In Chloé's bedroom.
Chloé finally stepped out of the bathroom after long minutes spent under cold water. Her still-damp hair clung lightly to her face, and her body shivered beneath the sweater and sweatpants Lorenzo had brought her.
As she entered the bedroom, her gaze froze.
On the bed, a perfectly set breakfast tray was waiting for her.
Chloé (talking to herself, frowning)
_ Hmm… did he bring me food too, or is it that bitch Lila who put this here? Honestly, this is suspicious.
She moved forward slowly, as if every step were cautious, and sat on the edge of the bed. Her eyes shifted from the still-fresh juice to the warm toast, but something stopped her from reaching out.
Chloé (murmuring, narrowing her eyes)
_ What if it's Lila who put this here? I don't want to end up poisoned. No, I'd better go ask that grump if he's really the one who brought this.
With an annoyed sigh, she stood up abruptly and left the room. In front of Lorenzo's bedroom, without even thinking of knocking, without warning, she grabbed the handle and flung the door open.
The sight before her left her petrified.
Lorenzo had just stepped out of the shower. A towel was tied around his waist, droplets of water still sliding down his muscular torso, his dark hair falling in damp strands over his forehead. His sculpted body radiated strength and careless confidence. He gave off that raw aura, that mix of danger and virility that reminded anyone he was a bad boy—a real one.
Chloé stood frozen in the doorway. Her eyes, despite herself, began to trace every part of her husband: first his wet hair, then his face with features too perfect to be honest, then his torso marked by lean, powerful muscles… until her gaze drifted to his abs, then lower, to his groin wrapped in the towel.
A shiver ran through her, a mix of disbelief and attraction she refused to admit.
Chloé (inner voice, stunned)
Oh Lord… what is this? Am I dreaming or is this real? How can one guy have all that? It's not fair. He alone has an angel's face, a body carved to perfection, and… damn, even his bulge—Lord, that's pure provocation. Seriously, if he ever takes that towel off—no, no, I'm not imagining that! Fuck, I have to admit it: my husband is pure honey… unfortunately, that pure honey is an unbearable grump.
Lorenzo (hoarse, cold voice)
_ You can stop staring at me and tell me why you're barging into my room like that.
Chloé startled slightly. She'd been so absorbed by the sight of her half-naked husband that she hadn't even noticed he'd stepped closer. He stood there, tall and imposing, arms crossed over his chest, his dark gaze locked onto hers.
Chloé (a bit embarrassed, quickly looking away)
_ I'm not staring at you. Stop overthinking it… tchiiipp.
Lorenzo (imposing, icy voice)
_ Are you trying to piss me off on purpose? What are you doing here? Didn't I forbid you from entering my room again?
Chloé (insolent, lifting her chin)
_ Don't you think you're overreacting a bit? What's your problem? I'm just at the door—I didn't even come in. And relax, I'm not here to drool over your bare chest… far from it.
Lorenzo (inner voice, jaw clenched)
_ She talks like she wasn't embarrassed seeing me in just a towel. Seriously, she doesn't even know how to pretend… her eyes were wide open like a frog's two seconds ago.
Chloé (sighing, annoyed)
_ Anyway, are you the one who brought my breakfast?
Lorenzo (calm but curt)
_ No.
Chloé (frowning)
_ Hmm… then who did?
Lorenzo (cold, sarcastic)
_ How should I know? Am I a psychic? Now get out and leave me alone. I need to get dressed. Don't piss me off.
Chloé (rolling her eyes, ironic)
_ Couldn't you be gentle at least once in your life? Do you always have to answer with that ridiculous boss attitude?
Lorenzo (eyes red with anger, growling)
_ Is that how you talk to me? Did you forget I'm your husband? You just called me ridiculous? Do you want me to slap you so you learn some respect?
Chloé (provocative, defiant)
_ Stop talking nonsense. You and I aren't a real couple. So spare me that word. You're not my husband, and I'm not your wife. We're perfect strangers, and we'll act like it—understood? Anyway… I'm out of here, roommate.
With those words, Chloé spun around and slammed the door behind her, leaving Lorenzo standing there, frozen, his body trembling with anger he could barely contain.
Lorenzo (to himself, fists clenched)
_ Is she fucking with me or what? Strangers? Who does she think she is?
The fire in his veins flared. Unable to stay still, he violently opened his door and strode heavily and determinedly toward Chloé's room. Without hesitation, he yanked the handle, slammed the door open, and stepped inside, imposing his presence.
Chloé, sitting on the edge of her bed, jerked her head up, eyes widening in surprise.
