Beneath The Vows

Chapter 4

Valentina POV



He took my hand and led me to the exit, where a black car was waiting for us. He opened the door and pushed me inside. He got in after me and closed the door. He told the driver, “Take us to the villa.”

The car started and drove away, leaving behind a crowd of people who were cheering and clapping for us, who were wishing us happiness and love, who were unaware of the truth and the lies, who were oblivious to hell and the horror.

I looked out the window and saw the sun sinking on the horizon, coloring the sky with crimson and orange hues. I felt a tear trickle down my face as I realized this was the end of my life as I knew it.

I turned to look at him, hoping to see some sign of remorse or regret, some hint of kindness or compassion, some trace of humanity or emotion. But I saw none of that. I saw only a cold and cruel smile, a wicked and mocking gaze, and a ruthless and merciless stare.

He said, “Don’t cry, my dear. The fun has just begun.”

He reached for me and pulled me closer to him. My heart picked up the pace, beating furiously in my rib cage, making me feel pain and disgust. He looked directly into my empty eyes, and while I looked in his sea of darkness, I tried to pull away from his grip, but he was too strong for me. I was about to get a panic attack when he spoke up.

“You are mine, Valentina. And I will make you pay for it.

I knew that he was right.

This was hell.

And I was his wife.

Soon we reached his villa, a fortress of luxury and power, which stood stark against the night as the sleek black car glided to a stop. Lucius Wrath stepped out with the authority of one who owned everything that lay in the shadow of his gaze. He turned to me, and despite being clad in bridal white, I was pallid with dread—and not just from the chilly air that nipped at my exposed skin.

He led me into the villa, where the air was heavy with the scent of power and opulence. The interior was a stark contrast to the darkness outside, adorned with extravagant furniture, gleaming marble floors, and priceless artwork. But behind this façade of wealth and luxury, there was an undercurrent of darkness, a sense of impending doom.

He led me, not into a room of my own, but towards his personal quarters—a sanctum that exuded his dominance. The doors swung open to reveal a vast space adorned with riches and the spoils of his nefarious reign. The centerpiece, an immense bed that seemed untouched by human slumber, showcased pristine linens that whispered the secrets of solitary nights.

His voice cut through the silence like the cold draft that followed in our wake. “You’ll sleep there,” he commanded, dismissively gesturing to a plush couch that rested at an offensive distance from the sanctity of his bed. “That bed is mine—never forget that.”

With a sneer that seemed to take in my entire being, he made his contempt clear. “You will not use my bathroom. The one down the hall will suffice for your needs. I have no desire to share more with you than I absolutely must,” Lucius announced, the sharpness in his tone brooking no argument. It was a decree from a king upon his subject, a line drawn that I was not to cross.

“Nor will you use the wardrobe,” he continued, his cold blue eyes taking in my reflection in the mirror on the door. “It houses attire befitting my status. I will not have your common touch defiling what is mine.”

As he articulated these rules, he brushed an imaginary speck of dust off the sleeve of his perfectly tailored suit. The movement was one of fastidious care, a contrast to the careless way his words flung me into a merciless emotional abyss.

I stood, swallowing back the retort that threatened to spill from my lips. I realized with wrenching clarity that this cruelty was a deliberate display—a show of power meant to belittle and subdue. My eyes, a mirror to my ragged soul, refused to meet his; to look upon him would be to acknowledge the dominion he claimed over my life.

Lucius moved to leave, his footsteps echoing a rhythm of arrogance and ownership, then paused at the doorway. Without a turn of his head, he added, “Remember your place, Valentina. You are an accessory to my life, not a necessity. Make a good little wifey and stay invisible, and perhaps you’ll retain some semblance of my tolerance.”

As the door clicked closed behind him, leaving me alone in the darkened room, the enormity of his absence pressed on me like heavy walls. Everything in this lavish space, from the fancy couch to the spotless floor, spoke of Lucius's unattainable status and my difficult situation.

I hesitantly approached the couch, my fingers barely touching the fabric, as if it might reject me. When I caught sight of myself in the large mirror surrounded by gilded opulence, I saw a woman I no longer recognized: Valentina Fusco, tied to the decree of a heartless man, my destiny sealed by his contempt and the shadows of my past.

As I lay down, my bridal gown fanning out like a mockery of the love and warmth it should have represented, sleep became an elusive specter. My mind raced with the icy whispers of Lucius, the enforced distance within these walls, and the stark divide in our worlds, now even more pronounced with the cruel provisions he laid down.

And with every shuddering breath, I knew that despite the day’s solemn vows, the truest union I’d found myself in was not one of marriage but of captivity—a war of wills against a man who viewed compassion as an affliction and my spirit as a conquest yet to be fully claimed.

I don't know when I fell asleep, but I awoke with a start, panic gripping my heart. The echoes of a nightmare faded, leaving me damp and shaken in the darkness of the unfamiliar room. I reached him next to me, momentarily forgetting I had been banished to the couch.

Heavy footfalls stirred me from my daze. Lucius appeared from the shadows, shirtless, his hair deliciously disheveled. Wordlessly, he grasped my hand, pulling me up to stand inches from his bare chest. Confusion and electricity coursed through me.

"Tell me, why did you resist?" His voice was thick with an emotion I could not place. I shook my head, willing my body not to betray me by leaning into his warmth.

His fingers grazed my neck before forcefully tilting my chin up. "You want this. You need this."

I meant to deny his accusation, but my voice faltered. His lips crashed into mine, hungry and demanding. I melted as he deepened the kiss, my body obeying while my mind rebelled helplessly. He lifted me effortlessly until my legs were wrapped around him. I was overwhelmed by his woodsy scent, his hard plans pressed against me. Gently he laid me on his opulent bed, his mouth tracing down my neck.

"Tell me to stop," he commanded heatedly. I bit my lip, lost in a haze of longing I was terrified to name. As his thumb caressed my bottom lip, our gazes locked with blistering tension.

This sudden passion was a game I refused to lose myself in when lucid. I turned my face coldly. “Get off me.”

He recoiled as if burned. Silently, he retreated, his shadow vanishing as quickly as it had emerged. Alone again, I attempted to slow my erratic heartbeat. I touched my still-tingling lips, both yearning for and despising my body’s treasonous reactions to my husband.