Chapter 5
Alia POV
On the TV screen, a couple was lost in a passionate kiss, the background music so tender and evocative that it made one blush and heart race.
I sat on the sofa, sneaking a glance at Marco Vittorio beside me. His face was expressionless as he stared at the screen, seemingly unaffected, but the tension in his clenched jaw betrayed him.
“I’m heading back to my room. I’ve got some school projects to finish,” I whispered.
Marco turned his head, his gaze as sharp as a blade, yet a cryptic smile curled at the corner of his lips.
Suddenly, he reached out, his long fingers gently lifting my chin. His voice was low, laced with a teasing edge: “How about one more time?”
My face instantly burned hot, my heart slamming against my chest as chaotic, embarrassing images flooded my mind. Good heavens, Aria, what are you thinking?! I quickly lowered my head and mumbled a refusal: “No, I… I really have things to do.”
He stared at me for two seconds, a flicker of amusement in his eyes, before responding curtly, “Fine.” Then he stood up, walking toward the study with steady, composed strides, leaving me alone in the living room, utterly flustered.
…
Back in my room, I dove into university assignments and internship reports, trying to drown out the chaotic thoughts in my head with tedious data and text. The glow of my laptop screen reflected on my face, my fingers flying across the keyboard. Two hours later, I’d finally completed most of the work, but a faint ache began to throb at my temples, as if something heavy was pressing down on me.
I rubbed my temples and got up to pour myself a glass of water. As soon as I opened the door, I collided with a “human wall.” Looking up, I saw Marco standing in the hallway, fresh out of the shower. His deep blue robe hung loosely on his frame, wet black hair dripping with water, revealing a broad, toned chest. His cold, stern face showed no emotion, but his eyes locked onto me like a leopard stalking its prey.
“Go take a shower,” he said in his usual steady tone, yet it carried an undeniable sense of command.
I froze for a moment, my heartbeat quickening, my throat dry. Is he serious? Does he really intend to do it again? Images from that morning flashed through my mind, making it hard to breathe. I could only nod, lowering my head and hurrying past him toward the bathroom.
…
In the luxurious bathroom, steam filled the air. I took my time, dragging out the shower for nearly forty minutes, as if delaying could help me avoid whatever might happen next. The water cascaded over my skin, but my thoughts refused to settle. Aria, what are you so afraid of? He’s your legal husband. Even if something does happen, there’s nothing wrong with it, right? Yet the thought of his overpowering presence and his swift, intense physicality sent a shiver down my spine.
In the end, I wrapped myself in a conservative one-piece sleepwear, covering myself completely like a hedgehog ready to defend itself. When I stepped out of the bathroom, Marco was no longer in the hallway. I breathed a small sigh of relief and tiptoed back to the master bedroom.
Pushing the door open, I found he wasn’t in the room. Half the weight in my chest lifted, and I quickly slipped under the covers, hoping to pretend to be asleep before he returned. But within a few minutes, the door opened. Marco walked in, the faint scent of cigar smoke lingering around him, his presence exuding an invisible pressure.
“Sleep,” he said briefly, getting into bed first on the right side, leaving the left for me.
I nodded stiffly, cautiously climbing into bed and pulling the blanket over myself. His presence was so close, like an invisible net enveloping me. My heartbeat was so loud I was sure he could hear it. I hurriedly muttered, “Good night!” and tightly shut my eyes.
…
However, the more I tried to sleep, the more awake I felt. I tossed and turned, my mind a mess of random thoughts. What if he does something while I’m asleep in the middle of the night? But then again, after what happened during the day, even if something else happens, it’s not a big deal, right?
As I spiraled into overthinking, a faint movement came from beside me. Marco seemed to sense my unease. He turned over, his large hand gently brushing over my hair, his voice low and soothing: “Although we’re husband and wife, I won’t force you. Our family… has strict codes.”
Hearing the word “family,” my body tensed slightly. Isn’t he just a company CEO? How does this involve a family? But the warmth of his palm through my hair gradually calmed me. Before I knew it, my eyelids grew heavy, and I finally drifted into sleep.
…
The next morning, a sense of oppression woke me from my sleep, as if something heavy was pressing on my chest. I groggily opened my eyes and found Marco's large hand resting on my chest.
His right hand casually kneaded the smooth curve of my breast, even lightly tracing circles, his expression relaxed and at ease, as if he were caressing a piece of art.
“Morning!” Marco looked over with a mischievous smirk, and my face turned as red as a boiled shrimp.
He raised his eyes, saying with a straight face, “Morning massages are good for the skin and promote development. It’s healthy.”
I glanced down at myself, embarrassingly buying into his nonsense, even thinking it made some sense. “Oh… is that so?”
The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, seemingly pleased with my reaction, but he said nothing more. He simply withdrew his hand and got out of bed to dress as if nothing had happened.
Soon after, I changed into my internship outfit—a white blouse paired with a black skirt. As I came downstairs, I saw Marco in the dining room, seated at the head of the long table with a newspaper in hand. His gaze, however, was fixed on me, lingering a moment longer on my smooth, shapely legs.
Breakfast was an exquisite Italian spread, the aroma of coffee filling the air. Curious, I asked, “Did you make all this?”
Marco set down the newspaper, replying casually, “The household chef delivered it. If you want something specific, just let me know.”
His eyes scanned my outfit, then returned to my face, catching me stealing a glance at him. Flustered, I wiped at the corner of my mouth—though there were no crumbs, I pretended to be intently eating.
“If you like it, you can have it every day,” he said in a low voice, staring at my lips.
My face instantly flared red, inappropriate images flashing through my mind. I shot him a glare. “Next time I’m not in the mood, you can use your own hands!”
Marco paused for a moment, then burst into laughter. “I meant I’d have the chef prepare this kind of breakfast every day.”
“…” Mortified beyond words, I stood up abruptly. “I’m heading to work!”
Behind me, his light chuckle echoed, but I didn’t dare turn back. This man—he’s playing a deadly game!