Chapter 5: On Our Wedding Night

Arianna

I woke to the strange heaviness of my own limbs, my neck stiff, my arms aching. For a second, I didn’t even know where I was—until the cold bite of the floor beneath my hip reminded me. I blinked, the room blurry in the half-light.

The dress… God, the dress. Layers of fabric that felt like they were pressing me into the ground, crushing my ribs, making it almost impossible to breathe.

I’d fallen asleep crying. I knew it without checking—my eyes felt swollen, my cheeks tight with dried salt. I pushed myself up slowly, every movement reluctant, my bones protesting as though I’d aged twenty years in a single night.

That brief, fragile moment before memory crashed back—I almost wished I could have stayed there. But it came anyway. The voice. The order. “Go to sleep.” Enzo’s eyes, cold and unbothered. The finality in his tone.

My stomach twisted. It had been a mess. A clusterfuck, really. And yet—most women in my position would be grateful. No awkward fumbling. No pain. No bruises in the morning. Just space. Distance.

But I’d wanted the wedding night. I hated myself for it, but I had. I’d imagined it a hundred different ways—not always soft, not always tender, but real. Something I could keep.

Maybe it was better this way. He didn’t like me. He’d made that much clear. I should keep my distance. Guard my dignity.

I sat on the edge of the bed, catching sight of myself in the mirror across the room. Perfect. Streams of black streaked down my cheeks—mascara, eyeliner, whatever my mother’s makeup artist had caked on my face earlier that day. My hair was a tangle, flattened in some places, sticking up in others. I looked like I’d spent the night in a back alley, not a bridal suite.

My throat was dry. I needed water. Pushing myself up, I crossed to the door, easing it open just enough to peek through. No sign of him. Good. The last thing I wanted was another order barked at me.

The suite was dim, shadows softening the expensive furniture. I padded out quietly, the hem of my wrinkled dress whispering across the carpet. I was halfway to the minibar when I heard it.

A thud. Not loud, but sharp. From the other bedroom. Enzo’s.

I froze, frowning. Maybe he’d tripped. Or dropped something. Or—

Another sound followed. Not a thud this time. A different sound entirely. Muffled at first, as if I’d imagined it. Then again—longer. Warmer.

My stomach dropped.

I stood there, straining to listen. It couldn’t be. Not here. Not now. Not on—

The sound came again, unmistakable this time.

A moan.

Not just any moan. A woman’s.

My fingers curled into the fabric of my skirt. No. No, I must be wrong. Maybe it was the TV. Or the music from downstairs. Or—

Another moan, louder. Breathless. Followed by a low, masculine growl.

My legs moved before I’d even thought about it, slow, shaking steps across the carpet toward his door. With each one, the sounds grew clearer.

More insistent.

My dignity was already in tatters, but this… This was different. This was humiliation wearing my wedding ring.

I stopped just short of the door, my hand hovering at my side. I should walk away. I should not do this to myself.

Instead, I leaned in.

Pressing my ear to the wood, I closed my eyes, every nerve in my body screaming.

It was worse like this.

The woman’s moans came fast, needy, broken up by Enzo’s low curses. The bed creaked, a steady rhythm, and my breath caught on a sob I barely managed to smother with my hand.

My chest hurt. Not the kind of pain you could rub away. The deep kind, the ugly kind that came from somewhere under my ribs.

In my head, I called him everything I could think of. Every ugly name. Bastard. Pig. Son of a bitch. It didn’t make it better. It didn’t stop the sound of my own heart breaking under the moans of another woman.

On our wedding night.

My wedding night.

Enzo Romano was inside that room, inside someone else, while his wife stood in the hallway, tears streaking over yesterday’s makeup.

I hated myself for reacting this way.

I didn't know him, not really. I didn't feel anything for him other than a stupid teenage crush. This wasn't a real marriage; nothing here was real. So... why the hell did it hurt so much?

“Harder!” the woman on the other end shouted, and I shrank back to hold back my tears as the sound of bodies colliding filled the air. “Fuck, you’re splitting my sides. That’s so good!” the woman gasped, and I covered my ears to keep from hearing anything else.

“Shut up!” he snapped in a guttural tone, followed by a scream from the woman. “Just shut up, damn it.”

This was too much for me. I couldn't take it anymore, and I ran to my room, one hand covering my mouth because I felt like I might throw up at any moment. I closed the door behind me and collapsed to the floor, bursting into tears.