MARRIED ACCIDENTALLY

Los Angeles

Ann's POV

Help

This is pure deceit, but I couldn't care less. I watch the message tick sent before grabbing the bottle of vodka and gulping it all down, hoping it will help drown out all my thoughts.

Help

I send again, this time with desperation and frustration tugging at my heart.

When I watch the message go, my heart crashes against my chest at the realization.

He wouldn't reply to me. He would never reply.

He is probably somewhere with his bride-to-be, having the time of his life, while I am here, in nothing but a bathrobe, drowning myself in alcohol in a cheap hotel close to his apartment.

We were here once, when he claimed he had friends over at his apartment, three months ago. I was suspicious, but his sweet words overruled my suspicions.

When a hot tear slips through my cheek, I wipe it away quickly, remembering the vow I made.

I won't cry for him anymore.

I won't beg him anymore.

And I won't fight for us anymore.

He isn't worth it anyway.

But why do I keep feeling this burning sensation in my chest? Why does it feel like my lungs are short of air? Why do I find it difficult to forget him and all the joyful memories we've shared? Why do I keep hoping he will come back and apologize to me so I can take him back without hesitation?

He is not worth it.

Before grabbing the next bottle of alcohol, I dump the empty bottle on the stool in front of me.

The burning hits my throat, and I let out a whimper. It doesn't stop me from downing the liquid until I'm halfway through.

I slam the bottle on the stool and shoot to my feet.

I won't cry. I would rather sink myself in a bathtub or drown myself in alcohol until dawn than cry for that selfish, egoistic bastard.

I won't let him get to me.

When I sway on my way to the bed, I realize I am drunk and my thoughts are messed up.

I laugh. Like a maniac.

When I sober up, I twirl around to grab the rest of the bottle so I can continue drinking while bathing, just in time to hear a knock at the door.

Ryan?

Is that you?

Hastily, I rush over to the door to see if he is there.

Pulling it open, I see no one at the doorway. I step forward and look down the hallway to see a man's back to me. He is wearing black pants and a sweater with a hoodie.

I can't see his face.

When he turns around, our eyes meet, and I realize he is covering every part of his face with a mask, leaving only his eyes.

I shake my head.

This isn't Ryan.

When he takes a step forward, terror slices through me, and I back away. Ryan doesn't wear black. Ryan wouldn't disguise. Ryan can't even be here.

Who is this?

An intruder? A thief?

For a moment, I regret my impulsive decision to stay in a cheap hotel like this. There are no guards or cameras in sight.

This is probably a thief, going from door to door to see if he can get in and cart away some valuable possessions.

He continues to step closer, and I find myself turning around and rushing inside before slamming the door shut.

Panic courses through me, and my eyes widen in fear, my drunkenness gone in a flash, even though my steps are still flattered.

Ryan. I need you now.

Perhaps I shouldn't have pretended to be in need of his help. Now I need it, and I have no one to call for help.

With my hands full, I kick open the bathroom door, rush in, and securely lock it behind me.

I drop the bottle and begin to type furiously on my phone.

You jerk, I f**king need your help! I am in that cheap hotel close to Austin Avenue. There is an intruder in here. Just help this once, and I promise never to bother you again. Pick up the fucking call or come help me. Goddammit!"

Unable to continue with my inner rambling, I tap on the send button, and it successfully delivers. With raw hope, I watch the message tick and turn green.

I almost jump up in excitement when he reads the message. And I wait.

Stamping my feet and trying desperately to ignore the raw devastation streaming through me, I continue to wait for him to type back and send a reply.

I need someone to reassure me that everything is well.

Our lives were so beautiful and filled with happy moments, and we thought we were going to spend the rest of our lives together.

I believed he was meant to be mine, and I was meant to be his.

But he left. He left me for her. Because his parents wanted her. He left me.

Because I was extremely mad at him when he told me about his decision to marry that woman instead, I blocked him everywhere.

I blacklisted him.

He'd never be able to reach me, and I wouldn't either.

Until last night.

I unblocked him and tried calling him, but to no avail. Which is why I am sending him these texts, just to get his attention.

When something crashes in the distance, I scoot backwards in fear.

My biggest fear is about to come to realization.

Betrayed by the man I love more than life itself is not my biggest fear.

My biggest fear isn't about losing all the privileges of being in a relationship with a man who promised to get me the job of my dreams.

My biggest fear isn't about living life in misery.

My greatest fear is becoming a victim of sexual assault. Left broken and beyond repair. It awakens memories I thought I had long buried-my near-rape experience.

When a bang hits the bathroom door, I squat backward and fall on my buttocks with a scream piercing through my throat.

My breathing becomes hard as I watch the door being banged from outside.

The stranger wants to get in. If he was here to steal, he wouldn't bother to come after me. And that explains only one thing.