Chloé (shocked, voice trembling between fear and defiance)
_ What the hell are you doing here?
Lorenzo approached without warning, his dark gaze fixed on her. Without giving her time to react, he grabbed her arm firmly and forced her to stand. With a swift yet surprisingly controlled motion, he pulled her roughly against his chest. His powerful arm wrapped around her waist, pressing her to him as if he wanted to absorb her into his body. With his other hand, he slid his fingers into Chloé's hair, gripping the back of her neck with a firm hold that left no escape. Then he lowered his head and captured her lips in a brutal kiss.
Chloé, stunned by the sudden assault, tried at first to push him away, her small hands flailing nervously against his broad shoulders. She refused to give in, refused to open her mouth to him. But Lorenzo, relentless, tightened his hold, pinning her against him as if to carve his presence into her flesh. Slowly, her resistance crumbled. Her breath grew shaky, her hands stopped fighting and came to rest on his shoulders, hesitant, fragile. A shiver ran through her entire body as Lorenzo kept kissing her like a predator marking his prey.
He sucked and nibbled her lower lip as if he wanted to devour her, savoring every second, every sigh she let slip despite herself. His hand in her hair kept her prisoner of his mouth, preventing her from fleeing, while his other arm crushed her against him as if she already belonged to him completely.
Chloé (inner voice)
I don't understand why this grump is kissing me like this… but it feels so good. The way he does it—it's addictive. I don't want him to stop. No… especially not.
Lorenzo (inner voice)
Fuck… she's too damn good. I've never held a kiss this long. Shit, if I keep going, I won't be able to pull away from her lips. They're fresh, too soft… Damn, what am I even saying? I need to get a grip…
Lorenzo abruptly broke the kiss, his lips pulling away as if he were regaining control.
Chloé, still shaken, opened her eyes wide. Her gaze had changed—less rebellious, more sincere, almost pleading, as if she were trying to understand why he was acting this way.
Lorenzo didn't need words. He wanted to impose his presence, mark his territory. Lowering his head, he slid his lips into the hollow of Chloé's neck, showering it with burning kisses. His tongue traced wet lines on her sensitive skin, drawing from her ragged breaths, muffled moans she could no longer hold back.
Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers clutching him as if seeking an anchor. Her head tipped slightly back, offering him even more access to her trembling throat. Lorenzo's hand grew bolder. Firm on her hip, it slid down to grope and squeeze her ass, pressing her tighter against his torso. His other hand, slow and sure, slipped under her sweater, caressing the curve of her stomach before moving up to her breast. He captured it in his palm, his thumb teasing her nipple, pinching it just enough to pull a sharper moan from her, all while continuing his burning kisses on her neck.
Chloé (ragged breath)
_ Why… are you doing this to me… stop now… aaahhh… fuck… it feels so good but stop… don't play with me, Lorenzo… hmm…
In his mind, Lorenzo savored his control.
Lorenzo (inner voice)
Don't worry, little one. I'm just putting my name on you. You need to understand something: you're my wife. After what I'm doing to you, we'll see if you dare say we're strangers again. You're mine, even if you drive me crazy. Mine, and mine alone.
He finally left her breast alone, then with a quick motion, yanked the sweater over her head. Chloé, eyes wide, froze, her chest exposed before him.
Chloé (wide-eyed)
_ But… how dare you—
Lorenzo (cutting her off coldly)
_ Shut up.
Without giving her time to respond, he grabbed her firmly by the waist and lifted her against him. His muscular arms wrapped around her with no apparent gentleness, yet his movements remained precise, almost protective. She reacted instinctively, wrapping her legs around his waist, her arms clinging tightly to his neck. Her exposed breasts brushed against his burning chest, sending an uncontrollable shiver through Chloé.
Chloé (whispering, breathless)
_ What are you going to do, huh? Are you just messing with me?
Lorenzo (hoarse, authoritative voice)
_ I'll remind you that you're my wife. Your body belongs to me—entirely. So shut up and don't piss me off. I'm focused right now.
His eyes darkened, and without waiting, he lowered his head to her chest. His mouth closed around one of her nipples, taking it slowly, suckling with a disturbing intensity. His lips were sometimes gentle, sometimes possessive—a mix of domination and involuntary tenderness.
Chloé (moaning, losing control)
_ Aaaaahhh… Lo…ren…zo… aaaaa…
Her hands trembled in his neck as she let her head fall back, mouth parted. Her half-closed eyes shone with tears, torn between confusion and pleasure. Every stroke of his tongue, every light bite on her nipple plunged her deeper into an uncontrollable whirl.
