From Capture Me: Break Me
Author
Daphne Watson
Reads
19.4K
Chapters
61
Arabella Brown knows how to survive in a world ruled by powerful men—stay sharp, stay untouchable, and never let anyone get too close. But when Dante Moretti enters her life, everything changes. Cold, calculating, and dangerously obsessed, he’s been watching her longer than she realizes. What starts as a single encounter turns into a dangerous game of control, secrets, and desire. In a world where power is everything, Arabella must decide: fight him… or risk being completely consumed by him.
Chapter 1: The Beginning
Arabella knew she was being watched before she knew who was doing it. It wasn’t obvious. No lingering stare she could immediately catch in the mirrored walls. No man bold enough to let his attention rest too long on her body, the way men often did in rooms like this when they mistook diamonds and silk for permission.
This was quieter. Sharper. A shift in the air. A pressure at the back of her neck. The kind of awareness she hadn’t felt in years, and she hated it. Because Arabella Brown did not get unsettled easily. Not anymore. Not after everything she had learned about rooms like this.
The wariness was older than tonight, older than she could properly explain. There were years she couldn’t account for at all, a pale, blank stretch her memory slid over whenever she reached for it, and she had long since stopped trying to force them back.
She stood near the center of the ballroom with untouched champagne in one hand and a smile carefully arranged on her lips. To anyone watching, she looked exactly as she was supposed to look: composed, elegant, untouchable.
Fearless. That was the word people liked to use. The lie she had built so carefully that even she almost believed it now. Almost.
The Lexington Grand glittered around her in gold and glass and quiet excess. Crystal chandeliers poured light over marble floors. Music drifted through the room, soft and expensive, just loud enough to make the conversations feel private.
Laughter rose and fell in controlled waves. Everything looked beautiful. Everything always did, where Xavier Lexington was involved. But Arabella knew better than to trust beautiful things, especially beautiful rooms filled with dangerous men pretending to be civilized.
The invitation had called it a charity gala, one of the foundation events Xavier Lexington threw twice a year, where half of London’s money changed hands under the cover of good causes and better champagne. Security had taken everyone’s phones at the door. Arabella had learned long ago that the guest list mattered more than the cause.
“You’re doing it again.” Katherine’s voice slid into the space beside her.
Arabella didn’t look away from the room. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You do.” Katherine’s tone was light, but her eyes were already scanning the crowd. “You’ve been standing here for five minutes, pretending to enjoy yourself while mentally categorizing everyone as either useful or dangerous.”
Arabella took a slow sip of champagne. “Only five minutes?”
Katherine huffed a quiet laugh. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet you keep me around,” Arabella said.
“Because someone has to say the things I’m thinking out loud,” Katherine said. “And because I apparently became very good at surviving on too little sleep,” she added with a tired smile. “Motherhood will do that to you.”
She was only here because of Katherine. They’d been friends since long before Katherine fell for Xavier Lexington, before she moved into his world, agreed to marry into it, and learned she was carrying his child.
Where Katherine went, Arabella followed. It was how she’d ended up living under the Lexington roof these past weeks, though no one had yet fully explained why that had suddenly become necessary.
Arabella allowed herself the smallest smile. For a moment, the tension beneath her skin eased. Then it returned, stronger this time, more focused.
Her gaze shifted, not randomly but instinctively, across the ballroom and landed on him.
He wasn’t where she expected danger to stand. Not beside Xavier. Not at the center of power. Not trying to be seen. Which meant he didn’t need to be.
He stood near one of the tall mirrored columns, half shadowed despite the golden light. One hand rested loosely in his pocket. The other held a glass of amber liquor he hadn’t touched once since she noticed him.
That was the first thing she disliked about him. Men usually drank when they wanted to appear relaxed. He already was. Like a man who had entered the room already knowing every exit, every threat, every weakness.
Arabella narrowed her eyes slightly.
