Wedding Night.

I'm sound asleep when I feel the mattress dip beside me. The scent hits me before the sound, smoke, alcohol, power, all wrapped up in the man I married a few hours ago. The bedside lamp flicks on with a harsh click. I blink against the sudden brightness, my heart lurching when I see Nico. His suit jacket is gone, his shirt half unbuttoned and wrinkled, his tie hanging loose around his neck. His hair is tousled, lips drawn in a hard, unreadable line.

"What are you doing?" My voice cracks as I jolt upright, instinctively clawing at the silk sheets to cover myself. He doesn’t answer right away, just watches me with those unreadable, stormy eyes. Then, in one swift motion, he grabs the sheets before I can secure them and yanks them away, exposing my corseted form beneath the thin slip I hadn’t bothered changing out of.

"I want my wife," he says flatly, like he's stating a business transaction. "It’s our wedding night."

He tosses his tie to the floor and begins unfastening his shirt. The weight of his body shifts as he moves over me, and I scramble backward, only for him to swing a leg over and straddle me, locking me beneath him. His fingers fumble with the delicate ties of my corset. I try to push him off, but his grip tightens in warning. "Don’t," he growls, frustration bleeding into his voice. He tries again, fails, then gives up completely and grabs the hem of my gown instead.

"Wait, Nico, stop!" But it’s useless. He’s made up his mind. My voice might as well be background noise.

He hauls the skirt of my dress upward in one aggressive motion, flipping the whole thing over my head. The fabric tangles awkwardly around my waist, leaving my back and legs bare to the cold air. Before I can react, his hand lands hard on my ass, a sharp slap that stings my skin and steals my breath.

"You married me, Ava," he mutters low in my ear, his tone bitter, possessive. "This is part of the deal."

He captures both of my wrists and draws them behind me, pinning them at the small of my back with one hand. With the other, I hear the metallic clink of his belt, the slide of leather through loops, and then the violent rip of lace as my panties are torn away. Shame burns hot under my skin, not from the exposure, but from the coldness in his touch. There's no tenderness. No warmth. Just control. My body is frozen, my throat tight with everything I want to say but know I can't. Because in this world, I’m not a woman. I’m a wife by contract. A pawn in a kingdom of men and tonight, the king wants his prize.

His touch sends my mind into chaos. Fingers trail over the curve of my ass, then slip lower, sliding between my thighs. I freeze. He strokes once, twice, three times, gliding through my folds with unnerving precision. I hate the way my body reacts, the way warmth flares beneath my skin. I bite down hard on my lip, trying to silence the traitorous sound rising in my throat. Then his finger swirls around the sensitive bundle of nerves at my center, slow and deliberate. A gasp escapes me before I can stop it.

“Don’t hold those sounds in, Ava,” he growls into my ear, voice thick with something possessive and dark. “They’re mine. And I want to hear them.”

Before I can respond, he pushes two fingers inside of me. The sudden stretch makes me cry out—not in pleasure, but sharp, ripping pain. Tears sting my eyes as my cheek presses into the pillow, muffling the broken sound I can’t stop. Behind me, he groans, the noise guttural, hungry. He likes it. My pain feeds something in him I don’t understand, and that terrifies me more than anything else. He releases my wrists, but I don’t move. I don’t fight. What’s the point? Instead, I glance back over my shoulder and he’s watching me. His hand grips his erection, stroking himself slowly as his gaze burns into mine. The other hand is still inside me, curling upward, exploring until...My hips jerk. He finds a spot I didn’t know existed. A flutter of confusion laces through the pain, my head reeling from the contradiction. Just when I start to drift into the strange haze of sensation, he withdraws his fingers and delivers another sharp smack across my ass. I whimper, more in shock than anything else, as he grips my waist and flips me onto my back. The skirt of my dress is shoved to my hips, and he looms above me like a shadow—one hand wrapping tight around my throat. His thumb brushes the base of my jaw, not choking, but close enough that I know he could.

“Look at me when I take you, Ava.” His voice is low, demanding. I meet his gaze, but I feel hollow inside, my heart pounding in my ears as I stare up at the man who calls himself my husband. He lines himself up with my entrance and without hesitation, he slams himself inside of me. A sharp scream tears from my throat. My back arches against the burn, the fire between my legs so intense it feels like I’m splitting in half. The pain is raw, overwhelming and he just holds himself there, buried deep, propped up on his arms above me as my tears fall in silence. Then, to my shock, his lips find my forehead. A gentle kiss. Then my cheeks. My neck.

“Shhh,” he murmurs against my skin. “It’ll stop hurting soon.”

His voice is soft now. Almost tender. It’s such a jarring contrast to his actions that I can’t tell whether I should scream or lean into it. Still, he doesn’t move. He waits. And eventually, just like he said the pain fades. It dulls into something manageable, and then into something more. My body, traitorous as it is, starts to respond. I shift my hips ever so slightly. Just enough to let him know.

He lifts his head from my neck, his lips curled into a sly, knowing grin. “Are you ready, wife?”

I nod. Hesitantly. Shamefully. My cheeks burn. He pulls back, slow and steady and then slams into me again. This time it’s different. The pain isn’t sharp; it’s deep, dragging, and layered with sparks of something that coils low in my belly. My hands grip the sheets at my sides as he begins to move deliberate, powerful, in complete control. Each thrust steals the breath from my lungs. His fingers lace through mine, pinning my hands above my head as he drives into me again and again, his gaze locked on mine the whole time. There’s no escaping it. No pretending this isn’t happening.

“Mine,” he growls, the word rough against my ear as he pounds into me harder. “All fucking mine.”

The sound of our skin meeting echoes around the room, the bed creaking beneath the force of him.

When I finally come undone, it’s with a mixture of tears and gasps, and his name on my lips before I can bite it back. He follows with a deep, primal groan, spilling into me as he collapses onto his elbows, his body still heavy on top of mine. Then he shifts, brushing my damp hair from my face and placing a final kiss against my lips.

“You did well, cara mia,” he whispers, voice thick and hoarse.