Chapter Two

(NOORIA)

I wake up slowly, like surfacing from deep water. My body feels heavy, foreign, every muscle aching in a way I’ve never known. Between my thighs burns, a dull, throbbing soreness that makes me wince when I shift. My ass stings with every tiny movement, the skin still hot and tender from his hands. My neck and shoulders throb where he bit and sucked, and when I brush tentative fingers over the marks I can already feel the raised welts, the bruises forming like dark flowers under my skin.

I’m naked under silk sheets that smell like him, whiskey, smoke, clean sweat, and something darker, more primal. My hijab is somewhere on the floor,my hair is a tangled mess across the pillow. I don’t dare move too much yet.

Valentino is still asleep beside me and I'm scared to wake him.

He lies on his back, one arm thrown over his head, the other resting across his stomach. The sheet has slipped low, barely covering his hips. In sleep he looks almost… human. The hard lines of his face soften just a fraction. His chest rises and falls in slow, even breaths. The scars on his torso catch the faint morning light slipping through the edges of the heavy curtains…old knife wounds, bullet holes faded to silver. Reminders that this man has lived a life of violence long before I stumbled into it.

Last night crashes back in fragments, vivid and merciless.

The first time was brutal.

He fucked me like he hated me, like he wanted to punish me for existing, for daring to enter his space, for being so broken and needy. He slapped me, choked me, yanked my hair until my scalp screamed, called me slut and whore while he pounded into me so hard I thought I’d split in two. It was degrading in every way possible but I came anyway. Screamed his name, clenched around him like my body was begging for more even when my mind was drowning in shame.

But it didn’t end there.

After that first round he didn’t throw me out.

He rolled me onto my back, spread my legs wide, and looked at me, really looked. His gray eyes were darker then, pupils blown. He kissed me slowly this time, deep, and almost careful. His tongue traced the bite marks he’d left on my neck like he was apologizing with his mouth. When he entered me again it was slower, still deep, still filling every inch, but deliberate. He watched my face the whole time, thumb circling my clit in lazy, perfect strokes until I was shaking, whimpering, coming apart under him with soft, broken cries.

Later—hours later, maybe—he took me against the wall, my legs wrapped around his waist, his hands under my thighs holding me up like I weighed nothing.

That time he whispered filthy things against my ear; “You feel so fucking good, little trespasser,” “This cunt was made for me”, but his grip was almost gentle, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin behind my knees while he rolled his hips in slow, grinding circles that made me see stars.

Rough, and harsh. Then tender, and passionate. Then rough again.

Every time I came it felt like flying, like the betrayal, the humiliation, the pain of Marcus and Sarah and graduation and everything else just… dissolved. For those moments I was weightless, over the moon, owned, cherished, and ruined.

All at once.

And I let it happen.

I let a stranger—a dangerous, violent man—take pieces of me I’ve never given anyone. Not even Marcus.

Marcus.

The thought of him twists like a knife. He cheated on my fucking graduation day. He didn’t even have the decency to text me that he wouldn't be there. And here I am, sore and marked and still humming from another man’s touch. I betrayed him back, didn’t I? In the worst way possible.

But worse, I betrayed Faiza.

Faiza, who booked this suite. Who left the “juice.” Who drugged me. Who—according to the dark suspicion curling in my gut—might have done it on purpose. I try not to think that she might have planned all this. She wasn't enthusiastic about the marriage anyway.

Valentino called himself her fiancé last night, right before he kissed me.

Her fiancé. The man she’s supposed to marry. And I just… let him fuck me senseless, multiple times, filled me with his cum, and let him mark me inside and out.

Guilt crashes in, hot and suffocating. I press my palms to my eyes, trying to hold back the tears. What kind of sister am I? What kind of woman?

A soft snore escapes Valentino. He shifts, arm sliding across the sheets toward me like even in sleep he wants to claim space.

I freeze, but before I can decide whether to slip out of bed or pretend I’m still asleep, the door explodes inward.

Wood splinters, shouts erupt, and cameras flash like lightning, over and over and over.

Reporters surge into the room, microphones thrust forward, lenses trained on the bed.

On us.

“Mr. Delucca! Is it true you spent the night with Faiza’s sister?”

“Sources say the engagement is off, care to comment?”

“Miss…Miss Nooria, right? How long have you been involved with Valentino Delucca?”

Flashbulbs blind me. Voices overlap into a roaring wall of sound.

Valentino’s eyes snap open, and in an instant he’s sitting up, sheet falling away, body coiled like a predator ready to strike. His expression is lethal, cold fury in every line.

I yank the sheet up to cover myself, heart slamming against my ribs.

The press has us cornered.

And the whole world including my gsni5is watching.

The flashes keep coming, relentless, like gunfire in slow motion. Voices overlap into a chaotic roar that makes my head pound.

“Mr. Delucca! Is the engagement to Faiza officially over?”