“Don’t,” Katherine said softly.
Arabella didn’t move. “Don’t what?”
“You know exactly what,” Katherine said.
A pause. Then Katherine added, quieter, “That one.”
Arabella’s lips curved faintly. “I haven’t done anything.”
“You’re about to,” Katherine said.
That was true. And they both knew it.
“What’s his name?” Arabella asked.
Katherine hesitated. That was rare. “I don’t know,” Katherine said finally.
Arabella turned her head slightly. “You don’t know?”
“No,” Katherine said.
“And that doesn’t bother you?” Arabella asked.
“It does,” Katherine said.
Good. It should.
Arabella looked back at him. He still wasn’t looking at her. Which somehow made it feel more intentional.
“He doesn’t belong here,” Katherine said.
Arabella tilted her head. “Neither do we,” Arabella said.
“That’s not the same thing,” Katherine said.
No. It wasn’t.
Something about him didn’t feel like an outsider trying to fit in. He felt like someone who had chosen to step into a room that wasn’t his because he had a reason. And that was far more dangerous.
Before Arabella could respond, Katherine’s gaze flicked toward the far side of the ballroom. Xavier stood there, surrounded by men in black suits and expensive watches. Even from across the room, his stillness was unmistakable. Controlled. Predatory.
He was listening to one of his men. Then his expression changed. Not much. Barely at all. But enough.
Arabella noticed. Katherine noticed too.
“What?” Arabella asked.
Katherine’s jaw tightened slightly. “Xavier just saw him.”
Arabella looked back toward the stranger. This time, the man had turned slightly. Not toward her. Toward Xavier. The two men’s gazes met across the room. For one silent second, the air seemed to tighten. Arabella felt it.
Whatever this was, it wasn’t social. It wasn’t casual. And it definitely wasn’t new.
“Who is he?” she asked again.
Katherine lowered her voice. “I don’t know for certain.”
“That means you know something.”
Katherine hesitated. “There are rumors,” she said.
Arabella almost smiled. “There are always rumors.”
“Not like this,” Katherine said.
That made Arabella look at her fully. Katherine’s expression was composed, but there was something beneath it now. Not fear. Concern.
“He’s connected to the Morettis,” Katherine said.
Arabella’s smile faded slightly. The name meant something.
Not in the way Xavier Lexington’s name meant something in London. Power, money, and ownership wrapped in tailored suits and polished manners. The Morettis were different.
Older money. Darker routes. Ports, shipments, and disappeared rivals. Men who didn’t threaten loudly because they didn’t need to.
Arabella had heard the whispers. Everyone had.
Marseille. Naples. The bodies found near the docks three winters ago. The business families that changed hands overnight after one Moretti meeting. Nothing official. Nothing proven. But in their world, proof was rarely the point.
“Moretti,” Arabella repeated quietly.
Katherine nodded once. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?” Arabella asked.
“Xavier didn’t say his name. He only said if anyone from that family appeared tonight, I was not to go near them.”
Arabella’s eyes returned to the stranger. That changed things. Not enough to make her leave. Enough to make her curious.
“Stay with me tonight,” Katherine said.
Arabella arched a brow. “That sounds dramatic.”
“Maybe it is,” Katherine said.
Arabella studied her best friend for a second. Katherine wasn’t afraid. But she was aware. And that was enough to shift something beneath Arabella’s skin. Still.
She looked back at him. Because whatever this was, it had already started. And walking away now would feel like losing.
Arabella didn’t lose.
Across the room, the stranger moved. Just slightly. A shift of weight. A turn of his head. Then his gaze lifted and found hers directly.
No hesitation. No searching. As if he had known exactly where she would be standing.
Arabella didn’t react. Didn’t look away. Didn’t acknowledge the moment beyond holding it. Because this was the real test. Most men looked away first. They softened. Smiled. Adjusted.