He wants to take advantage of me or get rid of me.

Perhaps he thought I saw his face and that getting rid of me was the best course of action.

How did he even know I was in here?

Waving the silly thoughts running through my head away, I rise up again, determined to escape being raped or killed in a strange neighborhood. I glance around to find a weapon, or at least a shield.

I don't mind escaping him and running out onto the streets in nothing but my bathrobe. I just want to escape this.

My eyes catch the toilet brush, which is the only thing present I can use as a weapon.

I grab hold of it and almost begin to cry when it dawns on me that this can't hurt him.

I can't escape.

He would kill me.

I don't deserve this.

With horror and the brush still raised in my hand, the door finally breaks down, giving me a view of the stranger whose face is still hidden.

We stare at each other for a second before he stalks forward, and I summon up enough courage to hit him with the brush, a shout leaving my mouth.

He yanks at my hand, and the brush falls to the ground. He spins me around, causing a wave of dizziness to wash over me, and then he pushes me to the floor, revealing my thighs as my robe rolls upward.

His eyes leave mine and settle on the exposed thigh.

I am right. This man is a rapist.

Get up, Ann. Do something. Hit him in the groin and run out. Slap him hard on the face so you can get your pepper spray.

Suddenly, I remember the bottle of wine. It isn't empty but I can make do with it. I turn my face to see it is inches away from me.

I make an effort to stand up, but he strandles me, as though he could hear and read through me.

His hands pin mine to the floor as I continue to struggle with him. I can't raise any of my legs to hit him, either. He is very strong and determined to rape me.

"Get off me, you jerk! What do you want?!" I yell in frustration, wanting to try my luck at negotiating with him.

He lets out a sardonic chuckle and starts to rub his hands on my thighs.

I shut my eyes, shame coloring my face.

"Open your eyes," he mutters, making me flutter my eyes open slowly. "Watch me."

A low whimper leaves my mouth. I want to beg him. I want to tell him that I can give him every single gift that jerk gave me, just to make him think twice about raping me.

But I can't find my voice.

Suddenly, a surge of energy fills me up as he takes his hand off me, giving me the chance to lean up and kick his groin with my knee.

A groan leaves his mouth, and I hurry to my feet.

Just then, a gunshot rings out nearby, making me scoot backward as the rapist looks towards the living room, fear in his eyes.

When the shot rings again, my mind reels back to the text I sent to Ryan. Is he here to save me? Where did he get a gun from?

What is happening?

As soon as I see him eyeing the door, I sprint towards it, determined to stop him.

Ryan could be here to assist me. To save me from this jerk.

I need to do my part.

He rushes at me, and I punch his face, making him stumble back, surprise in his eyes. I signal to him to come closer. And I ball my fist for another punch.

Pure rage fills his eyes.

When he takes a step forward, I attempt to strike him from a distance, but he pulls me closer to him before throwing to the ground.

I force back a wince.

With our hands interlocked, I yank him closer to me before shoving the mask off.

Horror mixed with disbelief slices through me when I see his face.

Carter.

Before I can process what I just saw and say something, he runs out, leaving me sprawled on the floor with tears rolling down my eyes.

Instead of sitting up, I start to cry until his hurried footsteps fade out.

Vicente's POV

I stepped out of the bathroom just in time for my phone to ding, signifying a message.

I take long strides towards the side drawer to pick up the phone and check if it's a message from Victor, my second-in-command, who is presently in Italy on my behalf.

A frown appears on my face when I receive a different message from an unfamiliar number.

Help!

Help!

You jerk, I f**king need your help! I am in that cheap hotel close to Austin Avenue. There is an intruder in here. Just help this once, and I promise never to bother you again. Pick up the fucking call or come help me. Goddammit!"

What the hell!

I toss the phone to the bed, my mind drifting to the person who had the audacity to call me a jerk.

Really?

I'm sure he or she has no idea who I am. Disrespect is the first thing I don't take from anyone. That includes everyone in my family, as well as the Mafia.

It's one thing I can take someone out for. Disrespect. Disregard. And betrayal.

The phone dings again, and I pick it up hurriedly to see Victor's name flashing on my notification box.

With a sigh, I tap it.

"Good," I mutter in satisfaction before exiting the message to see the strange number beneath his.

Out of curiosity, I tap on the message again to re-read it.

You jerk, I f**king need your help! I am in that cheap hotel close to Austin Avenue. There is an intruder in here. Just help this once, and I promise never to bother you again. Pick up the fucking call or come help me. Goddammit!"

Jerk? There is a high probability that the sender is a woman, and she is seeking help from a man.

Me?

Why did she send me the message? Is she someone I know? Does she know me?

Everyone knows how much I hate men who harass or abuse women. This woman, whoever she is, must be aware of that. If she didn't, she wouldn't send me that message.

