Stop,” she whispered.
I didn’t.
Another pin. Then another.
They came out one by one, each soft click louder than it should have been in the quiet room. Her posture stayed rigid, but her breathing didn’t. It started to change to shallow and uneven, betraying her.
“You don’t have to do this,” she tried again. “I shouldn’t wear my hair down until…”
“I know,” I said.
The braid loosened slowly under my hands. Light strands slipping free, soft against my fingers. I worked through it patiently, like I had all the time in the world. I did, because she wasn’t going anywhere. Chiara swallowed hard.
“You shouldn’t touch me,” she said, but there was no heat left in it. “I don’t want it.”
“No?” I murmured. “You sure?”
Her shoulders lifted slightly as my fingers brushed lower, undoing the final twist. Her hair fell free in a soft, light blonde wave down her back. Better than silk. I let it slide through my fingers once, deliberately.
“Bellissima,” I said. She shivered.
“You should wear it like this,” I added, my voice quieter now, closer. “Loose, down. I don’t want to see it up again.”
“No,” she said quickly. Too quickly. “Papa wouldn’t want me to.”
“You’re not in his house anymore,” I reminded her. “You obey me now.”
The conflict flickered across her face, fast and sharp. Hints of fear, habit, something deeper she didn’t understand yet.
My fingers grazed the side of her neck as I moved a strand over her shoulder. Her breath hitched.
“Don’t,” she said again, but she didn’t move away. Didn’t stop me. Her hands clenched in her lap instead.
“I like it better this way,” I said, letting the words settle. “If you want to please me, make me gentle… wear it like this. For me.”
She looked up at me then. Not just angry this time. Unsteady. Confused.
Her eyes dropped to my mouth for half a second before snapping back up like she hadn’t meant to. There it was. The first sight of defeat.
I straightened slowly, letting my hand fall away. She felt the loss. I saw it in the way her shoulders shifted, like something had just been taken from her.
Good.
“You’re learning,” I said. “Good girl.”
Her expression hardened, like she hated that I might be right.
“I’m not learning anything,” she snapped. I almost smiled. “And I am not your good girl.”
“Lie down,” I said easily.
She hesitated, then shifted onto the bed, wincing when her back hit the mattress. I noticed. Of course I did. Just like her injuries didn’t escape me earlier, I registered them this time, too.
I dragged the chair closer and sat. Her eyes flicked to me. “You’re staying in my room?”
“For now.”
