Chapter 3 She's my wife...

Ava

I was married.

Yeah, as bizarre as that sounds, it was the truth. I was sold off by my insufferable stepbrother and married to a complete stranger.

I really thought it was a joke, I hoped it was a joke. Even after Bryce agreed to that crazy deal, I tried to talk to him, to get him to stop joking but Mr. Morano's bodyguards led me out of my parents' house with nothing but the clothes on my back.

It was too much, I didn't know how to react, but I also knew for a fact that Mr. Morano was on a different level from Bryce and if I wanted to keep my head on my neck, I had to shut the hell up.

I was scared out of my mind.

Though, I wasn't expecting him to marry me. I mean, why would he want to marry me? He didn't know anything about me, he even had to ask me my name. Unless, he had a weird hobby of marrying women and making babies with them.

Because why the hell would he ask me to strip out of the blue? We were strangers, married or not, how could he just want to take me to his bed?

Even though I knew I couldn't refuse him, I was still a bit hesitant. When he got close to me, I thought for sure he would hit me. I've passed out from a single slap from Bryce and he was built much smaller than Mr. Morano, so I sure that a slap from Mr. Morano would send me six feet under.

Yet, he walked away and told me to get some sleep. That was a little strange. I couldn't sleep though, not in a stranger's house, not when I was completely vulnerable and could be attacked in my sleep.

What if Mr. Morano came back to strip me off himself? I was all for being a slave, it was my fate, I understood that. But losing my virginity to a stranger, that was scary.

Being a slave didn't mean I couldn't dream and my daydreams all consisted of me being married to someone I love, someone who'd save me from Bryce, care for me just as how Mom loved me.

To be honest, my life wasn't always so shitty. Before I met Bryce, I lived alone with my single Mom. We didn't talk much about Dad, mostly because Mom never wanted to talk about him. All she told me was that they didn't work out and that I looked a lot like him.

That wasn't even nearly enough for a curious ten year-old, but I accepted it because I loved Mom and was content with just her.

She obviously didn't feel the same way since she got married to Bryce's Dad a year after we had that talk. Mr. Jenkins was nice and I felt comfortable enough to call him Dad within a few weeks. The problem was... Bryce.

He hated Mom and I, he also didn't try to hide it. He was against the wedding and threw fits, but his Dad didn't care one bit. Since Mom and Mr. Jenkins were totally consumed by one another, the only person Bryce had left to take his anger out on was me.

He picked on me every chance he could get, at school, at home... I had no peace. I tried complaining to our parents but they told me to keep being nice to him, he'll come around.

Well, he didn't!

In fact, after the accident that claimed our parents' lives, Bryce being the adult was kept in charge of me and that's when he unleashed his real monster.

I keep calling myself a slave but I was treated worse than a slave. Since I was practically raised in his reign of terror, I got accustomed to doing whatever he asked and being scared of him.

I had no way out. Where would I go? I had no money and all of Mr. Jenkins' wealth went to Bryce.

While I daydreamed that someone would rescue me from Bryce, I didn't expect it'd be a total stranger and it didn't even feel like I was rescued. It felt like I just got myself into a much worse situation.

But I'm a survivor. I've survived my stepbrother for the twelve years we've lived together without our parents, I can survive Mr. Morano. All I had to do was keep my head down and do whatever he asked.

It wasn't the first time I'd be skipping out on sleeping at night 'cause I was scared, so my body was used to it.

I got up at first light and left my room.

Mr. Morano's house was huge, way bigger than Bryce's house and it was kind of comfortable too. The decor was simple, almost plain and there weren't expensive useless items around like that damned vase.

Also, the house was spotless, so I couldn't find anything to do, I couldn't even find any maids around.

I heard something come from the kitchen and I went in there, seeing a middle-aged woman making breakfast. From her chef's outfit, it was obvious she was in charge of the kitchen.

"Good morning." I said, getting her attention. She turned away from the stove to look at me.

"Oh, Good morning." She said with a smile. At least she was friendly.

"I'm Ava. Do you need any help?"

She gave me a once-over... another.

"I'm sorry, are you Mr. Morano's guest?"

I wasn't sure what I was, his guest? his wife? his slave?

"Urh, yeah. Do you need any help?" I asked again.

"Of course not, dear. You can just sit on one of the stools and I'll serve you breakfast. Do you want coffee while you wait?"

"Yeah, make it black."

We were both surprised to hear a voice as a woman walked in.

She was stunning!

She had dark brown hair, piercing black eyes, long pretty legs... even without makeup she looked like a model. She was dressed in a loose bathrobe and part of her underwear was visible.

Until she sat down, she didn't notice me. The chef was already handing her a mug of coffee.

Her eyes - those sharp eyes - landed on me and she frowned slightly, studying me.

I suddenly felt tongue-tied. I could say "Good morning", but I had a feeling, a feeling born from experience that at that moment, I only had to speak when spoken to.

She sipped her coffee while still watching me.

"What are you?" She asked finally.

Wait... What? Not who? How do I answer that and not sound like I'm being sarcastic? She was definitely not the kind of person I wanted to be rude to.

"Nothing... I mean, no one." I stuttered.

Her frown deepened.

"Good morning, Mr. Morano."

I actually let out a sigh of relief when the chef spoke up and I saw Mr. Morano walk into the kitchen, a stern expression on his face.

He didn't reply to the chef, his eyes were on me and I was staring right back at him, unable to look away.

"Did you hire a new maid or something? Why's she all bruised up?" The brunette lady asked Mr. Morano.

His eyes were still locked on mine. He jammed his hands into the pockets of his joggers and tilted his head slightly.

"Not a maid." He replied. "She's my wife."