Wedding Night Disaster
1371 Words
Sophia POV
The first thing Sophia noticed when she stepped into Alessandro’s bedroom was how massive the bed was. Her new husband’s bed.
Her heels clicked against the marble floors as she stepped inside, her wedding dress trailing behind her like a ghost of the horrible ceremony she’d just had. The servant who had led her here hesitated for a moment, glancing at her with something close to pity before lowering her gaze and leaving quietly.
Sophia exhaled slowly. The door clicked shut.
For the first time since the ceremony, she was alone.
A shiver ran down her spine, though the room was warm. Her fingers trailed absently over the dark wooden dresser, over the soft silk sheets of the bed that was far too big for just one person.
Not that it would matter.
She had no intention of sharing it.
The room was luxurious, but cold. It lacked warmth, lacked the presence of a woman’s touch. But there were remnants—small details that hadn’t been erased.
Her gaze landed on the nightstand.
A picture frame.
Her heart didn’t clench in jealousy. She had known what she was walking into. She had known about Gina.But it still stung in a way she hated to admit. Because it confirmed what she already knew—she didn’t belong here.
She stepped closer, her fingers trailing over the polished surface of the frame. Gina’s face smiled back at her, her eyes full of warmth, curled under Alessandro’s arm like she was meant to be there.
Sophia let out a slow breath.
Of course he loved her. Of course he wanted her. And now he was stuck with Sophia instead.
Her fingers twitched.
She wanted to knock the frame over. Not because she was jealous of Gina, but because it was just another reminder of how little she mattered in all of this.
Instead, she turned it face down. It wasn’t about Gina. It was about her. Her lack of control. Her lack of a choice.
Sophia turned away and let her eyes drift to the closet. The doors were slightly ajar, revealing perfectly pressed suits, neat rows of ties, shelves lined with expensive colognes. Everything was in place. Everything was his.
No room had been made for her things, implying what she already knew. There was no room for her here.
A muffled commotion from outside caught her attention. The low murmur of voices. The sound of footsteps stumbling against gravel. She didn’t have to turn to know what was coming.
Alessandro.
Sophia braced herself as the bedroom door swung open, revealing the man she had just married—a drunken mess, half-held up by the chauffeur.
His suit jacket was hanging off one shoulder, his shirt half unbuttoned. His tie was loosened, and his usually sharp, striking blue eyes were dull—glazed with liquor.
Her stomach twisted. This was how her wedding night was going to end.
Alessandro barely managed to shrug off his jacket as he staggered inside, muttering to himself. By the look on his face, it was clear to her that this wasn’t the first time the man had had to do this. The chauffeur muttered something under his breath. before shutting the door and leaving them alone.
Alessandro’s unfocused gaze landed on her, and a smirk appeared on his lips.
“Come on, baby, let me make love to you,” he murmured. But he wasn’t looking at her. His unfocused eyes were somewhere else, seeing someone else.
“Stop teasing me, Gina.”
Gina. That’s what she thought. He thought she was Gina.
Alessandro staggered toward her, reaching out. His fingers brushed her waist, and when she flinched away, he only smiled lazily.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice thick with alcohol. “I’ve always loved you.”
Sophia’s nails dug into her palms. She wanted to slap him. To scream at him. To remind him who the hell he just married. Instead, she stood there, stone-faced, letting the disgust churn inside her.
“Alessandro,” she said coldly, stepping back.
He didn’t hear her. Or if he did, he didn’t care. He was too drunk, too far gone.
His hands fumbled clumsily with his shirt buttons. “Come on, baby. Don’t make me beg.” He smirked, his words slow and heavy.
Sophia snapped.
Her hand shot out, shoving him backward with more force than necessary. Alessandro barely caught himself against the bedpost. His brows furrowed in confusion, blinking at her like he was just seeing her for the first time.
“I’m not Gina, you asshole.” Her voice was sharp, venomous.
Alessandro froze.
She could see it—the moment the realization hit him. His drunken haze flickered with something else. But then… he smirked.
“So fiery,” he murmured, his voice dipping into something smug. “That’s kinda hot.”
She let out a humorless laugh, shaking her head. This was her husband. This was her life now.
Alessandro swayed where he stood, gripping the bedpost like he needed it to hold him up.
“Go to sleep, Alessandro,” she muttered, turning her back on him.
She didn’t wait for a response. She strode straight to the couch at the far end of the room, ignoring the way her wedding dress felt suffocating against her skin.
She heard him collapse onto the bed behind her, a long exhale following. Seconds later, soft snores filled the room.
That was it. No wedding night. No passion. No husband and wife. Just a drunken groom and a bitter bride.
Sophia sank onto the couch, her shoulders stiff, her throat tight. She refused to cry. Because this wasn’t heartbreak. This was humiliation. And when someone humiliated her, she plotted revenge.
And when someone humiliated her, she plotted revenge. And that’s exactly what she was going to do.
The next morning, Sophia opened her eyes only to see the massive bed. The same bed she’d refused to touch yesterday.
Alessandro Ricci was still passed out like a corpse, fully dressed, reeking of whiskey.
Sophia uncurled herself from the couch—the couch she had to sleep on—and stretched, wincing as pain shot down her spine. Her wedding dress was still clinging to her, like a wrinkled mess.
She had spent the night in this stupid dress. In this stupid house. With her stupid husband. And now she had to spend a lifetime like this.
A sharp, angry spark burned in her chest as she marched toward the blinds. She yanked them open, letting sunlight spill into the room like vengeance.
A loud groan came from the bed.
Alessandro’s voice was hoarse. “What the hell—”
Sophia spun around.
The i***t was finally waking up.
“Oh, look who’s awake,” she snapped, crossing her arms.
Alessandro blinked up at her like a confused child. His brain was clearly lagging behind his body. His bloodshot eyes flickered from her crumpled wedding dress to his own hand. To the ring on his finger.
Sophia watched it happen. The exact moment he remembered. The moment his stomach twisted.
Good.
Alessandro groaned again and dragged a hand down his face. "What the hell is wrong with you?" His voice was hoarse, thick with the remains of alcohol.
Sophia let out a humorless laugh, gesturing to the empty glass on the nightstand. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you reek of alcohol? Or because you passed out in your clothes? In our bed?”
Alessandro squinted at her, still trying to pull his thoughts together. His voice was sharp when he finally responded.
“Oh, so it’s our bed now?”
"Unfortunately for both of us."
Alessandro sat up slightly, his body clearly protesting the movement. He squinted at the untouched pillow beside him.
"You didn’t sleep," he muttered.
She scoffed. "You think I was going to sleep next to a drunk i***t? No, thanks. I took the couch." She shoved her fingers through her tangled hair, sighing. "I’m heading home to get my stuff, but I’ll be back later for that stupid meeting."
She turned on her heel and stormed out, leaving him to his hangover and his regrets.
- Writer
