Page 6 of Marriage of Revenge

We stumble into the hallway leading to my private suite, their giggles echoing around us. The door slams shut, and I waste no time, undressing myself, touching them, teasing their nipples with my fingers through the fabric, with my teeth.

But it’s not enough. It never is. Isabella’s necklace haunts me, taunting me, reminding me of the one woman who’s truly mine to break.

With a snarl, I yank the silver charm off Rosa’s neck and fling it aside. She yelps, but I silence her with another punishing kiss, my fingers digging into her hips.

“Forget everything,” I mutter, more to myself than to them, as Rosa’s gaze travels lower, and when Liliana’s fingers wrap around me, thick and heavy, her breath catches.

“Dio mio,” Rosa breathes, her voice husky with awe. My lips curve into a dark, knowing smirk. They’re mesmerized, but that isn’t what I crave. Their admiration, their hunger—none of it fills the hollow ache inside me. This is about using them, losing myself in raw, punishing pleasure to drown out the venom that pulses through my veins.

Liliana sinks to her knees, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. I reach into the drawer and rip open a condom, rolling it on with a swift, controlled motion. Her lips part in a playful grin, impressed by my careful precision, but she doesn’t question it. She leans forward, taking me into her mouth, her tongueswirling over the sensitive head before sinking deeper. I groan, low and rough, the sound pulled from my chest as she works me over, her mouth hot and relentless.

I fist her hair, controlling the rhythm, forcing her to take more of me. Her eyes water as she struggles to accommodate my size, and I watch, heat flaring in my gaze. Rosa presses against me from behind, her hands exploring my chest, her lips leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses along my neck. When her fingers drift toward a scar on my side, I grab her wrist, squeezing hard enough to send a warning.

“Hands off,” I growl, my voice edged with dominance. Rosa’s eyes widen, and she nods, her arousal only spiking at my command. My scars are mine—each one a mark of violence and survival, not to be touched by anyone.

Liliana’s mouth slides up and down, sucking harder, her moans vibrating around me. My control frays, the pleasure coiling tight in my gut, but I don’t give in. Not yet. I guide her with rough hands, making her work for every groan, every sharp breath. When I’m on the brink, I pull her back, slipping out of her swollen, glistening mouth. Her lips are red, her eyes wild, and she licks me one last time.

I discard the first condom and grab another, ripping it open and rolling it on with the same practiced efficiency. Rosa’s dress is already hiked up, her thighs bare, her skin flushed with desire. I lift her effortlessly, pinning her to the wall as she wraps her legs around my waist. Her panties tear under my grip, and I thrust into her, hard and deep, her cry of pleasure echoing through the room.

Her nails rake down my back, and I set a relentless pace, each thrust driving her higher. Liliana stands behind me, her lips brushing over my neck, her hands roaming, but I don’t let her touch the scars. I own this moment, every sound, every gasp, every shuddering moan. Rosa’s body clenches around me, herrelease hitting her fast and hard, but I don’t stop, pounding into her until I find my own pleasure, shattering through me like a storm.

Yet, none of it reaches the hollow place in my chest. I fuck them like I’m trying to prove something, but even as they moan my name, I’m somewhere else. I’m in another room, with another woman, her laughter soft as music, her touch like a brand against my skin.

And no matter how deep I bury myself in bodies and blood, I can’t escape her ghost.

I pull out, discarding the second condom, and step back, the emptiness already creeping in to replace the brief, mindless heat. Rosa and Liliana are panting, flushed, but I don’t let them linger.

My past, my pain, my scars—none of it belongs to them.

Tonight was a fleeting escape, nothing more.

I watch the door click shut behind them, the hollow ache settling back into my chest now that the brief distraction is over.

In three days, the real game begins. I’ll be ready. But as I stare at my reflection in the darkened glass, all I see is the boy who played piano while she danced.

The boy who thought he could save her.

Fuck that boy. Fuck hope.

This time, I won’t hesitate. I’ll take everything she has left—her trust, her love, her fucking soul.

CHAPTER 3 – ISABELLA

“W-wife?” I sputter.

I'm sorry, what? Can I rewind that? Or maybe rewind my entire life. So many mistakes I would erase.

"What did you say?" I croak out. I must have misheard. Misunderstood.

"An auction, Isabella. A tournament. It's an honor, really. Men vying for your hand. They don't know… you're… well… you." He tilts his head.

Each word is a paper cut. I flinch, my fingers automatically finding my pulse point on my neck. At least it’s not racing right now. Mrs. Romano appears at my side with a glass of water, her worried eyes meeting mine.

I’m afraid to inhale deeply. Afraid a wrong movement will start the tachycardia. I gulp down the water, letting the cold wash over me.

“I’m okay,” I whisper to her. Even though I’m not.

My father's disappointed head shake makes it clear: another weakness, another flaw. Another way his perfect ballerina has stumbled.

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