Lila (moaning)
_ Fuck… me… bb… Aaaaah… oooh shit… again… yeah like that… fuck… I love you, baby…_
On her knees, hands gripping the back of the couch, Lila the housekeeper was lost between pain and ecstasy. Her body trembled with each brutal thrust, her hair sticking to her sweat-dampened face. She barely recognized the man behind her: Lorenzo, eyes burning red with rage, as if he was trying to exorcise everything inside her. His iron hands gripped her hips, preventing her from escaping his intensity, each thrust landing like a punishment inside her.
Lorenzo (growling, cold)
_ Dirty slut… I'm not your "baby", got it?_
With a sharp motion, he slammed his dick deeper into her. The violent sound echoed through the room, followed by the loud crack of a slap on her ass. Lila screamed, her cries filling the living room—somewhere between begging and uncontrollable desire.
Lila (screaming, panting)
_ Aaaaaah… understood! You're not my baby… but I love you, Lorenzo… I love you, dammit… again… make me cry… destroy me if you want! Aaaaaaa…_
His face stone-cold, Lorenzo kept going relentlessly, his heavy breathing mixing with his growls. His movements were harsh, rushed, almost inhuman. One hand was clamped onto Lila's hip, the other gripping her hair viciously, pulling her back so she felt every inch of his dominance. He treated her like a worthless toy, without tenderness—only to satisfy the anger burning inside him.
Lila (crying, begging)
_ Aaaaaah… Lorenzo… enough… aaaaaa… please… stop now… it hurts… you're tearing me apart… what's wrong with you today?... it hurts too much…_
Her tears streamed down her cheeks, but Lorenzo didn't stop. His eyes flared with incomprehensible fury, as if every one of her cries only fed his need for violence.
Lorenzo (growling, merciless)
_ Shut the fuck up…_
Lila (screaming)
_ It hurts… Aaaaaaa… my pussy burns… Aaaaaaaaa… Stop… please…_
Lorenzo (growling)
_ I told you to shut your fucking mouth… Aaaaaaaa…_
His words were dry, icy, sharp as blades. Each sentence fell with the same force as his thrusts, leaving Lila completely subdued to his brutality.
At that moment, the living-room door burst open—Carlo and Rosa, Lorenzo's parents, froze in shock, eyes wide, discovering their son fucking his maid on the couch with almost savage intensity.
Rosa & Carlo (shouting)
– LORENZOOOOOOO!
Their voices echoed like a violent slap. Lorenzo turned his head toward them, his dark glare landing on his parents, frozen in the doorway.
Lorenzo (red with rage, hoarse voice)
– Fuck… what the hell are you doing here without warning? Shit!
He pulled his dick out of Lila brutally. Breathless, red-faced, humiliated, she jumped off the couch. Completely naked, she grabbed her clothes scattered on the floor and bolted up the stairs. In seconds, she was gone.
Lorenzo pulled on his joggers casually and collapsed back onto the couch. His hands squeezed the armrest, his chest rising from the rush of brutal pleasure rather than shame. Jaw clenched, gaze arrogant and cold—he looked almost unfazed.
Carlo and Rosa finally walked in, their faces filled with anger and disbelief.
Rosa (furious, shaking)
– Lorenzo, can you explain what your father and I just saw? Have you lost your mind? You're sleeping with a woman old enough to be your mother?!
Carlo (red with anger, authoritative)
– Sit up when we talk to you! Who do you think you are? Aren't you ashamed? Sleeping with a woman who could be your older sister… and on your couch?! In your living room?!
Lorenzo stayed slouched, head tilted back, arms crossed over his muscular chest, eyes closed. His insolent expression screamed defiance.
Carlo (shouting)
– Lorenzo, we're talking to you! Open your eyes and look at us when we talk to you!
Rosa (disgusted, trembling)
– Look at this living room, it stinks of sperm. It's disgusting. Couldn't you at least take your women to your bedroom before… using them?
Lorenzo slowly opened his eyes. Two cold, dark, provocative eyes met theirs.
Lorenzo (cold, sarcastic)
– If you're not happy, the door's wide open.
His insolent tone cracked through the air like a whip.
Lorenzo (with a wicked smirk)
– I do what I want, where I want, with whoever I want. And if it bothers you… you shouldn't enter without knocking.
Carlo (imposing)
– So that's why you left the mansion? To sleep with 35-year-old mothers? Let me tell you something: you're coming home today. I won't let my 22-year-old son dirty himself with women in their forties. This is a curse, Lorenzo—not love, not passion.
Lorenzo (dark, provocative)
– I'm not going back. I'm not a kid anymore. Leave me the fuck alone. I'm a bad boy, and a bad boy doesn't owe anyone anything. Don't expect wise or responsible behavior from me—you'll waste your time.
Carlo (cold, authoritative)
– Bad boy or not, I am your father. And I don't care what you pretend to be—you'll listen to me. We need to talk seriously.
Lorenzo (calm, insolent)
– Talk about what? I thought we said everything yesterday in your office.
Carlo stood in silence, a patriarchal glare stabbing through his son. Rosa sat on the couch opposite Lorenzo, sighing tiredly.
Lorenzo (dismissive)
– So? You're gonna bore me again with your company stuff? I already told you—my decision's final. I'll never set foot there. I have my own business. I like what I do. No one controls my life. So don't waste my time with your old plans.
Carlo (cutting him dry)
– You're getting married tomorrow. That's the news I came to give you.
Lorenzo (exploding)
– WHAAAAT?!?!
