Love in lies

I stepped out of the elevator, my heart fluttering with anticipation.

It had been weeks since I last saw Jake, my fiancé, and the ache of missing him had grown into a sharp, constant pull.

I clutched the bottle of his favorite whiskey tighter, a peace offering and a promise for the wild night I'd planned.

The lacy black underwear he gave me on my birthday hugged every inch of my skin, a silent reminder of the way it made him look at me, hungry, possessive, and completely undone.

I smiled as I imagined the surprise on his face when he saw me. Tonight was going to be perfect.

The apartment was quiet as I unlocked the door. Jake's cologne lingered in the air, rich and familiar.

Everything was just as he liked it, neat, precise, sterile. The throw pillows were arranged perfectly, the coffee table spotless.

I paused in the parlor, absorbing the stillness before heading upstairs.

I wanted to surprise him, to slip into the bedroom and wrap myself around him. My heels clicked softly against the hardwood floors, each step echoing in the silence.

But as I neared the bedroom, my steps slowed. I heard a soft moan. Then a voice that wasn't mine. My heart stopped mid-beat.

"Fuck, Jake," a woman panted. "Go harder. Fuck me. Ah, yes. Hit it more, baby. I'm coming."

The words hit me like a fist to the chest. I froze, my hand hovering just above the doorknob, shaking.

No. No. That couldn't be right. Not Jake. Not my Jake.

With trembling fingers, I pushed the door open. The room was dim, shadows spilling across the floor. And there they were.

My stepmother. Bent over. Jake driving into her from behind.

Her long hair spilled down her back, her body rocking with every thrust.

Jake's hands clutched her hips like she belonged to him, his face twisted in ecstasy. And it felt like my entire world collapsed at that moment.

The whiskey bottle slipped from my grip, smashing to pieces on the floor.

The sound startled them, Jake's head whipped toward me, his eyes locking on mine.

Shock registered on his face, then guilt. It flashed, just for a second, before he schooled his expression.

My stepmother turned, her lips parting, but I couldn't speak.

I couldn't even breathe, my chest was tight, like someone had cinched a rope around my ribs. I just stared at both of them.

Jake pulled out of her, scrambling to cover himself. "Emily," he said, voice cracking. "It's not what it looks like-"

"Not what it looks like?" I cut in, my voice shaking. "You're fucking her? My stepmother? How could you?"

She slid off the bed, yanking the sheet around herself, eyes wide with something that looked like shame. "Emily, please, let me explain-"

"Explain what?" My voice rose, fury cutting through the hurt. "That you've been screwing my fiancé behind my back? That you've been lying to me for God knows how long?"

Jake moved toward me, arms outstretched like he thought I'd let him touch me.

"It just happened," he said, pleading. "It was a mistake. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"A mistake?" I laughed, the sound sharp and bitter. "This isn't a mistake, Jake. This is betrayal. You destroyed everything."

The room spun, I stared at the floor, the shards of glass from the whiskey bottle catching the low light, I felt numb and unable to move.

My stepmother stepped forward, her voice low. "Emily, I know this is hard to hear, but-"

"Don't," I snapped, eyes blazing. "Don't you dare try to justify this. There's nothing you'd say that is excuse enough."

Jake's face crumbled. "Emily, please. Let me make this right. I love you. I've always loved you."

I laughed again. "Love? You call this love? You lied to me. You've been screwing her. How can you even say that word?"

I looked between the both of them, my heart pounding. Mind racing with questions I didn't want answers to. How long? Before I left? Was it serious? And why her? Of all the people in the world, why her?

My stepmother looked at me, something unreadable in her expression. "Emily," she said, voice trembling. "I never meant for it to happen like this. I never meant to hurt you."

"Stop," I cut her off, sharp and final. "Just stop. I don't want to hear another word."

I turned, my legs shook as I stumbled for the door.

"Do you think she'll tell him?" I heard her say to Jake. I couldn't take it anymore, I bolted towards the door.

"Emily!! wait," Jake called out. "Please, let me explain."

I paused at the door, my hand gripping the knob. I didn't turn around. "There's nothing to explain," I said. "It's over, Jake. We're over."

And with that, I stepped into the hallway. His voice faded behind me. The apartment door closed with a final click.

Outside, the world felt, the weight of betrayal swttled down in me, I wanted to cry so badly.

I didn't know where I was going, or what I'd do next. But one thing was clear, my life would never be the same again.

And as I walked, the questions started to rise. How could I have been so blind? How could I have trusted them so completely? now what? What's left for me after this?

I walked home, I didn't know how I was going to face my father. Knowing that his wife was cheating on him with my fiance, or rather ex fiance.

I didn't think I could bring myself to tell him, I just walked.

Thankfully, the distance between Jake's apartment and my house wasn't that long, so I just walked home, my mind occupied with thoughts.

After about an hour and 30 minutes, I finally got home. I neared the door thinking about how I'd face my dad.

My eyes widened as I entered into the house, shock and anger exploded through me.

The moment I opened the front door, I knew something had changed.

There were voices coming from inside the hosue.

