Chapter Two: The Marriage Pact
1143 Words
Brianna’s POV
I wake with a jolt.
The room is dim, still, suspended between the last breath of night and the hush before dawn. For a moment, I wonder if I dreamt it all, the wedding, the cold bridal suite, Matteo’s kiss with his bodyguard, the venom of his threats.
Then I feel it. The shift of weight beside me.
I turn my head slowly.
Matteo lies next to me, his back turned, fully clothed. One arm rests over his chest, his breath steady and deep. As if he belongs here. As if we’re anything more than strangers forced into matching rings.
My heart slams against my ribs.
When did he return?
I didn’t hear the door. Didn’t feel the bed dip. I must have passed out, exhausted, emotionally and otherwise.
Then, his voice cuts the silence.
“I thought you would scream,” Matteo says, calm, like we’re discussing the weather. “You didn’t.”
I sit up slowly. “What are you doing here?”
He turns to face me, propping himself on an elbow. “This my room actually, and I need to make something clear.”
“You already did last night.”
“No. That was panic. This is strategy.”
He watches me like a bored chess master. “You saw something you shouldn’t have. And now you know something you were never meant to.”
“You think I’ll run to your father?” I ask.
He chuckles darkly. “No. Because you’re smart enough to know it wouldn’t end well. I would survive, because I’m the heir. You… wouldn’t.”
He shifts against the headboard. “Here’s how it goes, Brianna. You keep what you saw to yourself. Forever.”
“And if I don’t?”
The heat leaves his eyes. “I will make your life so miserable, you’ll beg for death. And then, I’ll grant it.”
I stiffen.
“If you think I’m bluffing,” he adds, “imagine what my father would do.”
A shiver runs through me.
“You’re a coward,” I whisper.
“Better a living coward than a dead truth.”
“And now we pretend?” I spit. “Smile for the family? Play husband and wife while you sneak off to screw your bodyguard?”
“Exactly that,” he replies. “But you should know, that I’ll never touch you. You’re not mine. You never were.”
He stands, smooths his jacket, and walks to the door.
“But if you turn this into a weapon,” he says coldly, “I will destroy you.”
The door closes like a verdict.
The light from the window warms the edge of the bed. I sit still, fury tightening my chest.
So this is the game.
He wants silence. Obedience.
Fine.
But he forgets or rather doesn’t know, that I was raised to smile through suffering. Trained to be a trophy. Groomed to obey.
They want a pawn?
I’ll become a queen.
***
For days, we don’t speak.
One morning at breakfast, Enzo studies us over his espresso like a hawk watching prey. His fingers tap his cup.
“No heir yet,” he says. “You’ve been married a week.”
I choke on my juice.
Matteo stiffens. “These things take time.”
“Not in our world, they don’t.”
Yeah, if only you knew your son is gay, then we wouldn’t be having this delightful conversation.
Later, I endure the whispers of the women.
Elegant vultures in lace and pearls. They sip tea, devour me with smirks, and circle like gossiping royalty on a veranda of lies.
“Poor thing. Still no news?” one murmurs.
“Perhaps she’s barren.”
“Or perhaps he isn’t... motivated.”
Their laughter is crystal sharp and cruel.
I sit silent, nails carving crescents into my palms. I will not cry. I will not flinch.
I smile faintly. Sip my tea. Let their poison coat me like perfume.
That night, I escape to the courtyard.
The moon paints the stone silver. I sit on the fountain’s edge, fingers gripping the marble like it might hold me together.
Then I feel it, his presence.
Silvio. Enzo’s half-brother.
He steps from the shadows, cologne thick and oppressive. He offers a glass of whiskey, neat.
“You seem... tense,” he says.
“What do you want?” I ask.
“To help,” he replies smoothly. “No one here is innocent. Least of all your husband. Or his father.”
His fingers brush mine. I jerk away.
“Careful, Uncle Silvio,” I whisper. “You don’t want to play games with me.”
He smirks. “Don’t I?”
I don’t give him attentions and lucky me, he fades into shadow.
The glass remains untouched.
In my room, or rather my shared room with my gay husband, I pace.
I strip off the weight of the day, jewelry, shoes, pride, and stare at my reflection.
Not a wife.
Not a queen.
Just a girl in silk, playing house in a palace of wolves.
Fine.
If I am their pawn, I’ll learn the board. Learn the rules. And then flip the table.
The door creaks bringing me back from my thoughts.
I turn slowly at the vanity, brush in hand.
Matteo.
Still in his suit. Still wearing the weight of lies.
“We need to talk,” I say.
He doesn’t enter. Just leans in the doorway like he’s already done with this.
“We need to make a baby,” I continue.
“No.”
I step toward him. “You do understand what’s expected, right? Your father is already sniffing for blood. The women are circling. This family won’t wait much longer.”
“I married you. That’s enough.”
“It’s not,” I snap. “Not to them. Not to anyone. They want blood. Legacy. If we don’t give it to them, they will devour us.”
“Let them.”
“No. I won’t let you ruin this for me. If you won’t touch me, Matteo, how the hell am I supposed to give them what they want?”
His lips curl. “You’re a woman. Figure it out.”
My stomach turns. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means,” he says, stepping forward, “I don’t care how you get pregnant. Use the maid’s husband. The driver. My father. Just don’t come to me.”
The breath leaves my lungs.
“I won’t touch you,” he finishes. “Not now. Not ever.”
Then he’s gone, the door slamming behind him like thunder.
I stand frozen.
But inside, something cracks.
If this is the line he’s drawn…
Then I’ll cross it.
And I’ll make sure he regrets ever handing me the match.
- Writer