He sucked, licked, and nibbled her nipples in turn, leaving small teeth marks on her delicate skin. His hot breath burned against her chest, and Chloé, completely overwhelmed by this new sensation, finally let silent tears spill down her cheeks.
Tears born of pleasure so intense it became painful, of a grip she could no longer break. Lorenzo, despite his rough gestures, held her as if she already belonged entirely to him, and in this mix of brutality and softness, Chloé felt trapped… yet unable to resist.
Chloé (crying)
_ Aaaa… fuck… please… I… I… aaaa… don't stop, please… I don't want you to stop…
Her tears rolled down her cheeks without her realizing it. Her body trembled, torn between pleasure and a strange pain she couldn't understand.
But suddenly, Lorenzo stopped. As if he'd been waiting for that exact moment to pull back. Chloé, startled, immediately opened her eyes and lifted her head from where it had fallen back. She stared at him, breathless, cheeks still wet with tears.
Chloé (trembling, incredulous)
_ But… why are you stopping? Are you messing with me?
Lorenzo (calm, dark gaze)
_ Why were you crying?
She remained silent, unable to answer. She herself didn't know when those tears had begun to fall. Lorenzo had done nothing but play with her body, brushing her sensitive spots effortlessly. He dominated her without even having to force it. And that angered her as much as it disturbed her.
Slowly, he set her back down on the floor but kept his hold on her. His firm hand tightened on her hip as he leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. His low, grave voice echoed like a burning brand.
Lorenzo (imposing, icy voice)
_ Don't worry, girl, I'm not falling in love with you—no, far from it. But you need to understand one thing: you're my wife, whether you like it or not. You're my girl, you're mine. And the next time you dare open your mouth to say we're strangers… remember that I've already carved my mark on your body. That, no one will ever erase.
A violent shiver ran through Chloé. Her legs nearly gave way beneath her. His words struck like a slap, but deep down, she knew he wasn't lying: he had marked something inside her, against her will.
Lorenzo straightened abruptly, his arrogant gaze and imposing stance contrasting with the fragility he had just awakened in her. Without another word, he turned on his heel and left the room, his heavy footsteps echoing down the hallway.
Chloé, stunned, felt anger explode inside her. Her hands clenched as she shouted after him:
Chloé (screaming with rage, voice breaking)
_ Bastard! You disgust me! You're just a fucking manipulator! Go to hell!
Her words bounced off the empty walls. Her heart was pounding wildly. She hadn't expected such coldness—not after the intensity she'd felt moments earlier.
Red with rage, she grabbed her sweater from the floor and hurriedly put it back on. Her body was still burning, but now from shame and anger. She bit her lips until they hurt, regretting having let Lorenzo get that close to her.
Chloé (murmuring)
_ Damn grump… you'll pay for this humiliation. You're just a spineless man, yeah.
Her words were low, but they carried a promise.
Time skip a few hours / Night.
Night had fallen, wrapping the house in an almost unreal calm after their earlier encounter. In the living room, Lorenzo was slumped on the couch, a glass of whisky in hand. His gaze was fixed on the television, but he barely saw it. His mind was elsewhere, split between a thousand thoughts. Dressed only in pajama pants, his bare torso revealed tense muscles, an imposing silhouette in the dim light.
Chloé appeared. She came down the stairs slowly, her body slightly arched. Her pink sweatpants hugged her slender legs, while her tight mini corset-style top barely covered her chest. Her hair, tied up in a bun, framed her angelic face, and her lips, glossy with white lip gloss, caught the soft light of the living room. Without looking at him, she sat down beside Lorenzo, keeping a cautious distance. She crossed her legs on the couch and began fiddling with her phone, as if she were alone in the room.
Yet Lorenzo couldn't take his eyes off her. Despite himself, he was hypnotized by that simplicity and natural beauty radiating from her. He finally looked away, aware of his silent obsession, but unable to ignore it completely.
Lorenzo (inner voice)
Honestly… she's not just a kid. I need to stop calling her that—she shouldn't think she's not "desirable." From what I'm seeing, she's a real woman. Seriously, she's stunning, especially with her hair in a bun. But whatever… I don't care. She doesn't affect me… well, almost. At least my friends and enemies will see that I handle a woman none of them could keep. She's too beautiful to be with any man other than me.
Lost in thoughts he didn't even understand himself, Lorenzo was brought back to reality by the sound of Chloé's phone ringing in her hands.
To be continued…