After the ballroom's glittering facade had been stripped away, Prince Daniel, consumed by a volatile mix of anger and suspicion, found Lita in the privacy of her chambers.
He grabbed her, his touch rough and possessive, and shoved her onto the bed, his anger palpable.
"Explain everything that happened in the ballroom!" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous, the irritation radiating off him like heat waves.
He towered over her, his presence intimidating, his eyes burning with a fire that could consume her whole.
"How could you deceive me like this? Why would you attempt to take revenge on my family? It's literally confirmed that it was Mr. Romero's fault!" He roared, his voice laced with rage, echoing through the room. His words were a storm of accusation, his eyes flashing with fury.
He was no longer the charming prince, the facade of control shattered, replaced by a raw, untamed anger that threatened to consume him. His trust, once so fragile, was now shattered into a million pieces.
"You don't understand! It wasn't his fault! The evidence was fake, my father told me everything, but he still accepted the blame!" Her voice cracked with emotion, her eyes filled with tears. She struggled to articulate the truth, the injustice, the pain that had consumed her family for so long.
She felt a deep despair, trapped in a web of deceit, forced to defend her father's innocence against a tide of accusations.
The weight of the lie, the burden of the truth, was crushing her, her voice trembling with desperation.
"Huh? The evidence is fake? Maybe you're the one who's fake," he said with a dry chuckle, his voice laced with a chilling disbelief. He licked his lips, a nervous habit, but the gesture felt predatory, a predator sizing up its prey.
His eyes narrowed, a cold glint reflecting in their depths, casting doubt on her words, her very identity. He didn't believe her, not for a second. His words, a sharp barb, pierced her heart, adding to the pain she already carried.
"Why do you believe Vanessa? And those fake evidence? I'm telling the truth!" She yelled, her voice choked with pain, a desperate plea for him to see her truth.
But he just gripped her face, his fingers digging into her skin, forcing her to look at him, his eyes burning with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine.
"I believe Vanessa because she's my half-cousin... I believe her because she tells the truth!" He snarled, his voice dripping with venom, "Now you're here... I'll make your life suffer. You'll be marrying me still, and you'll never escape here! You're mine..." He growled, his words a chilling promise, a threat that hung in the air like a suffocating cloud.
The love, the tenderness, the desire he'd once shown her were gone, replaced by a cruel possessiveness that held the promise of pain.
"I'll torture you in every way possible... Until you're utterly mine... And accept your sufferings..." His grip tightened, his fingers digging into her flesh, his voice a dangerous whisper, a chilling promise that sent a wave of terror through her. He was a predator, a predator with power and a thirst for control.
His eyes, once filled with desire, now burned with a cold, calculating fury, the promise of pain reflected in their depths. She felt trapped, a victim in his twisted game, and the knowledge that she would suffer, that he would break her, weighed heavily on her heart. His words, his touch, his gaze, all spoke of a darkness that threatened to consume her.
He captured her lips, the kiss a brutal assault, a violation of her senses. It was not a tender touch, a gentle caress, but a forceful claim, a possession. His grip on her face remained unrelenting, his fingers digging into her flesh, a painful reminder of his control.
His tongue invaded her mouth, demanding a response, seeking to break down her resistance, to silence her cries. The kiss was not an act of love, but an act of power, a declaration of dominance, a cruel reminder of her captivity.
He suddenly ripped her gown off, the fabric tearing with a harsh sound, a physical manifestation of the violence that had consumed him.
He shoved her onto the bed, his actions rough and brutal, pinning her down, his fingers digging into her wrists, leaving a searing pain. He captured her lips again, his kiss a brutal demand, a crushing weight.
The intimacy he'd once craved had transformed into a cruel act of possession, a violation of her body and her will.
She felt helpless, trapped in his grip, her body trembling with fear, her breath catching in her throat, as he consumed her with a fury that bordered on madness.
"You're mine... Lita..." He whispered, his voice a low growl, a possessive threat that sent shivers down her spine.
His teeth sank into her neck, a sharp, painful bite that drew blood. The pain was a physical manifestation of his control, his ownership, his hunger.
He wasn't making love to her, he was claiming her, marking her as his own. The kiss, the bite, the force of his presence - all spoke of a dangerous possessiveness, a thirst for power that threatened to consume her.
Lita lay there, trapped in a vortex of pain and fear. Tears streamed down her face, a silent testament to the agony he inflicted.
Her body trembled, her breaths came in ragged gasps, a desperate struggle for air in the suffocating atmosphere of his cruelty.
He was a predator, and she was his prey, helpless in his grasp, his torture a relentless storm that threatened to break her. Each touch, each bite, each harsh word, was a nail hammered into her spirit, a reminder of her powerlessness.
He reveled in her suffering, his actions fueled by a warped desire for control, a perverse pleasure in her pain.