Livia, an insatiable nymph with unacknowledged desires, is about to become much more than just a servant in the eyes of the powerful businessman Alessandro. Every glance from the billionaire Alessandro burns her from within. He, ruthless and arrogant, knows exactly what he wants, and he also knows that his power can obtain anything, including her heart, if she grants it to him. But a contract, signed under the impulse of growing passion, will bind their lives in an unprecedented way. A contract that goes beyond the simple terms of an agreement. Livia must bear his child, and Alessandro, much more than just a businessman, finds himself forced to lose himself in a dangerous game where feelings and sensuality intertwine. The question remains: can a contract signed in ecstasy truly be a promise of love, or is it merely a trap? Will Livia have control, or will she be the one dominated by a billionaire whose heart seems as cold as his gaze? They will cross boundaries that neither of them had anticipated…
View More
Livia's Point of View
In this immense villa where cold marble meets sparkling chandeliers, I am the only soul awake at this late hour. Like every evening, once my shift is over, I allow myself this moment of intimacy, where I can finally let my guard down and just be myself.
I lock the door to my room. The silence of the house is reassuring, almost complicit. I turn on my laptop, a gift from my late boss, a good man who always had a soft spot for my dedication. The screen lights up in the darkness, casting a bluish glow on my bare thighs beneath my light nightgown.
The silence of the house is absolute. Only the slight crackling of my computer disturbs the muffled darkness of my room. The bluish glow of the screen caresses my skin, revealing the soft curves of my thighs under my fine nightgown.
I slide one leg onto the mattress, the other dangling slightly in the void. My fingers tap on the trackpad, searching for the video that will captivate me tonight. A pornographic film. A story of forbidden passion, burning glances, and bodies seeking each other.
I press play.
The image comes to life. A hesitant woman faces a powerful man, her breath ragged under the grip of a desire she struggles to control. He brushes against her, plays with her nerves, waiting for her to give in.
I shiver.
My fingers slowly trail up my neck, grazing my collarbone before descending lower, where the heat accumulates insidiously. My legs tighten under the shiver that runs through me.
On the screen, the man approaches. His hand lingers on the woman's hip, grazing her without truly touching, igniting her impatience.
I nibble on my lip, my body reacting to every gesture, every whisper from the film. The excitement is a slow wave that glides under my skin, a silent call that longs to be fulfilled.
I let my hand explore gently, following the rhythm of the scene. My fingers linger on the lace of my nightgown, caressing the fine fabric covering my chest. My breath quickens.
In the video, the woman closes her eyes, caught in the turmoil of her unfulfilled desire. The man whispers something in her ear, words I cannot perceive, but which make me tremble.
My hand glides down my belly, lower, brushing the spot where the need becomes more intense. A sweet torture. My back arches slightly, my thighs press together.
The urge rises, inexorable, but... something is missing.
Someone.
A weight, a presence, a warm breath against my neck, fingers larger than mine tracing my skin with an unbearable slowness.
But there is no one.
Only me, this aching absence, and this heat that refuses to calm.
I close my eyes, letting my imagination fill the void.
I imagine a man beside me. His piercing gaze, his deep voice that troubles me more than I care to admit. His long, assured fingers brushing my skin, lingering on my hips, exploring every inch of my body without any rush.
I stifle a moan. But reality catches up with me. I am alone. I sink into my pillow, my body warming as the scene unfolds. My mind wanders, and I imagine myself in his place. In the place of this woman, subjected to an uncontrollable desire, a shiver runs through me.
My breath gradually slows. My fingers freeze, frustration still anchored in my belly. With a weary gesture, I stop the video. I let myself fall onto my back, staring at the ceiling in the dark. And I fall asleep.
In this immense house, I am the first to wake up. Always. Even before the sun begins to warm the tinted windows, before the silence gives way to the sounds of daily life.
I slowly open my eyes, still groggy from my too-short night. The warmth of my bed holds me for a moment, but reality quickly catches up: I do not have the luxury of lingering.
I sit up, run a hand through my tangled hair, and cast a quick glance around my small room. It is simple compared to the rest of the house, but it is my refuge.
