Chapter 1
Alia POV
In the morning, Marco gently lifted the sheets, waking me up in his unique way.
He nestled one leg between mine, his large hand roaming between my thighs, sending shivers through me.
"No, I have to work today!"
I tried to stop him, but it was already too late.
With a sharp rip, Marco tore open a condom and put it on, then lifted my legs.
"Mm!" I wanted to make a sound, but he firmly covered my mouth.
Marco suddenly became forceful, thrusting his thick, long penis inside me relentlessly, giving me no chance to catch my breath.
Perhaps because it was morning, Marco lasted especially long this time.
Two hours later, Marco finished showering, opened the front door, and strode out without a word.
I sat dazed on the edge of the bed, staring at the marks on the sheets, unsure if they were from Marco's sweat or mine, my cheeks involuntarily flushing.
Marco is my husband, but apart from knowing his name and that he runs a tech company, I know nothing about him.
I don't even know where I got the courage to marry a man I had only met twice.
Just a few days ago, my best friend Francesca convinced me to go on a blind date at the Red Rose Restaurant.
Three years ago, I was betrayed and abandoned by a scumbag, kicked out of my home by my family, and nearly lost everything.
Since then, I completely gave up on love. But Francesca kept insisting, because she believed I needed to bravely move on from my emotional setbacks.
"You can't hide forever, Aria," she insisted. "Meeting him and having dinner together, it's no big deal, right?"
I arrived fifteen minutes early, nervously smoothing down my simple blue dress as I entered the restaurant. What struck me immediately was how empty the place was—just one man sitting alone at a table by the window.
As soon as he saw me, he stood up elegantly. His tall and imposing figure, over 1.9 meters in height, exuded strength, with broad shoulders accentuated by a perfectly tailored navy blue suit, as if he could bear the weight of the entire world. Before he even introduced himself, I found myself irresistibly drawn to him.
His hair was a deep brown, slightly curly, and meticulously groomed. His face was sharply defined, like a sculpted masterpiece, with a high, prominent nose and thin lips beneath it, the corners of which curved slightly upward in a faint, enigmatic smile. Seeing this, a burning flush quickly spread across my cheeks.
His eyes were a deep, inky green, and when his gaze swept over me, my heartbeat quickened uncontrollably.
My feet felt as if they were nailed to the ground, unable to move. My ears burned, and even my breathing became rapid and uneven, until his voice broke the spell .
"Ms. Rossi," he said, his voice deep and smooth as he pulled out my chair. "Thank you for being punctual."
I fumbled with my purse, pulling out the dating profile Francesca had helped me prepare, along with my internship credentials and contact information.
"I'm Alia Rossi," I said, sliding the papers across the table. "I'm currently studying at San Luca University and interning at—"
"I know who you are," he interrupted, not even glancing at my carefully prepared documents. His intense gaze never left my face, making my cheeks flush. "Let's order first."
Throughout dinner, he asked questions about my studies, my interests, my family—but revealed almost nothing about himself. Just as dessert arrived, he leaned forward, those dark eyes capturing mine.
“Miss Alia, I have a good impression of you. How about we set a time to get our marriage license?”
“What?!” I nearly spat out the water I’d just sipped, staring at him wide-eyed, convinced I’d misheard.
Marriage? We’ve known each other for less than half an hour!
“Mr. Vittorio, are you… is this some kind of prank? Because this joke isn’t funny at all!”
He leaned back in his chair, fingers lightly tapping the table, his tone calm but resolute. “I thought Miss Alia felt the same way I do—wanting to build a family, get married, have children, and live an ordinary life as husband and wife.”
I pinched my thigh hard under the table to make sure I wasn’t dreaming, then took a closer look at the man in front of me.
“This is our first meeting!” I exclaimed, exasperated, thinking this man must either be crazy or trying to use me for some shady scheme.
Marco smiled, a deep, meaningful smile. “First meeting? No, the moment you walked into this restaurant, I felt as if I’d already met you, Miss Alia.”