Dad stood near the window, with his hands clasped behind his back, his posture was a little tense.

Beside him, seated with her legs neatly crossed and a glass of wine in hand, was Vanessa, my stepmother.

She was dressed in silk, something different from what she had on in Jakes house. Her eyes were cool, and lips curved in a polite smile like I hadn't just caught her naked in bed with my fiancé. How did she get home so fast?

"Emily," she greeted like nothing happened.

I stopped in the doorway. My chest tightened. "I see that you're back."

"Of course," she said smoothly. "Your father needed me."

He turned to me then, his face was drawn and very serious. But he wasn't angry, he didn't even suspect a thing. How do I tell him that his wife was cheating on him with my fiancee? What if he collapsed due to shock and die? I can't possibly let that happen.

"Come sit," he said.

I didn't move, I couldn't bare to stay in the same space with her.

"There's something important we need to discuss," he added. "Together."

"I'm tired, I just want to rest. Can't we talk tomorrow? " I muttered.

"No we can't, sit baby, It won't take long."

I looked at him, then at her, she didn't flinch. Before taking my seat at the far end of the couch.

Dad cleared his throat. "There's no easy way to say this, so I'm going to get straight to the point."

I looked at him, still unsure of what was going on.

"I've made arrangements for your marriage."

The world started spinning, dad couldn't meet my gaze, but he gave me time to process what he was saying.

My voice barely worked. "What?"

He exchanged a look with her, then faced me again. "You're getting married to Marco Virell Martini."

I knew that guy, he was kind of of a bugg deal among college bad boys that wanted to look cool.

I blinked. "The mafia guy?"

"He's a businessman-" dad tried to say.

"He's a criminal!" I snapped. "And I'm supposed to marry him?!"

"This isn't a decision we made lightly," he said quickly. "Our family is in serious trouble. I've tried everything, Emily. But this... this is the only way out."

I turned to her. "You knew about this?"

Her smile just slightly. "Of course I did. It's what's best for the family."

I stared at her in disbelief. "How could you do this after what you did? You set me up."

"Emily, this isn't your mother's fault."

"She's not mother of mine." I spat.

Dad eyebrow raised and so did his eyes as he stared at me, surprised at my response.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Vanessa said calmly.

"You-you knew I went to see Jake!"

"Wgst has that gotten to do with your marriage to Marco?" she asked, her tone deceptively sweet. "That's unfortunate. But let's focus on what matters."

"So you're relationship with him is even on first rmterm basis, does he drive you hard too?"

Her face flushed, dad just looked between us clueless. How did someone that had been in the Mafia become so unobservant.

My hands curled into fists. "You don't get to decide what matters to me."

"I'm not the one making decisions here," she said, flicking her gaze toward my father. "He is."

I turned to him. "Dad. Please. Tell me this is a sick joke."

He looked heartbroken, but not uncertain. "Emily... I owe people. Dangerous people. Marco is offering protection. He'll erase the debt. No more threats."

"So you're selling me?"

"It's not like that."

"It's exactly like that!"

He took a step forward. "I know how this looks. But he's not going to hurt you. He said he'd treat you with respect."

"He doesn't even know me!"

"He doesn't need to," Vanessa's voice cut in. "He needs the right wife, the kind who won't ask too many questions. The kind who knows her place."

My head whipped toward her. "You unbelievable b-"

"Enough!" Dad barked.

I shut my mouth, shaking from anger hurt and betrayal.

"You're moving into his estate this evening," he said, more quietly now. "The car will be here at four."

I stared at him like I didn't recognize him. "So that's it? After everything... you're just handing me over?"

"You'll be protected," he said, voice raw. "You'll be secure. This is the best I can do for you now."

"No, it's the best you can do for you."

I stood. "I'm not your bargaining chip."

"You think I wanted this?" he shot back. "I didn't have a choice!"

"You always haveba choice dad, I just wasn't it. Rember teaching me that?"

I turned and stormed upstairs before he could say another word.

I packed my few things in a daze.

Just a bag and one duffel. I didn't even think about what I was throwing inside, shirts, jeans, a toothbrush, maybe some socks. None of it mattered.

At exactly four o'clock, a long black car rolled up outside.

A tall man in a black suit stood waiting by the door. "Miss Harper?"

I swallowed. "Yeah."

"Come with me."

I walked past my father without saying goodbye. I didn't even look at her.

The drive was silent. Trees blurred past the windows as we moved farther from the city, the roads twisting into unfamiliar territory.

It felt like a countdown, eventually, we pulled through an iron gate and up a stone driveway.

At the top of the hill stood a mansion. It looked cold, grey, enormous. It didn't feel like a home. It felt like a fortress.

The front door opened as I stepped out.

A butler greeted me. "You'll be shown to your quarters. Mr. Martini will speak with you at dinner."

I was led through hallways of stone and polished wood, past rooms, but I didn't look inside.

When the guest room door closed behind me, I finally let the silence sink in.

This was real, I wasn't dreaming. I wasn't engaged anymore, I wasn't even heartbroken anymore. I was someone's possession.