I grab a shirt from my closet and put on pants, moving out with the phone firmly in my hand.

"Boss," Luca says to me with a curt nod.

"Do you have any idea where Austin Avenue is?" I asked without hesitation, watching him nod quickly. "Do you know where the cheap hotels around there are?"

He looks thoughtful for a while before nodding. "There is Silverware and Magic hotel. Those two are the cheapest."

I nod, my mind flashing back to the incident in Italy, where the Silicone Mafia laid an ambush on Dominic, the head of the Greek Mafia. Dominic and I had arranged to meet at a clubhouse.

Dominic was attacked, and he called me before I could get to the clubhouse to go back.

I don't fear challenges. Even when the war isn't mine.

It was Dominic's war, but I wanted to provide backup for him, so I moved ahead and got there with my men.

They eliminated all the men sent to take Dominic down in a matter of minutes. Dominic plays a major role in the family business. Going down means we all go down with him.

He was grateful, even though he felt embarrassed for being caught unaware, leaving me to reprimand and counsel him for a minute about trusting no one.

With that scene racing through my head now, I don't feel any surge of fear of being ambushed. What I feel is just pure curiosity. I want to know who this woman is. I want to know who dared to call me a jerk. I want to know if this is truly an ambush, and who has the audacity to try such a thing against me.

I am feared all over Italy and even here in LA. That is because of my principles. You follow my rule, and we are good. But when you don't, you are on the path of destruction.

No one dares pull such a lame trick on me; I am sure of that.

The thought of it brings a smirk to my face as I pronounce. "Gather your men. Split them into two. The first part should head to Silverware with you, and the other should go to the Magic Hotel with me. If you notice any unusual activity, call me. Let's go."

He rushes down the staircase to gather the men, while I go back inside to change my shirt.

When I hunt, I wear my black leather pants, black T-shirt, and jacket. I don't go hunting with just any clothes.

It is something I am proud of.

The Mafia. This is my life.

After finishing my task, I step out of the room and head towards the staircase, only to find Luca waiting for me downstairs, as if he had never left.

Nodding to me to signify the men are set to leave, I take the lead, and he follows me behind.

As soon as I am in the passenger's seat with Andre driving, we move out of the automatic gate.

Casually looking out with my exposed arm out of the car window, I find myself thinking about the text again, with puzzlement edging my insides.

They must have heard Luca say we were going to the Magic Hotel, but I haven't explained why.

I bring out my phone quickly and tap on the message again. Without glancing through the words again, I click on her number to verify her identity.

When it appears on my TrueCaller, I can see her picture and her name.

Annette Vasquez.

She is a stunning blonde, possessing almond-shaped brown eyes. She has a round face with a pointed chin, making her look daring.

In the picture, I can only see the white top she is wearing.

Annette?

I can't recall crossing paths with anyone with that name. I rarely have time to think about a woman. The few women I've encountered were those in the family business.

Most are mafia princesses.

This woman does not strike me as familiar, and it makes my curiosity grow bigger.

How did she get my contact? Why does she need my help? Apparently, I don't know her, but it seems she knows me.

Is she a family member I've never met before?

Uncle Miquel's kids all stay in London. I only met with his first daughter once, when I went on a trip to London.

Miquel doesn't want them around or involved with the family business. I feel like it's because of his wife. Her refusal to associate with the Mafia led to their divorce. The Silicone Mafia killed her parents.

These are more reasons why he is always ready to back me whenever I bring up their topic. He wants to get rid of every single one of them and get his woman back.

I can't recall the names of his girls, but I'm confident that if it was one of them, they wouldn't reach out to me first.

Uncle Miquel would be the first.

Tired of the numerous questions spinning in my head, I sigh and finally drop my phone, just in time for the car to stop in front of a small building.

Music blares from inside, and I raise a brow.

"Is this the place?" I ask no one in particular, my gaze is not leaving the entrance, which is uncrowded.

Is this a bar or what?

"Yes," Andre replies as they all wait for my order.

I nod and instruct. "Go down. I am looking for this woman. She is in some sort of trouble, so we need to help her."

Andre exchanges glances with Rio, making me realize what a silly decision this is. People's businesses aren't my business unless they involve the Mafia.

"She is a relative, so get to work!" I thunder and shove the phone towards him, having them scurry out with Glocks tucked in their pockets so as not to arouse suspicion.

When they disappear, I step down, glancing around for any form of threat. Upon finding no threat and the street nearly empty, I proceed towards the entrance.

With Andre and the others sneaking into the hotel without going through the reception, which looks more like a box office, I walk in stealthily.

A robust woman is behind the counter, and she looks up immediately, reducing the volume of the music.

A smile flashes across her face, making me wonder if she does this with every single person that comes in here.

"I'm looking for this woman, did she lodge in here?" I demand from her without hesitation.

