3

[Madison Rose]

Marco cupped my face in both hands, making my lips part just enough for his tongue to slip inside. He kissed me deeply, like he was searching for something hidden inside me. I squeezed my eyes shut, overwhelmed by the weird storm churning in my stomach. I couldn’t even explain what I was feeling — it was intense, and it scared me.

I couldn’t breathe properly anymore, but I still couldn’t bring myself to pull away. Instead of stopping him, I found myself giving in. This was part of being his wife, right? Keeping him satisfied so he wouldn’t think about leaving me or ending our marriage.

When he finally let go of my hand, I slowly wrapped my arms around his neck. Our kisses grew deeper, and before I knew it, I was kissing him back like it was second nature.

A small moan slipped out of me. I wasn’t thinking straight anymore — it felt like I had completely lost control of myself.

Marco's hand slid down from my neck, his touch hot against my skin. I flinched a little when he brushed over the curve of my breast, but he didn’t linger. His hand moved down my stomach, dangerously close to between my thighs — and out of pure panic or instinct, I accidentally bit his lip.

We both froze. The sharp, metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, sending a shiver through me.

"I-I'm sorry," I stammered, my face burning with embarrassment.

Marco just stared at me — no anger, no smile, just a blank expression. He let out a long sigh and pushed himself up, moving away from me.

I nervously bit my lip, panicking inside. Did I mess everything up? Was he angry?

"Marco..." I said his name, not even sure if it was the first time I had ever called him that out loud. "Were you... were you cheating on me? Is that why you disappeared for a whole month?"

He moved toward me so fast I barely saw it happen. I immediately dropped my gaze, too scared to look him in the eye.

But somehow, I found the strength to force the words out, even though they tasted awful in my mouth. "Someone sent Papa pictures... of you with another woman," I said, my voice shaking. "He said you were cheating and planning to leave me."

I forced myself to look up at him, even though my heart was racing.

Marco stepped closer, and I instinctively flinched, expecting the worst. But he didn’t touch me. Instead, he leaned in slightly, resting his hand lightly on the edge of the bed — close enough to feel intimidating, but not enough to actually hurt me.

"I'm not betraying you," he said coldly. "But you should be thankful for the woman in those photos. She saved your life."

He straightened up after saying that, but his face was still hard to read, like a shadow hanging over him.

"That's exactly why I asked your father, in secret, to keep our wedding under wraps," he continued, a bit of frustration creeping into his voice. "But of course, he couldn't resist leaking the news about us getting married. Luckily, no photos of you came out."

He shook his head like he couldn't believe how things were going. "You need to understand that once our enemies know I'm married, being the head of this family, your safety is at risk." He tilted his head, looking at me. "So, think of my month-long absence as me trying to protect you."

His words hit me like a wave. The thought of the woman in the photo possibly being dead crossed my mind. Was she gone? What happened to her?

I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't notice his hand reaching out toward me. I blinked, then looked up at Marco. Hesitantly, I took his hand and stood up from the bed, still trying to read his expression.

I’d expected him to be angry with me, to push me into doing what he wanted, like my father did. I thought there'd be consequences if I didn’t comply, but things weren’t going the way I imagined.

"Let's go home, Maddie."

Hearing him say my name felt like a comfort, like a weight lifting off my chest. It was the first time someone else had said it like that, and it felt oddly soothing.

I was surprised that Marco, of all people, would say my name so softly. It was a side of him I hadn’t expected. As we drove from my father's house to Marco's, there was an uneasy silence between us. I closed my eyes, letting my thoughts drift. I kept reminding myself that Marco was my husband — which is technically true, but it still felt weird.

I glanced at him sitting across from me, typing away on his laptop. He seemed absorbed in whatever he was doing, so long as there were no phone calls distracting him.

I wanted to connect with him, to make our relationship feel real, since we were in this for the long haul. But every time I caught him looking at me, I lost my confidence. Marco was far more intimidating than my father, with eyes that felt like they could see straight through me.

Whenever his gaze shifted toward me, I quickly looked away, my heart pounding, worried that he might catch me staring.

I forced myself to focus on the view outside the window, a view I’d seen many times before when leaving Marco’s house for my father’s.

Eventually, we arrived at Marco’s gated community. It still felt weird to think of it as "ours."

I saw the grand entrance gate, towering and impressive, with the family crest shining in gold against the dark backdrop. I remembered being wowed by it the first time I saw it, and it still had that effect on me.

As the gate opened, our car rolled in. Not far from the entrance, I spotted the house I’d stayed at for a short time before leaving.

Then, I remembered him mentioning a woman he’d been with in another country. Unfortunately, she had passed away, but I had no idea what happened. I wanted to ask Marco about it, but I held back. Marco had this vibe that made it clear you shouldn't dig too deep into things he’d already shared. He’d give you just enough info and expected no more questions. If you pushed it, he’d get irritated.

The last thing I wanted right now was to make him mad. I couldn't shake the feeling that he might... well, hurt me, like my father used to when he was angry.

The car stopped in front of the house, and someone opened the door for me. When I stepped out, I noticed all the staff and Marco’s employees were lined up to greet us. A chill ran through me when I saw Marco standing by my side.

Everyone greeted us warmly, and Marco’s hand moved from my back to my waist, making me take a deep breath. I couldn't help but wonder where his hand might go next.

We crossed into the house together. Besides the staff, there were two people in the office—a man and a woman. They had that same strong, almost intimidating presence Marco had.

Given how Marco was, it wouldn’t surprise me if all his employees had that same emotional distance.

“Welcome home, Mrs. Moretti,” they said, and it sent a strange jolt through me hearing those words.

Right. I am Mrs. Moretti now. Officially his wife. How long would it take for me to actually get used to this?

“I’m Lucille,” the woman said.

“Renzo, Mrs. Moretti,” the man added.

I smiled nervously and reached out to shake their hands, but they both glanced at my hand for a second before looking at Marco, who was standing beside me.

I noticed Marco staring at my hand, so I quickly pulled it back. Wasn’t it normal to shake hands when you met someone?

Lucille cleared her throat and stood up straighter.

“They’ll be your personal guards,” Marco said, cutting off the conversation and leading me away from them.

I smiled again at Lucille and Renzo, who nodded back.

Marco held me close, but it didn’t feel uncomfortable. It was different from when my father hugged me. With my father, fear would creep in because I always feared his anger. But with Marco, whenever he touched me, there was a strange kind of peace. Still, I couldn’t shake the worry—what if one day Marco hurt me too?