Chapter 4

Alia POV

I stood in the spacious 30-square-meter kitchen , an apron tied around my waist, a wooden spoon in hand, and a pot of simmering tomato meat sauce filling the air with its savory aroma.

Three years of living alone had made me quite adept at cooking, especially when it came to Italian pasta, I could whip up an authentic flavor with my eyes closed.

But today, my focus wasn’t on the pot at all. Instead, it was completely disrupted by the man behind me.

Marco Vittorio. Just thinking of him made my legs go weak. At this moment, he pressed himself against me from behind, his arms encircling my waist, his warm palms rubbing against my skin through the thin fabric of my T-shirt.

I had just showered and changed, not even having time to put on a bra. His movements were direct and unrestrained, his fingertips teasingly brushing over my chest, making me freeze in place, my heart pounding so hard it felt like it might explode.

“Focus on cooking, little one,” his voice rumbled low, carrying an undeniable tone of command as his hot breath grazed my ear.

“I’m almost done with school. I’m not little!” I retorted.

His hands lightly squeezed my chest. “Right here.”

My face turned as red as the tomato sauce in the pot, but my body betrayed me, heating up uncontrollably.

He pressed me back against the counter, lifting my apron. I could even feel the hardness between his legs, ready to thrust.

“Marco… stop messing around, I’m cooking!” I tried to protest, but my voice was as faint as a mosquito’s buzz, utterly unconvincing.

His low, husky laugh seemed to mock my feeble resistance. Then he leaned in closer, his chin resting on my shoulder, his hands never stopping their exploration.

“Fine, carry on. I won’t disturb you,” he said casually, but the hard thrust from below contradicted his words.

I bit my lower lip, trying to focus on stirring the sauce, but my mind was a chaotic mess.

‘This guy is definitely doing this on purpose!’ He clearly knew I had no resistance against him, yet he insisted on teasing me like this.

As my thoughts spiraled, he suddenly increased the force and speed of his thrusts, pressing himself even closer. I could almost feel the raw, masculine heat radiating from his body.

I was done for. I completely surrendered. What happened next… well, let’s just say the temperature in the kitchen was hotter than the stove.

…

After finally pulling myself together, I knocked on the door of the study, holding a plate of freshly made pasta. The door wasn’t locked, so I gently pushed it open and saw Marco sitting in a leather swivel chair, on a phone call.

“Handle these matters yourself. No need to report every detail to me,” he said in a cold, decisive tone, completely devoid of the tenderness he showed in the kitchen earlier.

I stood at the doorway, inexplicably nervous. ‘Is this what the CEO of Cortez Tech is like normally?’

His aura at work was entirely different from usual, like an unsheathed blade—intimidating just to look at.

Marco glanced up at me, a sharp glint flashing in his eyes. “Something wrong?”

I lowered my head to avoid his gaze, stammering, “Um… dinner’s ready. You can eat now.”

“I’ll be there,” he replied curtly, his tone carrying an undeniable authority. He hung up the phone and stood to walk out.

I quickly stepped aside, staring at the floor, not daring to look at him again. ‘Aria, you’re so pathetic!’

…

On the long dining table were two servings of pasta and a bottle of red wine. Marco sat at the head of the table, cutting into his food with a cold, stern expression, while I sat across from him, barely able to hold my knife and fork steady.

I wanted to find a topic to break the silence, like asking about his work at the company or commenting on the weather. But every time I looked up at his cold, almost expressionless face, I swallowed my words. ‘Forget it. Don’t embarrass yourself.’

Just as I decided to bury my head in my food, I felt Marco’s leg lightly hook mine under the table.

A shiver ran through me, and I nearly dropped my fork.

I hurriedly stood up, saying I’d wash the dishes, but Marco rose as well and pressed me down onto the table.

The cutlery scattered, clattering to the floor.

“Marco, the living room isn’t convenient…”

“Shut up.”

Finding me too talkative, Marco tore open my shirt from the front, biting down hard on my nipple while thrusting fiercely below.

I bit my lip tightly, not daring to make a sound.

Marco was exceptionally wild this time. Was it because of the supplements? I was overwhelmed by his intensity, starting to moan softly, my hips beginning to move as my legs wrapped around his waist.