My boss, Madame Isabella, is sick. Very sick. Her cancer weakens her day by day, and I am the only person she can rely on. The only one who watches over her daily.
I push aside my sheets and place my feet on the cold floor, a shiver running down my spine. My movements are slow, almost mechanical. I head to the adjoining bathroom.
In front of the mirror, I splash cold water on my face before grabbing my toothbrush. My movements are precise, methodical. Once ready, I take a few minutes to apply light makeup. Nothing too flashy, just enough to enhance my features: a thin line of eyeliner, a bit of mascara to accentuate my gaze, a touch of gloss on my lips.
Then comes the moment to put on my uniform.
A black and white outfit, fitted, shorter than necessary. A form-fitting skirt that stops well above the knees, a tailored white blouse with a discreet but suggestive neckline. Not the kind of uniform one imagines for a maid, but here, everything is about appearance. I put it on with almost ritual precision, smoothing the fabric over my hips, adjusting the collar to fall just right.
A last look in the mirror. Perfect.
I leave my room and ascend the stairs to the upper floor, my heels echoing slightly on the marble. The house is still asleep, the air thick with an almost surreal calm.
Arriving at Madame Isabella's door, I knock softly.
— Come in, she whispers in a weak voice.
I open the door and slip inside.
She is there, lying in her enormous bed, her frail body lost among the luxurious sheets. Her face is pale, marked by fatigue, but her eyes still have that bright glimmer, that natural elegance that commands respect.
I approach.
— How are you feeling this morning, Madame?
She gives a slight smile.
— Like every morning, my dear... alive, but tired.
I sit in the chair by her bed, resting my hands on my knees.
— I am here if you need anything.
She nods, then, after a brief silence, her eyes drift into the void, as if she is pondering something important.
— My son will be returning from Italy soon, she finally says.
I frown slightly. Her son?
I have never seen him. I know she has a child, but he has never set foot in this house since I have been working here.
She seems to read my thoughts and turns her head slightly towards the wall on her right. My gaze follows her movement, and that's when I see him.
The photo. Hanging on the wall in a silver frame, it stands there, like a memory frozen in time. I get up and approach. The portrait is striking.
"Alessandro."
That’s the name discreetly inscribed under the photo.
A man in his twenties, with a charming smile, chiseled features, and a hint of nonchalance that gives him an irresistible air. Dark, deep eyes, a gaze that is both intense and mysterious. He exudes something captivating.
A shiver runs down my spine, though I do not know why.
— He will arrive this evening, Madame Isabella continues in a soft voice. I want his room to be ready.
I turn away from the photo, regain my professional demeanor, and nod.
— Of course, Madame. I will take care of it immediately.
Before leaving, I ask her if she needs anything else.
— No, for now, everything is fine.
I bow slightly and close the door behind me. But as I walk away, the image of Alessandro continues to haunt me. And a single thought crosses my mind. What kind of man is he really?
42: his answer, his loveThe silence that settles after my words is unbearable. I put my heart bare before him, exposed my deepest feelings. But Alessandro says nothing. He just looks at me, motionless, his dark and indecipherable gaze. Then, suddenly, he moves. He crosses the distance that separates us from a single step, grabs my face into his hands and forces me to immerse my eyes in his. - Repeat. His voice is hoarse, trembling. As if he dared not believe what he had just heard. I am difficult to swallow. - I love you, Alessandro. He closes his eyes for a moment, letting out a breath loaded with emotion, then reopens them on me. - You don't know how much I waited for these words. His thumbs gently caress my cheeks. - Livia ... Her voice breaks slightly. You are my wife, my son's mother ... and the love of my life. Do you really think I could have let you go? My heart is missing a beat. - But ... the contract ... - The contract?! He laughs gently, a trembling, almost
41: Free… Really? Livia's point of viewThe word resonates in my head as an irrevocable sentence. FREE. That's what he offers me. What he believes to give me. I give my eyes to Leonardo, peacefully asleep in my arms, unconscious of the upheaval that agitates his mother. My son. Our son. The fruit of a love that I have always you. Alessandro speaks, his deep and controlled voice, but I know him too well now. I perceive each flaw behind his words. He believes that is what I want. He thinks he does what he should do. A house. A full account. A comfortable life. Without him. My heart tightens at this thought. He still didn't understand, right? I look at him, and it seems more distant than ever. This same man who watched over me with an almost suffocating possessiveness, who put a hand every night on my belly as if to make sure that his son and I were safe ... This man, today, lets me go. For what ? Because he believes that he owes me nothing more than this contract. Because he th
