Becoming His

Chapter 4

Morning light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, casting sharp shadows across the massive bed. I woke with a start, my body tense and disoriented. The other side of the bed was empty, though the sheets still held the faint impression of Dario’s form. I exhaled slowly, grateful for the small mercy. Sharing a bed with him had been a silent battle of wills. Every shift of the mattress, every breath, had kept me on edge until exhaustion claimed me.

I slipped out of bed and padded to the dressing room, where my clothes hung in neat rows like obedient soldiers. I chose a tailored black dress, professional yet armor-like, and pinned my hair into a sleek chignon. When I entered the open living area, Dario was already there, seated at the dining table with coffee and a tablet. He looked impeccable in a charcoal suit, every inch the billionaire tycoon.

“Good morning, wife,” he said without looking up, his voice smooth. “Coffee is fresh. Breakfast will be served shortly.”

I poured myself a cup, ignoring the way his presence filled the room. “I have plans today. Stella and Victoria are coming over in a couple of minutes. They deserve more than a text message about my sudden marriage.”

He finally lifted his gaze, dark eyes assessing me. “Of course. But this afternoon we have a press briefing. The announcement of our marriage will be controlled and strategic. A whirlwind romance that explains the speed. No mention of debts or desperation.”

I set my cup down harder than intended. “You want me to lie to the world about falling for you?”

A faint smirk touched his lips. “Not lie. Spin. You’re intelligent enough to handle it. Besides, the world loves a love story. It protects your family’s reputation as well as mine.”

The chef arrived with plates of eggs Benedict, fresh fruit, and pastries. We ate in charged silence for a few minutes before I spoke again.

“About last night. The sleeping arrangement. I expect you to honor the boundaries.”

Dario leaned back, studying me. “I slept beside you without touching you, did I not? But Asha, pretending this tension does not exist will not make it disappear. You felt it years ago at the Harrington Gala when we argued. You feel it now.”

Heat crept up my neck. “What I feel is resentment. You forced my hand.”

“I offered salvation,” he corrected calmly. “You negotiated terms like the sharp businesswoman you are. Now live with the consequences.”

I wanted to argue further, but my phone buzzed. Stella and Victoria had arrived in the lobby. Dario nodded permission, and soon my friends were ushered into the penthouse. Stella, with her wild auburn curls and paint-splattered jeans, pulled me into a fierce hug. Victoria, elegant in a tailored pantsuit, looked ready to sue someone.

“Asha, this place is insane,” Stella said, eyes wide as she took in the view. “And you’re married? To him?”

Victoria crossed her arms. “We need details. Immediately. If this is coercion, we can fight it. I have contacts.”

I led them to the terrace for privacy, glancing back to where Dario watched from inside. Once out of earshot, I told them the full story, the negotiation, the civil ceremony, the cold reality of the contract.

Stella whistled low. “Eighteen months married to the ice king. Girl, that man looks at you like you’re both a prize and a puzzle.”

“He’s dangerous,” Victoria warned. “But you negotiated well. I’ll review the contract later. If he slips, we strike.”

Their support steadied me. We talked for nearly an hour, laughter mixing with concern. Stella promised ridiculous art pieces to “brighten this mausoleum,” while Victoria outlined legal safeguards. When they left, I felt slightly more anchored.

Dario appeared behind me as the elevator doors closed. “Loyal friends. Good. But remember, this marriage stays between us in private matters.”

The afternoon brought the press briefing in a sleek conference room downstairs. I sat beside Dario at a long table, cameras flashing. His hand rested possessively on mine for the photos, warm and firm. The story we told was polished: a rekindled connection at a recent gala, a swift romance fueled by mutual respect for each other’s business acumen, a quiet ceremony to honor family values.

When a reporter asked about the suddenness, Dario answered smoothly. “When you know, you know. Asha Marcelli, now Vitale, has always challenged me in the best ways. I couldn’t let her slip away.”

I forced a smile and added, “Dario’s vision for the future aligns with the legacy I cherish. We’re building something strong together.”

The words tasted like ash, but the performance held. Afterward, in the private elevator back to the penthouse, Dario turned to me.

“You played the part well, cara.”

“Don’t call me that,” I muttered. “It’s not real.”

He stepped closer, backing me gently against the wall. “It felt real enough out there. Your hand in mine. The way you looked at me when you spoke of legacies.” His fingers brushed my jaw. “Hate me, Asha. But don’t lie to yourself about the attraction simmering beneath it.”

My heart raced. I hated how my body responded to his nearness, the clean scent of his cologne, the intensity in his eyes. “Attraction is not surrender. I still despise what you represent.”

“Yet you’re here, wearing my ring, sharing my bed.” His voice dropped. “Tell me you didn’t feel anything when I touched you during the photos.”

I pushed at his chest, but he didn’t budge. “I felt trapped. That’s all.”

The elevator dinged. He released me with a knowing smile. “We’ll continue this discussion later. Tonight, I have a dinner meeting. You’ll accompany me. Wear something elegant. Consider it practice for public devotion.”

I spent the rest of the afternoon in the home office he had prepared for me, reviewing files on Vitale’s import divisions. Despite myself, I found the work engaging. His company had aggressive expansion plans that could benefit from my old contacts. It reminded me of my days at Marcelli Imports, negotiating deals with Nonno’s voice in my head.

When evening came, I chose a deep emerald gown that hugged my figure. Dario’s eyes darkened with appreciation when he saw me.

“Beautiful,” he said simply. “You’ll outshine everyone.”

The dinner was at an exclusive rooftop restaurant with business associates. I played the role of devoted wife, smiling at his side, engaging in conversation about global trade. Dario’s hand occasionally rested on my lower back, a constant reminder of our arrangement. One associate, an older man with shrewd eyes, commented on the whirlwind marriage.

“Vitale finally settled down. Never thought I’d see it.”

Dario’s response was possessive. “Asha is exceptional. She understands power and legacy better than most.”

Under the table, my hand clenched. Exceptional. Like a valuable acquisition.

Later, back in the penthouse, the tension boiled over. I kicked off my heels in the living room and turned on him.

“I did my part tonight. But don’t think I enjoyed being paraded as your trophy.”

Dario loosened his tie, watching me with that predatory focus. “You were magnificent. And you know it wasn’t all acting. There were moments when you leaned into me naturally.”

“Because I had to,” I snapped.

He closed the distance, cupping my face with surprising gentleness. “Eighteen months, Asha. You can fight this fire every day, or you can explore it. I won’t force you. But I won’t pretend it doesn’t exist either.”

For a heartbeat, I thought he might kiss me. Part of me wanted him to, just to test the flames. Instead, I stepped back.

“Goodnight, Dario. I’ll be in bed. Far side.”

His low chuckle followed me down the hall. “Sleep well, wife. Dream of me if you must.”

As I lay in the dark later, listening to his steady breathing beside me, I touched the ring on my finger and wondered how much longer my hatred could hold against the growing pull. This man had upended my world, saved my family, and now threatened to unravel me.

And the worst part was, some traitorous piece of me was starting to look forward to the battle.