His surrogate wife

Beg me

Alessia’s POV

I jolted awake, my head spinning, my body aching. The soft mattress beneath me was unfamiliar—too clean, too expensive. This wasn’t home. Where am I? I asked myself, until the horrifying memory hit me like a wave crashing over a fragile boat.

I was sold… to the Mafia King.

A sharp chill ran down my spine.

I stood up, my bare feet pressing against the cold marble floor as I moved toward the window. My breath hitched. The drop from this room could kill me—there was no escaping that way. I stumbled back, fear gripping me like a steel chain. No... no, I can't stay here. I have to find a way out.

Frantically, I scanned the room—lavish but foreign. I rushed to the large double doors and gripped the handle. Locked.

“s**t,” I whispered under my breath. I pressed my forehead against the door, frustration bubbling in my chest.

Maybe if I scream or make a noise, someone will come. I could slip past them… even if I don’t know where I am.

Desperation made me bold. I slammed my palms hard against the door.

“Open up! Somebody help me!” I yelled, pounding my fists like a madwoman. “Please! Somebody help!”

But instead of help, a cold voice slithered through the air behind me.

“That’s not going to work.”

My breath caught. Fear paralyzed me.

I turned slowly, and there he was—leaning against the wall like a ghost out of a nightmare, a cigarette balanced between his fingers. The flicker of its flame cast eerie shadows across his chiseled face.

Why does he like the dark so much?

“What do you want with me?” I asked, trying to sound brave, but my voice trembled.

He smirked, eyes dancing with amusement. “What do I want?” he echoed, taking slow, deliberate steps toward me. “Your father sold you. Actually, both your parents did.”

His words pierced deeper than any blade could.

He stood in front of me now—tall, menacing, a presence that filled the room. I felt like a doll, breakable and small.

“I’ll never bear your child,” I hissed, forcing the words out.

He took a long drag of his cigarette and exhaled smoke into my face. I turned away, coughing. He chuckled, clearly entertained by my defiance.

“You’ll get used to it,” he said casually. “Now, behave. This is your new home.”

“I won’t!” I snapped, backing away. “You can’t force me.”

“Oh, little one…” he murmured, his voice like velvet soaked in poison. “I own you now. You don’t get to choose.”

He stepped closer, his breath grazing my skin as he leaned down, brushing a strand of hair from my face. My body trembled—whether from fear or disgust, I couldn’t tell.

“Don’t touch me,” I muttered.

He grinned, dark and dangerous. “You don’t tell me what to do.”

He leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear, sending a sickening chill down my spine. “Remember, I own you. Don’t forget it.”

Then, just like that, the amusement in his eyes vanished, replaced by a terrifying deadness.

“If you ever think of running again…” His voice dropped an octave, icy and sharp. “I’ll find you. And when I do, I’ll cut your fingers off. One. By. One.”

I swallowed hard, fear nearly suffocating me.

But I wasn’t going to let him win. Not yet.

“Make me,” I whispered, summoning every ounce of courage I had left.

He stared at me for a long moment, then slowly smiled.

“No girl has ever said that to me,” he said, voice low. “You’re going to be fun.”

“I just can’t wait to see what’s inside,” he whispered darkly, running his large hand across my bare shoulder.

My skin crawled.

His fingers moved up to my face, forcing me to look at him. I struggled, trying to turn away, but his grip was firm—unyielding. He tilted my face from side to side, studying me like some twisted collector admiring a prize.

“Wow… you’re so beautiful,” he muttered, more to himself than to me.

“Get your hands off me,” I snapped, jerking away—but it was useless. He didn’t even flinch, as if my voice was background noise.

Then, his hand slid to my throat.

My heart stopped.

Was he going to kill me?

His fingers tightened, cutting off my air. I gasped, slapping at his arm, trying to pry him off. Panic rose in my chest as his grip only tightened. He was smiling—smiling—as he watched me suffocate.

“Beg me,” he whispered, voice filled with sick amusement.

“N–Never,” I choked out, my vision beginning to blur.

His smile only widened.

Then, his phone rang.

But that didn’t stop him.

He kept one hand wrapped around my throat while answering the call with the other. “Talk,” he barked.

“Sir, we’ve found him. What should we do?” a voice said on the other end.

“Chop off his hand,” he replied coldly.

“Please, sir—don’t do this! I don’t know who stole the goods!” the victim pleaded through the phone.

But it was no use.

A scream tore through the receiver. “AHHH!”

I froze.

They really did it… I thought, horrified.

“It’s done, sir. What next?”

He paused, eyes still locked on mine. “Let him bleed. Let him feel the pain a little. Then kill him. Burn down the place if you have to. I want the real thief.”

He ended the call with a devilish smirk and finally released his grip.

I collapsed, coughing and gasping for air.

He knelt slightly, brushing a hand over my hair like he hadn’t just tried to kill me.

“Now, my little one,” he said with a wicked grin, “enjoy the rest of your day.”

He stepped toward the door, then turned one last time.

“And don’t test me. I’ll do worse to you than I did to that man.”

Then, he was gone.

And I was left there—shaking, gasping, and trying not to fall apart.