And the worst part? There was no way out.

I woke up with a start, the remnants of last night's tears drying on my cheeks.

The room was still, sunlight leaking through the thick curtains of the mansion's guest suite.

My body ached from the weight of everything, betrayal, fear and uncertainty. A knock at the door pulled me out of my thoughts.

There was a maid there, her eyes low. "Mr. Martini would like you to join him in the dining room."

My stomach twisted. I hadn't seen Marco Martini yet, only heard the stories, the man who moved through the criminal world like a king in a lion's den. And now I was his bride-to-be.

I followed the maid in silence, my palms clammy. When I stepped into the dining room, the air felt heavy.

He was already seated, legs casually spread, shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest.

His dark hair was a little scattered like he'd just run his fingers through it, or someone else had. He exuded power without effort, every movement confident and unhurried.

His gaze locked on me. "Ah," he murmured, voice low and velvet-smooth. "My bride finally graces me with her presence."

My throat went dry, I sat across from him, tense, uncertain. I didn't even notice what was on my plate.

"We're to be married tomorrow," he said, not asking. Telling.

I swallowed. "Why? What do you even gain from this?

He raised a brow, something between amusement and warning flickering in his eyes. "Rule number one, Emily. Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to."

He dismissed the maids with a flick of his fingers. We were alone now.

"You just broke the first rule," he said, voice lowering as he rose from his seat. "Already testing boundaries, are we?"

I stood instinctively, my heart was racing. "I'm not afraid of you," I lied.

He smirked, walking slowly around the table toward me. "You should be."

He stopped just inches from me, his presence swallowing up the space between us.

I could smell him, something expensive, masculine, and warm.

"But not for the reasons you think," he added, lifting his hand slowly, brushing a knuckle down my jaw.

"You want to hate me," he said, tilting my chin up. "You came in here expecting a monster."

"And you're not?"

He leaned closer, his lips almost brushing mine. "Monsters don't ask before they touch."

I stared at him, trembling slightly. "Are you asking?"

"No." His breath ghosted over my skin. "I'm waiting for you to beg."

My stomach flipped, heat curling low in my belly. I hated the way my body reacted to him. To this, to the electricity sparking in the air between us.

"You don't even know me," I whispered.

His eyes darkened. "That's what makes this interesting."

His fingers slid down my arm, slow, deliberate. As if testing, waiting.

"If you want to run," he murmured, "you have five seconds before I stop being polite."

I didn't move.

His lips brushed my cheek. "That's what I thought."

He grabbed me and pinned me to the table, my hands behind my back. His body pressed against mine.

"What are you doing?" I yelled, tears already gathering in my eyes. "You can't rape me, you promised my father you'd treat me-"

"Shut up," he growled, his hand covering my mouth. He raised up my gown, his fingers brushing against my skin.

I shivered, a mix of fear and something else coursing through my veins. He pulled my panties to the side,

He spanked my ass, hard. I yelped, more from surprise than pain. "You broke rule number one again."

He spanked me again, his hand connecting with my flesh with a loud smack. I could feel my pussy throbbing, my body betraying me.

He moved his hand down, his fingers brushing against my clit. I shivered, a mix of fear and pleasure coursing through me.

He teased me, his fingers circling my clit, sending waves of pleasure through my body.

I couldn't help but moan, my body arching against his. "Please," I begged, unsure of what I was begging for.

He chuckled, a low, throaty sound. "Please what, Emily?" He slipped a finger inside me, his thumb still circling my clit.

I moaned, my body trembling with need. He pulled his finger out, his thumb still circling my clit. "Please what Emily," he said, his voice a low growl.

"Please stop" I managed to say, despite my body wanting this, it didn't make me feel less cheap.

Did he bring me here to be his sex toy?

He pulled his finger out and adjusted my gown.

"Get ready, we leave by noon." He said and walked away. I just lay on the table, tears forming the corner of my eye.

I didn't move for a while, I couldn't. The table was cold beneath me, but not colder than the numb ache in my chest.

The silence after Marco's footsteps faded was louder than any scream I could let out. I hated the sting between my thighs. I hated the heat still lingering on my skin. I hated that I didn't hate it enough.

I slid off the edge of the table, adjusting my gown with shaking fingers, my breath catching in my throat.

Was this marriage? Was this punishment? Or something worse, ownership?

I stumbled back to my room, avoiding the maids who watched me too closely, their eyes sharp with judgment, or maybe jealousy. I couldn't tell.

The moment the door clicked shut behind me, I crumbled.

I wanted to scrub his touch off my skin, I wanted to forget the way his voice made me feel.

But mostly, I wanted to understand myself, how could fear and desire exist in the same breath? How could my body respond when my mind screamed no?

I curled up on the bed, pulling the sheets around me like armor.

This mansion, this marriage, this man, none of it belonged to me. Marco Martini had carved himself into my story with brutal precision.

I would survive him, I had to, even if it meant losing parts of myself along the way. Even if it meant becoming a woman I didn't recognize.

Because he might own my time, he might own my name.

But he would never own my fire.

Not ever!