Bound to my Scarred CEO

Chapter 4: Vincenta's POV

Chapter 4

The charity event was in two days. I knew because Amaro reminded me every morning at breakfast.

He sat across from me now, his coffee untouched, his attention on the tablet beside his plate. I ate in silence, aware of his presence, the way he occasionally glanced up to observe me.

"The stylist arrives this afternoon," he said without looking up. "She'll fit you for the event."

"I have clothes and hands"

"Not appropriate ones."

I set my fork down. "I'm capable of dressing myself."

"I didn't say you weren't." He finally looked at me, his gaze steady. "But this event requires a specific image. You'll represent me. That means you'll dress accordingly."

"So I'm an accessory."

"You're my wife. There's a difference."

"Is there?"

His mouth curved slightly. "Yes. Accessories don't talk back."

I bit the inside of my cheek, fighting the urge to snap at him. He enjoyed this. I could see it in the way his expression shifted, the faint amusement in his eye.

"What else do I need to know?" I asked.

"The guest list includes several business associates, politicians, and media representatives. You'll stay beside me unless I tell you otherwise. You'll smile. You'll be polite. You'll answer questions briefly and redirect attention back to me."

"Sounds exhausting."

"It is. But you'll manage."

He stood, picking up his tablet. "The stylist will be here at two. Don't be late."

He left before I could respond.

---

The stylist arrived exactly at two, accompanied by two assistants carrying garment bags and boxes. They set up in one of the sitting rooms, transforming it into a temporary fitting area.

I stood in the center of the room while the stylist circled me, her eyes critical, her lips pursed.

"Turn," she said.

I turned.

"Again."

I turned again, feeling ridiculous.

She pulled a dress from one of the garment bags and held it up against me. "This one. Try it."

I took the dress into the adjoining bathroom and changed. The fabric was smooth, expensive, clinging to my body in ways that felt foreign. I stepped back into the room.

The stylist nodded approvingly. "Perfect. Now the shoes."

I tried on three pairs before she was satisfied. Then came jewelry, a clutch, and a lecture on posture and presentation.

By the time she finished, two hours had passed. I was exhausted.

"Mr. De Luca wants to see the final look," she said. "Wait here."

She left, and I stood in front of the mirror, barely recognizing myself. The dress was elegant, understated, but it made me feel exposed.

The door opened. Amaro stepped inside.

His gaze moved over me slowly, deliberately. He didn't speak immediately, and the silence stretched. My skin prickled under his scrutiny.

"Turn around," he said.

I hesitated, then turned slowly.

"Stop."

I stopped, my back to him. I heard him move closer, his footsteps soft against the floor. My breath quickened.

"The dress fits well," he said quietly. His voice was close, too close. "But something's missing."

"What?"

"Confidence."

I turned back to face him, frowning. "I'm standing here, aren't I?"

"You're standing. But you don't believe you belong in that dress." He stepped closer, his gaze locked on mine. "At the event, you'll be watched. Judged. Photographed. If you show hesitation, they'll notice."

"Then maybe you should have married someone else."

"I didn't want someone else."

The words hung between us. My pulse hammered in my throat.

"Why me?" I asked quietly.

"Because you're useful. Competent. And you don't cower."

"I'm cowering now."

"No. You're uncertain. There's a difference." He reached out, his fingers brushing against my wrist. The touch was brief, but it sent a jolt through me. "You'll learn."

I pulled my hand back, my skin still tingling. "Is that all?"

"For now."

He turned and walked toward the door, pausing before he left. "The event starts at seven. We'll leave at six-thirty. Don't be late."

---

The next morning, I decided to test him.

Breakfast was at seven, as always. I arrived at seven-fifteen.

Amaro was already seated, his coffee finished, his tablet open. He glanced up when I entered, his expression unreadable.

"You're late," he said.

"I overslept."

"No, you didn't."

I pulled out my chair and sat down. "How would you know?"

"Because I have been observing you, Vincenta. You don't oversleep. You chose to be late."

I poured myself coffee, keeping my expression neutral. "Does it matter?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because punctuality is respect. And you're testing me to see if I'll tolerate disrespect."

I looked up at him, startled by his directness.

"I won't," he continued. "But I respect the fact that you tried."

"That doesn't make sense."

"It does. You want to see how much control I actually have." He leaned back in his chair, his gaze steady. "The answer is: all of it. But I don't need to break you to prove that."

"Then what do you need?"

"Your cooperation. Willingly, if possible."

"And if it's not possible?"

His mouth curved. "Then we'll find another way."

The tension between us thickened. I set my coffee down, my hands unsteady.

"Why do you care?" I asked. "You don't want emotional involvement. You made that clear in the contract."

"I don't want attachment. But I do want respect. Someone who can stand beside me without falling apart."

"And you think I can do that?"

"I know you can." He stood, walking around the table toward me. I stayed seated, forcing myself not to move as he stopped beside my chair. "You saved Elena's life. You stood in my office and challenged me without flinching. You're stronger than you realize."

I looked up at him, my breath shallow. "You're trying to manipulate me."

"No. I'm telling you the truth." He crouched slightly, bringing himself to my eye level. "I see you, Vincenta. Every small act of defiance. Every moment you try to push back. And I respect it."

"But you won't allow it."

"Not when it undermines the contract. But in private?" He tilted his head slightly. "I find it intriguing."

"You keep saying that word."

"Because it's accurate." His gaze dropped briefly to my mouth, then back to my eyes. "You intrigue me. And I don't say that lightly."

My heart pounded. I wanted to stand, to put distance between us, but I couldn't move.

"The event is tomorrow," he said quietly. "After that, things will change. You'll be seen publicly as my wife. There's no going back."

"I know."

"Do you?" He reached out, his fingers brushing against my jaw. The touch was light, barely there, but it made my skin burn. "Because once we step out together, you're mine. In every way that matters."

I swallowed hard. "The contract said no intimacy."

"The contract said no emotional involvement. Intimacy is different." His thumb traced along my cheekbone, slow and deliberate. "And chemistry doesn't follow rules, Vincenta. You know that as well as I do."

I couldn't speak. I couldn't breathe.

He pulled his hand back and stood. "Finish your breakfast. We have a long day ahead."

He walked out, leaving me alone, my skin still tingling, my pulse racing.

I pressed my fingers against my jaw where he'd touched me, hating how much I wanted him to do it again.