40:Alessandro's point of viewSilence has become a weight in this house. Before, there was his voice. Its perfume. His benevolent gaze placed on me. Before, there was his advice, even when I did not ask them. His way of putting her hand on mine to remember not to be too hard. Do not forget man under armor. Before, there was my mother. Today, only the void remains. I get up every morning with this strange feeling that something is missing. As if I had forgotten something important, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Then I remember. She is no longer there. I could say that I'm better. That time does its job. That the pain is erased slowly. But it would be a lie. We do not recover from the loss of a mother. We just learn to live with it. I think about it all the time. To the child I was, to the one she raised. To my father, which she never stopped loving, even after her death. I remember dinners with family, her laughter, his looks heavy with reproaches when I was stupid. I al
39: Isabella's last breathD'Alessandro's point of viewI always thought my mother was invincible. Despite the years, despite the tests, despite the disease that gnawed at her slowly, Isabella Ferrari had remained standing, worthy, the piercing and the impenetrable smile of a woman who never showed her weakness. Until today. The incessant beep of medical machines, the pallor of his skin, his short breath ... Everything in this room felt the end. - Mamma ... please, please. My voice was shaking. I didn't remember the last time I begged anyone. But there, I felt pride, pride. I just wanted ... more time. She opened her eyes with difficulty and looked at me. His dark pupils, who had once directed everything with a simple look, were tired, veiled by pain. - Alessandro ... His smile was weak, but present. Livia was a little behind, the baby in her arms. My son. His grandson. My mother gently stretched her hand towards them, and I helped her touch my child's sweet cheek. -You gave
38:Since our return to the villa, Alessandro has changed. Oh, he has always been possessive, authoritarian, and absolute control over everything around him. But since the birth of our son, it's worse. Well worse. Nothing escapes him. He wants to manage everything. The safety of the house has been reinforced, no one is without its authorization. Doctors and nurses who come to see our baby are handpicked. Alessandro checks every detail, each movement, as if the whole world was a threat to our son. I should feel reassured. Admiring, even. Because basically, he does all of this for love. To protect us. To offer us a bubble where nothing and no one could reach us. But this bubble ... begins to weigh me. -You shouldn't wear that, let me do it. -Rest, I'm going to ask someone to bring the baby. - You're tired, go to sleep, I take care of everything. His words, repeated again and again, end up frustrating me. I feel like I am locked up in a too tight cocoon, a place where I am reduce
37: The start of a new lifeDeaf pain woke me up in the middle of the night. First bearable, it quickly became more intense, radiating in my lower abdomen as an uncontrollable wave. My breath accelerated and, instinctively, my hand came to land on my rounded belly. I frowned. Was it time? My heart fell to this thought. A mixture of fear and excitement grabbed me while I turned my head towards Alessandro, deeply asleep by my side. His chest lifted slowly under the rhythm of his peaceful breathing. -Alessandro… I whispered, shaking it slowly. He does not react immediately, then groaned slightly by pleating his eyes. - MMH? -I ... I think it's for today ... I whispered between two contractions. He immediately opened his eyes, his gaze becoming alert in a fraction of a second. - What ? Do you mean that ... now? I grimace by tightening the sheet between my fingers. Damn, it hurt. - Yes ... it's possible. A large smile stretched on her lips. - It's great! he exclaimed with child
Welcome to GoodNovel world of fiction. If you like this novel, or you are an idealist hoping to explore a perfect world, and also want to become an original novel author online to increase income, you can join our family to read or create various types of books, such as romance novel, epic reading, werewolf novel, fantasy novel, history novel and so on. If you are a reader, high quality novels can be selected here. If you are an author, you can obtain more inspiration from others to create more brilliant works, what's more, your works on our platform will catch more attention and win more admiration from readers.
Comments