~Arianna~
"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice softer than usual, eyes filled with concern as they flicked to my wrist. I sat in front of the mirror, cradling it gently.
"Do you care now?" I shot back, rolling my eyes.
He didn't respond, and I didn't expect him to. Instead, he walked to the wardrobe and pulled out a first aid kit. He knew exactly where it was. Of course, he did. This room belonged to his ex-wife. They must've spent a lot of time here together. My chest tightened with a jealousy I didn't want to feel. She was his past… but why did I care?
Don Nicholas opened the ointment and started applying it to my wrist, his fingers moving gently, massaging the pain away. His face was unreadable, and I couldn't understand why he could hurt me one minute and then act like he cared the next.
"You'll feel better," he said quietly, closing the kit.
"I will. You didn't have to bother," I said, standing up and brushing past him. He didn't stop me, didn't even move. "I'm going to wash my face, is that a problem?"
No answer. The room, bathed in soft candlelight, was romantic, but it didn't matter. We weren't in love. This was just duty, nothing more.
I stepped into the bathroom, splashing cool water on my face, trying to calm the storm inside me. This was my life now—Nicholas's wife, his possession, his plaything. I had to accept it.
I took a deep breath and walked back into the room. He was sitting in a chair, watching me. The air felt thick, heavy. Without a word, I flicked the lights on and stood in front of him. I wasn't sure if what I was about to do was right, but something pushed me forward.
I pulled off my nightgown, letting it fall to the floor, leaving me exposed. My heart raced, but I didn't flinch. Neither did he. His eyes darkened, his lips parting slightly, like he didn't know what to say.
For the first time, I saw a crack in his composure. Even through the mask he wore every day, I could see the shift.
"This is what you want, isn't it? Take it," I whispered, my voice barely steady.
Don Nicholas swallowed hard, his gaze lingering on me like he was torn between wanting me and something else, something deeper. He leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable again, and then, in a low voice, he commanded, "Come closer."
My heart skipped. I wasn't expecting this. For a moment, I thought he'd tell me to put my nightgown back on, but he didn't.
"You…" Don Nicholas stood up, walking toward me. "Put your clothes back on."
"No. Let's just get this over with. I'm tired of this so-called nuptial night."
"Really?" His voice darkened. "You'll regret it if I get as angry as you are right now."
"Go ahead," I challenged, though my voice wavered.
I took a shaky step closer, my body trembling. Regret washed over me, wishing I could rewind and undo everything. What was I thinking? This was a terrible idea. I never should've pushed him this far.
He grabbed my hand, his lips brushing my skin gently. His eyes held something like pity, making my heart pound even harder. Was this fear... or something else? He was the first man to see me like this, to touch me like this.
His breath was hot against my neck as he leaned in, so close I thought he'd kiss my lips. But instead, he kissed my neck, his lips grazing my skin. My hands clenched into fists. I was terrified, yet I didn't push him away. I couldn't.
He slid his hands around my waist, pulling me against him. "You're playing with fire, wife. You shouldn't have started this."
"I started playing with fire the day I agreed to come to this mansion," I whispered, my voice barely audible as his fingers traced my lips. "Take off your mask, let me see the devil's mark."
"Stop." His forehead pressed against mine, his breath ragged.
His eyes were shut tight, as if he was fighting something inside him. His grip around my waist tightened, so hard I thought he might break me. I had pushed him too far.
Before I could react, he grabbed my neck and shoved me onto the bed. It happened so fast, I thought it was a nightmare. I landed unharmed, but my heart was racing, fear flooding every inch of me. This wasn't the man I thought I knew. Something dark had taken over him.
I tried to sit up, but he was faster. He ripped off his suit jacket, throwing it to the floor.
"No, please. I'm sorry," I begged, my voice shaking as I backed away from the chaos I had created. I should've apologized from the start. What was I thinking? "Please, Don Nicholas, don't hurt me."
But it wasn't him anymore. Whoever stood before me now wasn't Nicholas—it was something else, something dangerous.
He pinned me down, his hands locking mine to the bed as his lips crashed into mine. This kiss wasn't like earlier—it was rough, almost punishing. And it hurt. I was terrified, trapped beneath him, unsure of what would happen next.