IN THE BACHELOR’S BED-SSPG

Chapter 20

I have never been a patient man. In my world, if something gets in your way, you remove it. If someone touches what is yours, you break them. Simple, clean, and absolute.

But standing here under the blinding heat of the sun, wrapped in a tailored navy blue corporate suit, I had to exercise a level of restraint that was actively giving me a headache.

"Mr. Farinelli! Oh my God, what a pleasant surprise! Hindi niyo naman sinabi na personal kayong bibisita sa ating beach shoot ngayon!"

The local CEO of the cosmetic brand was practically tripping over his own feet as he ran toward me. His palms were sweating, his smile was too wide, and his voice carried that desperate, high-pitched tone of an investor trying to secure a multi-million dollar distribution deal with Farinelli Holdings.

I didn't answer him immediately. I simply let my gaze wander past his shoulder, ignoring his extended hand.

My eyes locked straight onto the shoreline. Straight onto her.

Lindsay.

She was standing on the white sand, looking like a flawless, untouched piece of art in a couture white swimwear that contrast heavily against her long, dark hair. The sheer, flowing cover-up she wore did absolutely nothing to hide the perfect curves of her body—curves that, just a few hours ago, were responding to the rough, hard rhythm of my own body under the covers of my bed.

Even from this distance, I could see the sharp, dangerous aura she carried. She was the Ice Queen, completely independent, projecting an image that shouted she didn't need a single soul in this world to survive.

But as my eyes drifted down to her neck, a wave of dark, territorial satisfaction hit my chest. Even with the thick layer of concealer her stylist must have frantically applied, I could still see the faint, dark red marks I left on her skin. Proof of her submission. Proof that no matter how high she flies during the day, she belongs to a Farinelli at night.

Then, my gaze shifted to the man standing next to her.

The name is Christian.

The international male model. A boy with a carefully constructed jawline, styled blond hair, and an arrogant posture that told me he was used to getting whatever he wanted from the women on his sets. He was currently positioning himself behind my wife for a perfume ad layout, his movements too close, his body language oozing a pathetic attempt at seduction.

I watched silently as they moved into a back-hug pose.

And that was when I saw it.

Christian’s hand didn't just rest on her waist as the creative director instructed. The bastard’s fingers slowly, deliberately slid downward, grazing the thin fabric of her swimwear, moving toward the side of her hip. It wasn't a professional placement. It was a cheap, disgusting attempt to take advantage of the situation, his body pressing flush against Lindsay’s back.

A sudden, violent surge of adrenaline hit my system.

My jaw clenched so hard the muscles in my face turned into stone. My fists tightened inside the pockets of my trousers, the fabric straining against the force of my grip. A dark, silent madness took over my mind, erasing the noise of the waves and the chatter of the production crew.

The bastard is touching my wife.

If this were Milan, or the back alleys of Florence, Christian wouldn't even have the chance to scream before Luca put a bullet through his kneecaps. Nobody touches what belongs to me and walks away with their limbs intact. The urge to walk over there, grab his neck, and snap his collarbone right in front of the cameras was almost overwhelming.

"Luca," I muttered, my voice dropping into a dangerously low, freezing tone that made the CEO beside me instantly freeze.

"I see it, boss," Luca replied from behind, his usual playful, Taglish demeanor completely vanishing. His voice was dead serious, his hand instinctively adjusting the folder of legal documents he was holding.

“Kalma lang, Vito. Structured shoot 'to. Maraming sibilisadong tao rito. Huwag nating gawing crime scene ang resort."

"He has three seconds to take his hands off her," I growled, my eyes narrowing into slits as I monitored the shoreline.

Before I could even take a step forward, Lindsay handled it. I watched as her hand shot out like lightning, grabbing the bastard’s wrist with a grip that looked tight enough to cut off his blood circulation. She turned her head, her barbie-like face completely frozen in pure, unadulterated yelo as she whispered something directly into his face.

The boy instantly paled, stepping back as if he had just touched a hot stove.

A small, dark smirk briefly touched my lips. That’s my girl. She was a brat, she was high-maintenance, but she had enough fire in her to burn anyone who dared to cross her line.

"Stop the music! Turn it off right now!" the CEO suddenly shouted to the staff, sensing the sudden, heavy shift in the atmosphere the moment I arrived.

The entire beach went dead silent. The upbeat music died out, replaced only by the sound of the crashing waves and the frantic whispering of the production crew. Every single eye on that set turned toward me, their expressions a mix of awe and absolute terror.

I walked forward, my heavy, calculated steps sinking slightly into the sand, but my posture remaining rigidly dominant. Lindsay didn't even look in my direction. As soon as she saw me, she completely snobbed me. She grabbed her silk robe from her assistant, wrapped it tightly around her shoulders, and walked away from Christian without giving me a single glance.

She was ignoring me. She was pretending we didn't have a single connection, pretending that we hadn't spent the previous night locked in a wild, rough embrace that left her breathless and bruised.

Fine. Two can play that game, Mrs. Farinelli.

The CEO quickly guided me toward the shaded lounge area, his hands shaking slightly as he gestured toward Lindsay’s direction.

“Mr. Farinelli, this is our main designer and muse for the campaign, the famous Lindsay Andrada. She is the brilliant mind behind the entire collection."

I stopped right in front of her lounger, my massive and tall frame completely blocking the sun, casting a cold, dark shadow over her entire body.

Lindsay slowly looked up. She adjusted her oversized sunglasses, tilting her chin up to meet my gaze. Her face was a perfect, blank mask of professional indifference. No fear. No recognition. Just pure, regal strictness.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Farinelli," she said, her voice smooth, cold, and entirely detached. She raised her right eyebrow, a silent challenge telling me to stay away from her space.

I looked down at her, my expression remaining completely unreadable—hard, seryoso, and imposing. I treated her exactly the way she wanted, like a stranger. Like just another asset on a financial balance sheet.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Andrada," I replied, my deep, bedroom baritone voice intentionally carrying a weight that I knew would resonate with her. "I am just here to check on my investments. I expect nothing but absolute perfection and professional behavior from everyone on this set."

I deliberately turned my back on her, cutting off her line of sight, and fixed my gaze directly onto Christian, who was now standing a few feet away, sweating profusely despite the ocean breeze.

The boy tried to hold my gaze, trying to look tough in front of the crew, but the sheer, suffocating weight of my presence was already breaking him. I didn't say a single word to him. I just stared. A cold, silent promise of violence written clearly in my eyes.

"Luca," I called out, my voice loud enough for the CEO and the creative director to hear.

“Review the contracts of the male talent for this project. If there are any signs of unprofessional conduct or unnecessary delays... pull the funding immediately. Farinelli Holdings does not invest in garbage."

"Copy that, boss," Luca replied, giving Christian a look that practically said you're dead.

The CEO’s face went completely white.

“M-Mr. Farinelli, rest assured, everything is under control! Christian is a professional, we will make sure the layouts are done perfectly!"

"Make sure you do," I muttered coldly.

I gave Lindsay one last, brief glance. She was already looking down at her tablet, her fingers tapping furiously on the screen, her lips pressed into a tight, irritated line. She was pissed off, she was stressed, and she was doing everything she could to ignore the heavy, territorial tension vibrating between us.

Enjoy your day at the beach, my beautiful doll, I thought to myself, a dangerous, silent amusement settling in my chest. But remember... the sun always sets. And when it does, you come right back into my cage.

I turned around and walked back toward the resort's private villa, my mind already calculating exactly how I would punish her for ignoring me today, and exactly how I would destroy that bastard Christian before the week ended. The game in Forbes Park was just getting started, and I was going to ensure I won every single round.