Alice Romano gulped down a cold, unsweetened carrot juice, finishing it in one go. She had just wrapped up her usual routine—desperate to shake off boredom. Stuck in that luxurious prison of a house, the only thing keeping her sane was her evening workout. She ran on the treadmill, lifted light weights, and—more than anything—cursed Mateo for forbidding her to go outside.
Had Mateo been standing in front of her, Alice would've hurled whatever was in her hand straight at his head without hesitation. Dressed in her super-tight sportswear—barely covering her full, round breasts—she looked both seductive and untouchable. Her toned stomach was fully visible, and her skin gleamed with sweat. Her shorts hugged her thighs and barely reached mid-thigh, clinging to every curve in ways that would make men stare.
And stare they did.
Without the slightest care for the gazes from the guards or servants, Alice exited the home gym, using her towel to wipe the sweat dripping from her neck and collarbone. She cared more about drying her skin than acknowledging the ogling eyes.
"Good evening, Madam."
She froze. That voice—it was all too familiar. Slowly turning her head, Alice's brows furrowed as she saw Pedro, the bald man trusted by her husband. But what made her even more furious wasn't him—it was the woman standing beside him.
Who the hell is this chick?
Alice approached, her eyes scanning the pair with no attempt to hide her distaste. She wasn't one to pretend. She made no effort to be discreet with her gaze or attitude.
"Where's your master? Couldn't you bring him home with you, Pedro? Tell that tyrant husband of mine that I want to go to the club. And he better not stop me this time!"
She turned on her heel, deliberately ignoring both Pedro and the unknown woman. In Alice's mind, there was no one else in the hallway. That woman? Irrelevant. Probably some dumb intern or a clueless guest.
"Sir instructed me to inform you that dinner will be served at home tonight. He requests that you join Miss Delila at the dining table," Pedro said, voice calm as always.
Alice stopped in her tracks. She turned sharply, one brow raised and her lips curling into a mocking smirk. Her eyes scanned the purple-dressed woman who had said nothing since she arrived. Polite? Or dumb? Alice couldn't tell. Either way, she was unimpressed.
"Why don't you let that lady dine with him then? Isn't she the one your boss told you to bring here?"
Her voice was laced with venom. She marched upstairs without waiting for a reply.
Alice didn't care who the woman was. She knew Pedro wouldn't bring anyone into the house without Mateo's permission. So that meant only one thing.
That woman was here... for him.
Unbelievable.
He has the audacity to bring another woman into this house? What am I? A decoration?
"He should've divorced me first before parading his new chick under my roof. Does he think I'll just take it? Think again, Mateo! I'm not some weak little wife who stays quiet. Just wait—you'll regret this," Alice muttered through gritted teeth, anger swelling inside her like a tidal wave.
Once she reached the bedroom, she stripped off every piece of clothing she had on and threw them onto the floor. She didn't bother closing the curtains. She didn't care who saw.
Her flawless skin glistened in the dim light, and her bare body walked freely toward the bathtub. She turned on the hot water, poured in aromatic oils, and prepared herself a long, relaxing soak.
Let him wait downstairs with his precious little girlfriend. I'm done entertaining his games.
"Sickening. Just thinking about him makes me nauseous. God, I should've married someone my own age—some handsome prince—not a thirty-five-year-old tyrant. I'm only twenty-five! I still have a future!"
Her complaints didn't stop, even after her body slid into the steaming water. The heat calmed her muscles, and for the first time that day, she began to relax. Her breathing slowed, and her eyes fluttered shut.
Sleep took her away in seconds.
---
Meanwhile, downstairs...
Mateo had just arrived. He intentionally didn't return with Pedro, knowing Delila would be arriving first. He needed time to think before facing the circus upstairs.
"Where is she?" Mateo asked as he loosened the silk tie choking his neck. His mood was already dark—and being questioned would only make it worse.
"You mean Miss Delila, sir? She's in the—"
"My wife," he cut in coldly.
The middle-aged housekeeper swallowed hard. "The Madam is upstairs. She's been in her room since after her workout. I believe she's still bathing. I knocked earlier, but there was no answer."
Mateo didn't respond. Instead, he started climbing the stairs, his boots heavy on the polished wood.
He entered the bedroom without knocking.
"ALICE!" he called, eyes scanning the empty space. She wasn't in sight. He grunted and turned toward the bathroom.
He swung the door open.
The sight before him made him inhale sharply.
There she was—half-submerged in the bathtub. Her skin pale from the cold water, her chest rising and falling softly. Her lips slightly parted. She was sleeping.
He knelt down beside the tub, reaching out to touch her cheek.
"Hey, do you want to die from hypothermia?" he whispered.
"Wake up, Alice. You'll freeze to death like this."
Her eyelids fluttered. Slowly, those emerald eyes opened. She blinked, adjusting to the light and the sight of him beside her.
She groaned.
"Ugh. Even in my sleep, you haunt me. Can't you go away for once? You ruin both my reality and my dreams."
She stood up from the tub, water dripping from her body, completely unfazed by his presence. She walked past him, naked and proud, heading to the shower to rinse off.
Mateo sat frozen.
Alice didn't care if he saw her. She was beyond modesty. She was furious.
As cold water poured down her, she clenched her fists.
"Disgusting bastard. Why the hell did you bring your mistress into this house? Showing her off now? Really? Just like my father—cheating trash."
She slammed her palm against the glass, breathing heavily.
Suddenly, a strong arm wrapped around her waist.
"Hey! What the hell—"
Before she could finish, his lips were on hers.
A kiss. Demanding. Deep. Ruthless.
Her protests were muffled.
Her mind screamed. Bastard! How dare you kiss me while your whore is downstairs?!
She tried to move—but couldn't.
He pinned her there. Dominating her with one kiss that reminded her exactly who she was married to.
She hated him.
But her body remembered him.
And Mateo? He didn't stop.