“Marriage isn’t a game,” I protested. “People date for months, even years, before making a commitment like that.”
Marco leaned back further, studying me. “We’re both well-educated and ambitious. I believe you’d make a wonderful wife. Are you willing to trust that I can be a worthy husband?”
“But we only met today,” I said, my cheeks burning under the intensity of Marco’s affectionate gaze. I couldn’t bring myself to meet his eyes any longer.
A faint smile curled at the corner of his lips. “Alia, would you like to be my wife?”
My heart stopped.
I studied his face closely. Even without a confession or a diamond ring, I somehow felt that his words came from a place of genuine sincerity.
God, Alia, how could you even think like this? Are you so weak for a handsome face that you can’t think straight? Wasn’t it bad enough being humiliated, abandoned, and betrayed by a man three years ago?
Before I could respond, Marco slid a business card across the table.
“You have one night to think it over. Tomorrow morning, I’ll be waiting for your answer.”
That night, I couldn’t sleep a wink. Marco’s image kept flashing through my mind—his confident demeanor, those eyes that seemed to see right through me. For the life of me, I couldn’t recall where we might have met before.
His business card sat on my bedside table while I tossed and turned, unable to rest.
I had just started my internship, and according to the company’s tradition, female employees who weren’t married had a slim chance of being offered a permanent position. That was the reason I agreed to go on this blind date arranged by Francesca.
If I got married, I could secure my job, afford to rent a bigger place, and prove to myself—and others—that I was doing better than before… I was startled by this wild, reckless side of myself.
In the end, I picked up the phone and dialed.
“It’s me,” he answered calmly when the call connected, as if he had been waiting for me all along.
The next morning, we brought our documents to the marriage registry. And just like that, I became Mrs. Vittorio.
Yesterday, I moved into Marco's apartment at Casanova Residence—a luxury building I'd only ever walked past, never imagining I'd live there. Marco guided me through the marble lobby, his hand possessively at the small of my back.
“Do you like it?” he asked, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt and leaning casually against the sofa.
“Uh… it’s nice, just a bit, well, too big, don’t you think?” I forced a smile, while internally screaming, “This isn’t an apartment, it’s practically a palace!”
Marco suddenly leaned in close, his voice low as he suggested, “Since we’re husband and wife, there are certain things we naturally should do. What do you think?”
His breath brushed against me, and my face turned as red as a boiled shrimp. I quickly waved my hands in protest.
“I'm sorry, it's my dangerous period today, and I'm not feeling well.…” I knew my excuse was flimsy at best, but I just wasn’t used to this sudden intimacy.
Instead of disappointment, understanding crossed his features. Then, with a voice that sent shivers down my spine, he'd suggested: "If you can't use your body, you could use your mouth."
I pressed against his chest, "Marco, no."
"Isn't it natural for a wife to serve her husband?"
Marco’s lips curled into a meaningful, wicked smirk.
"How about I help you with my hands?"
"No, I want it right now."
In the next second, Marco pressed me down between his legs.
I was forced to take his penis in my mouth and move back and forth, a wave of unbearable nausea washing over me, almost making me gag. But Marco's hand didn't stop, leaving me no chance to even catch my breath.
His thick penis thrust faster, and as I choked, tears started streaming down my face.
Until the phone on the bedside table vibrated.
My heart sank, and my movements halted.
Marco’s fingers traced along my back, "Keep licking."
One hand held the phone while the other slipped into my chest, kneading my sensitive nipples relentlessly.
His touch made my whole body tremble. I couldn’t make a sound, only able to continue licking.
Marco squinted in pleasure, the strength in his hand increasing.
I don’t know how much time passed before Marco suddenly paused. With a forceful push on my head, I felt like my throat was about to burst, retching uncontrollably.
He let out a low growl and finally released his grip. I tried to dodge, but the sticky semen still shot onto my face and hair.