Marco grew even more excited, flipping me over and taking me from behind once more.

…

I don’t know how much time passed before I tidied everything up and returned to the kitchen to wash the dishes. Then I heard footsteps approaching.

Turning around, I saw Marco walking in. He rolled up his shirt sleeves, revealing his toned forearms, and stood directly at the sink.

“I’ll wash,” he said matter-of-factly.

“You… know how to wash dishes?” I blurted out, immediately realizing how rude that might sound. I quickly tried to recover, “I mean, you don’t have to bother. I can do it myself…” But before I could finish, he shot me a warning look that instantly shut me up.

Still, watching him awkwardly scrub a plate with a sponge at the sink, I nearly burst out laughing. ‘The mighty CEO doesn’t even know how to wash dishes?’ His movements were stiff, like a schoolboy, his fingers clearly unsure of how to apply pressure. Water splashed everywhere, soaking his shirt cuffs.

Just then, with a sharp “crack,” a delicate Italian handmade porcelain bowl slipped from his hands, shattering into pieces on the floor.

I froze for a moment before crouching down to pick up the fragments. “It’s fine, I’ll clean it up!”

“No need,” Marco interrupted coldly, his deep voice carrying an unyielding force. “I’ll call a maid over.”

And just like that, he stood there and made a call. A few minutes later, a middle-aged woman in a uniform arrived and silently began cleaning the floor.

…

After the maid left, I curled up on the living room sofa, hugging a throw pillow, my eyes unable to resist sneaking glances at Marco beside me.

He was dressed in casual homewear, head lowered as he flipped through a document. A French romantic comedy played on the TV, but I couldn’t focus on it at all. My mind was entirely on Marco.

‘Damn it, can I really be this man’s wife?’ I seriously pondered this question, only to realize I knew almost nothing about him.

Aside from knowing he was the CEO of Cortez Tech and the rushed wedding vows we exchanged in a church that day, I was completely in the dark about this mysterious man’s past, personality, or even his preferences.

Stealing another glance at him, Marco suddenly looked up, his gaze locking onto mine.

My face flushed, and I quickly turned my head to pretend I was watching TV, though my heart raced uncontrollably. ‘Caught! Aria, could you be any dumber?’

“Aria,” Marco’s voice suddenly broke the silence, startling me out of my daze. I turned to look at him as he closed the file and removed his glasses, his eyes fixed directly on me. “I’m considering transferring you to be my personal secretary.”

“Huh?” I didn’t react at first, thinking I’d misheard. “Secretary? But… I’m still an intern. I want to stay in the business department to learn more.” Though I knew this internship opportunity was hard to come by, becoming his secretary and facing him every day would probably make me so nervous I wouldn’t even be able to speak properly.

“If you don’t agree,” the corner of his mouth curled slightly, but his gaze was chillingly cold, “I’ll disband the entire business department. Without a business department, you’ll have no reason to refuse.”

“Wait! You can’t do that. There are dozens of people in the business department!” I couldn’t help raising my voice, but I soon deflated, knowing full well he meant what he said.

This man never joked. But I really didn’t want our marital relationship to interfere with work.

“How about I work part-time as your secretary?” I mumbled softly.

A tense silence hung in the air. Marco’s gaze didn’t waver, as if he were weighing my words. After a moment, he changed the subject. “Does your family know about our marriage?”

I froze, shaking my head without saying a word. Deep inside, the painful memories from three years ago stabbed at my chest. ‘They stopped caring about whether I’m alive or dead long ago, didn’t they?’

“Then, once things settle down, we’ll visit your family together,” he said calmly, stating it as a fact rather than asking for my opinion.

“No, no need!” I waved my hands hurriedly, my voice a bit frantic. “They’re very busy. It’s probably not convenient…”

…

Seeing that I didn’t want to elaborate, Marco fell silent for a moment. Then, he suddenly reached out and pulled me into his arms. His embrace was strong and warm, enveloping me completely. I heard him say in a low voice, “From now on, you’re not alone anymore. You have me. Do you understand?”

My nose stung, and my eyes inexplicably welled up with tears.

I leaned gently against his chest, breathing in the faint scent of his cologne and his masculine essence, silently resolving in my heart: I must strive to become a wife worthy of Marco Vittorio.