“Sources say you two were seen leaving the hotel together last night, care to confirm the affair?”

“Nooria! How does it feel to steal your sister’s fiancé on your graduation day?”

“Any comment on the rumors that you've been sleeping around with your sister's fiance? “

" What's going to happen to Al – Fariz’s reputation? “

My heart slams so hard I think it might crack a rib. I yank the sheet higher, clutching it to my chest like armor, but it’s useless.

They’ve already seen everything: my tear-streaked face, the bruises blooming on my neck and shoulder, the tangled sheets, Valentino half-naked beside me.

The headlines are writing themselves.

Valentino moves faster than I can process.

In one fluid motion he’s out of bed, sheet falling away completely. Naked, unashamed, lethal. He steps in front of me, blocking most of the cameras with his broad back. His voice cuts through the noise like a blade, low, calm, but carrying the kind of authority that makes people freeze.

“Enough.” The room quiets instantly. Even the shutter clicks slow.

He doesn’t raise his voice, he doesn’t need to. He's the kind of person who commands respect just by being present.

“I’m going to say this once,” he continues, tone ice-cold. “Faiza and I were never engaged. That was a business arrangement her family tried to force, but that ended months ago.” He pauses, lets the words sink in. “Last night, and every night from now on, I’m with Nooria. She’s the one I’m marrying. Not her sister, and not anyone else.”

My breath catches.

What?

The reporters erupt again, questions flying faster.

“Mr. Delucca, are you confirming an engagement to Nooria?”

“When’s the wedding?”

“Is this a rebound after the breakup with Faiza?”

Valentino doesn’t flinch. He just lifts one hand—palm out—and the gesture alone silences half the room.

“Get the fuck out of my suite,” he says, still calm. “You’ve got your story. Run with it. But if one more camera flashes in here, my security will make sure you leave in pieces.”

Two men in black suits materialize from the hallway—his enforcers, I realize. They step forward, shoulders squared, expressions blank but menacing. The reporters hesitate, then start backing up, still snapping photos as they retreat.

One brave—or stupid—woman thrusts a microphone forward. “Mr. Delucca, just one more…”

He turns his head slightly. “Out. Now.”

They scatter like roaches under light. The door slams shut behind the last one. Silence rushes in, thick and heavy.

I’m shaking. The sheet slips a little, but I yank it back up, knees drawn to my chest.

Valentino turns to me, and his expression softens—just a fraction—when his eyes meet mine. He crosses back to the bed, sits on the edge, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his skin.

“You okay?” he asks quietly.

I shake my head. “They… they saw everything.”

“They saw what I wanted them to see.” He reaches out, brushes a strand of hair from my face with surprising gentleness. “The story’s out now. No going back.”

“But you said… you said you’re marrying me.” My voice cracks. “You lied to them.”

His gray eyes hold mine, steady, and unreadable. “I didn’t lie.”

My stomach flips.

He stands, grabs a pair of black pants from the chair and pulls them on. “Get dressed. I’m sending you home.”

“Home?” I echo, confused. “But…”

“My driver will take you. You need rest, food, and time to think.” He pauses, looking at the marks he left on my skin. Something flickers in his expression.

Regret? Possession? Both?

“And you need to talk to your family before the tabloids do.”

I nod numbly, my body hurting in too many places to argue.

He disappears into the bathroom for a moment, comes back with a soft black robe—way too big for me—and drapes it over my shoulders. It smells like him.

“Shower if you want. There’s clean clothes in the closet, women’s sizes. They’ll fit.”

I don’t ask why he has women’s clothes here. I don’t want to know.

Ten minutes later I’m dressed in soft leggings and an oversized hoodie that swallows me whole. My hijab is back on, though it’s wrinkled and my hands shake as I pin it. Valentino watches from the doorway, already in a crisp black shirt and jacket, looking every inch the untouchable mafia boss again.

He walks me to the private elevator. His hand rests lightly on the small of my back, possessive, but not rough.

The doors slide open to the underground garage. A sleek black SUV waits, engine purring. A driver in a suit stands beside it, nodding respectfully.

Valentino opens the back door for me.

“Get in.”

I slide onto the leather seat. It’s cool against my sore skin.

He leans in, one hand braced on the roof. His face is close—too close. I can still smell the faint trace of smoke on him.

“This isn’t over, Nooria,” he says softly. “You walked into my world last night. You don’t walk out.”

I swallow. “What happens now?”

He studies me for a long beat.

“Now? You go home. You deal with your sister. And when I'm ready, I'll come for you.”

He straightens, and closes the door.

The driver pulls away without a word.

I watch Valentino disappear in the rearview mirror, tall, dark, dangerous, and somehow already under my skin.

The city blurs past the tinted windows.

Minutes pass like hours and soon the driver stops in front of our gate. I get down and walk into our compound. I knock at the door and the moment it opens a slap lands on my cheek sending me to the floor.