He didn’t. He held her gaze like it meant something. Like it wasn’t chance. Like it wasn’t new. And for the first time that evening, Arabella felt it. Not attraction. Not yet. Recognition.
Something in her stilled. Just for a second. Then she moved. Not toward him directly. Never that obvious.
She let the room carry her, adjusting her path, pausing when someone greeted her, smiling when required. By the time she reached the quieter edge near the terrace doors, he was already there.
Of course he was. Waiting. The thought irritated her more than it should have. She stopped a few feet away. Close enough. Not too close. Perfect.
“You’re late,” he said. Not a greeting. Not a question.
Arabella blinked once. Then she smiled slowly. “I don’t remember scheduling this.”
His gaze moved over her. Not quickly. Not carelessly. Deliberately. Taking in details most men missed.
Her pulse shifted once. Annoying.
“You were going to come over eventually,” he said. Confidence. Unwanted. Accurate.
Arabella crossed one arm lightly over her waist. “That sounds like an assumption.”
“It is,” he said.
“And if you’re wrong?”
He stepped closer. Not enough to touch. Enough to change the air. “I’m not.”
That was the moment when she should have left. When she should have turned, found Katherine, and dismissed him like every other man who tried to turn attention into control.
Instead, she stayed. Because something about him didn’t feel like attention. It felt like intent.
“Do you always start conversations like this?” she asked.
“Only when I already know how they end,” he said.
Arabella’s brows lifted slightly. “That’s either very arrogant or very stupid.”
A pause.
“Neither,” he said. His gaze dropped to her mouth. Just for a second.
And this time, she noticed. Really noticed. Heat flickered low in her stomach. Unwelcome. Interesting. “Do you have a name?” she asked.
He didn’t answer immediately. “Do you need one?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“No,” he said.
Arabella let out a quiet breath. “You’re irritating.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
“I’m sure you have.”
His mouth curved faintly. Not a smile. Not really. “Careful, Arabella,” he said.
Her blood chilled. Not because of the warning. Because of the name. He shouldn’t know her name. She hadn’t introduced herself. She hadn’t been announced. Yet, he had said it with the kind of certainty that made it clear he had known it long before tonight.
Arabella’s smile remained in place. Barely. “You know who I am,” she said.
“Yes,” he said.
“Should I be flattered or concerned?” she asked.
“That depends,” he said.
“On what?” she pressed.
His gaze held hers. “On how much you know about the men Xavier keeps out of his territory,” he said.
There it was. A piece of something real. Not enough. But enough to cut through the charged silence.
Arabella’s pulse sharpened. “So this is about Xavier.”
His expression didn’t change. “No,” he said.
“Then what is it about?” she asked.
He stepped past her. Close. Too close. Close enough that she felt the heat of him, the faint brush of fabric, the ghost of something dangerous passing just behind her shoulder.
His voice lowered near her ear. “You.”
Her breath caught. Barely. But enough.
And then he was gone. Just like that.
Arabella turned. Too fast. Too sharp. But he wasn’t there anymore. The space he had occupied felt wrong. Empty in a way that didn’t make sense. Like something had been removed too quickly.
“What the hell,” Arabella muttered.
“Arabella,” Katherine called.
She turned again.
Katherine was already moving toward her, expression tight. “What did he say to you?” she asked.
Arabella glanced back once more. Nothing. No sign of him. As if he had never been there.
“That,” Arabella said slowly, “is a very good question.”
Katherine stopped in front of her. “Who was he?” she asked.
Arabella met her eyes. For the first time that evening, she didn’t have an answer. “I don’t know,” she said.
And she hated how true that was. Because the only thing she knew was worse. He had known her. Before she ever spoke. Before she ever moved. Before she ever decided to approach him.
And as Arabella stood there, music swelling again around her, and the illusion of the evening snapping back into place, one thought settled cold and certain in her chest. This hadn’t been a meeting. It had been a beginning. And someone had planned it long before she walked into the room.