His voice thundered. Rosa jumped. Lorenzo shot to his feet, staring at his father in disbelief before letting out a loud, deranged laugh. But the smile quickly vanished—his face hardened, jaw tight, eyes sharp as blades.
Lorenzo (voice shaking with contained rage)
– I hope this is a joke, dad… Because you know damn well the answer is NO. You know I'll never accept this. You know it's impossible for me to get married, right?
Carlo (firm)
– I don't know anything. My decision is made. And don't worry: you don't need to do anything. It's already arranged. Tomorrow, you just show up at city hall with your future wife and sign the papers.
Lorenzo (livid)
– What the hell is this bullshit?! Did I ever say I wanted to get married? How can you pick a wife without asking me? Decide my life behind my back? You really think I'll accept that?! Do I look like someone ready to chain himself to a random stranger?!
Rosa (firm)
– Lorenzo, lower your voice. This is your father, not your friends. We know what's best for you.
Lorenzo
– No! You know NOTHING! Forcing me to marry—THAT'S your idea of what's best?!
Carlo (calm, firm)
– Whether you want it or not, you'll get married tomorrow. Your future wife is already waiting. She's beautiful, strong, and perfect for you.
Lorenzo (defiant)
– I don't give a damn about her. I don't need a "wife". Women already run after me. I do what I want. So this marriage? Forget it. Find someone else. I won't marry tomorrow, or in five years, or ten. I'll NEVER get married.
He stormed upstairs, leaving his parents speechless.
Rosa (sighing)
– I told you he'd refuse. This idea is insane, Carlo. Lorenzo always does what he wants.
Carlo (determined)
– Whether he wants it or not, he will marry that girl. I know why I'm doing this. Lorenzo needs a woman who can fight back—someone strong enough to push him to change. Chloé is perfect. I saw her once, and she has the courage he needs.
Rosa (worried)
– And if he refuses again tomorrow?
Carlo (smirking)
– We'll hold the ceremony here. I'll take care of it.
Meanwhile, in the Martin house, a short but stunning young woman walked down the hallway—Chloé. She wore a white school-girl skirt contrasting with a pink oversized sweater falling dangerously low. White sneakers squeaked under her steps as her long black hair flowed over her shoulders. Her headphones drowned her in music, but her bright, innocent smile betrayed her lively, mischievous nature.
She opened the living-room door—then froze.
Her father, Mr. Giovanni, lay on the floor, one hand on his chest.
Chloé (terrified)
_ Daaaaaad???_
Heart racing, she rushed toward him, kneeling beside him and tapping his cheeks.
Chloé (trembling)
_ Dad?? Dad, what's wrong? Why are you on the floor? Dad?!_
No reaction. Panic rising, she fetched a glass of water and sprinkled his face. His eyelids fluttered.
Chloé
_ Dad, can you hear me?_
He nodded weakly. She sighed in relief, kissed his forehead, and helped him to the couch.
Chloé (worried)
_ Are you sure you're okay?_
Giovanni (weak)
_ Chloé, sit with me. I need to tell you something._
Her heart skipped. She sat beside him.
Chloé
_ I'm listening, Dad. What is it?_
Giovanni ran a hand through her hair with tenderness.
Chloé (anxious)
_ Dad… you're scaring me. What's going on? Are you sick?_
Giovanni (sad)
_ Chloé… I gave you in marriage to my boss's son._
Her eyes widened.
Chloé (shouting)
_ Whaaaaaaaat?! Marriage??_
She stood up, stunned.
Chloé (sarcastic smile)
_ Please tell me you're joking. You WHAT?_
Giovanni (calm)
_ Chloé, calm down. Listen to me… I did it for your own good and—
Chloé (voice shaking)
_ For my good? Dad, I'm seventeen! I'm not even an adult and you gave me to someone I don't even know?!_
Giovanni lowered his eyes as tears fell.
Giovanni (sad)
_ Sweetheart… I'm dying._
Chloé (shouting)
_ WHAT? Dying? Dad… what—_
Giovanni
_ Three months ago, I learned I have lung cancer. If I'm not operated on soon… it will reach a terminal stage._
Chloé froze.
Chloé
_ What? Lung cancer?_
Giovanni
_ I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to worry… I asked my boss for a loan to pay for the surgery. He accepted… on one condition: you marry his son._
Silence crushed her.
She could barely breathe.
Giovanni
_ I'm sorry, sweetheart. Please forgive me._
Chloé quietly stood.
Chloé (calmly)
_ I'm going to my room. I'm tired._
She left. In her room, she collapsed onto her bed, staring at the ceiling.
---
CHLOÉ (inner monologue)
My name is Chloé Martin. I'm 17, almost 18…
… and apparently getting married soon. Great.
I live with my dad. My mom left when I was two. Why? No idea. Don't care. I hate her.
Dad works as a driver for some extremely rich guy. I met him once. Long story short: his bodyguard destroyed my bike, and I demanded compensation. I got paid and called "courageous." Whatever.
And now?
I learn that I'm marrying his son. A random guy. A stranger.
Add to that: Dad has lung cancer and hid it from me.
So here's the deal:
If I refuse?
I put my dad in danger.
If I accept?
I marry a total stranger.
Perfect timing, life. Really.
I feel lost. I want to cry, but no—no more tears. I cried enough from age 2 to 10. Now I'm strong.
I'm Chloé Martin. Fear is not in my dictionary.
Sarcasm, though?
Definitely.
To be continued…