This is why I am here. I want to get it done and be out of here as soon as I can. And if this turns out to be a trick, I'm going to find the person behind it and deal with her.

I don't hurt women. I hate men who hurt women too, but there are other ways to deal with people who think they can make a fool of someone.

She looks reluctant, her smile fading as quickly as it came.

She maintains eye contact with me without an answer until it hits me.

I grit my teeth, cautioning myself not to do anything stupid. I fish out the wads of dollars in my pocket before tossing them towards her.

She catches it quickly before grinning and answering. "She is in room 3."

I regard her with a nod before stalking forward. The whole place is practically empty. If my men can reach her before me, then it means this silly hotel is unsafe.

There isn't any form of security here.

Aside from that, the receptionist is unprofessional. If I were here to kill or kidnap this so-called Annette, this is how easy she would have given her away.

When I get to the hallway, I see Andre at the door, with his hand on the doorknob. I signal to him to go ahead, and he opens the door slowly, peeping in before stepping inside.

I follow him.

I'm sure the others are checking the other rooms.

The room is empty. However, there is evidence that someone is or was here.

I see an empty bottle of wine and a glass sitting pretty on a stool beside the bed, as well as piles of clothes on the floor.

I carefully glance around, signaling to him to move to the bathroom, while simultaneously grabbing my Glock.

Andre continues forward until he notices the broken door, prompting me to rush into the bathroom where I find a woman sprawled on the floor in a bathrobe, tears streaming down her eyes.

Is she drunk? Did she slip?

Andre has his gun pointed at her, just in case this is a trap and she wants to attack me. I signal to him to drop it so as not to scare the woman. I can protect myself, and he knows it.

Quietly, I knee on one leg beside her. Her chest heaves up and down as more tears roll down her eyes.

The sight of tears makes something tug at me.

If she is real, I will protect her with everything I have. But if she isn't, then she will bear the consequences of her actions.

Putting my Glock away, I raise a hand to tap her. But on second thought, I withdraw my hand quickly.

"Hey," I call out softly instead, making her go still. I watch her shut her eyes more tightly, squeezing out more tears. Leaning closer, desperate to touch her and assure her that it is fine, I ask. "Are you okay?"

Slowly, she opens her eyes, giving me a clear view of how brown her eyes are. Very dark brown. Mesmerizing. They pierce into me, making me aware of my strange actions tonight.

She forces her lips open before asking. "Who are you?"

I scoop my phone out and click on the message she sent me, then turn the screen to her.

Her eyes widen, and she starts to cry.

Her gaze does not waver, and it forces me to plaster a small smile on my face to assure her we can't hurt her, and she is safe with us.

The broken bathroom door clearly indicates that someone had broken in.

Whether he hurt her or not is what I can't figure out.

When Andre starts to speak into the surveillance earpiece, I jerk back to reality.

"Let's get you out of here," I say softly before bending down to pick her up in bridal style.

She does not struggle with me. She allows me to carry her out of the room with tears still rolling down her eyes.

I walk past the receptionist, who has a curious look on her face. As soon as we step out, Andre gets the door, and I place her inside the passenger's car I was seated in a while ago.

I gesture to Andre to hand over the car keys and when he does, I make my way around to the driver's seat.

Once seated, I assist her with the seat belt while maintaining eye contact with her. Another tear slips through her eyes, and I catch it with my thumb before muttering. "You are safe now."

Ann's POV

I'm struggling to keep my tears at bay until consciousness hits me just as the car comes to a slow stop.

Wiping my tears, I turn to see the man in a black T-shirt staring right back at me with a look of worry etched on his face.

It makes me question why I felt compelled to allow a complete stranger to take me out of there. Maybe it's because I'd prefer to be somewhere else than the place where Carter nearly raped me, like he almost did years ago.

Carter is my step-brother. I was just 16 when Dad and Mom got separated. A year later, she married Carter's dad.

He was always flirty with me but I choosed to ignore it until he tried to rape me when I was taking a nap. I woke up with a jolt to see a smirk on his face as he pinned me down. I struggled with him but he was stronger, until he was out of his trousers.

Escaping being raped by him that night was a narrow escape.

I kicked his groins, and ran out.

When his dad arrived from work, I explained everything to him but he didn't believe a word. Till date, I had no idea what Carter and his dad fed my mother with. She wouldn't hear my side of the story and I left home.

That night wouldn't leave my head for years, until I met Ryan.

Shit!

How the hell did I miss a number? I intended to message Ryan, not this man. On second thought, I feel glad the mistake happened.

"Are you okay now?" His deep voice demands from me, making me feel more safe.

Intermittently, I nod.

Another car stops right behind us, and he looks back before stepping out. I sit still, unsure of what to do now. I am out of the hotel in nothing but my robe. I actually thought I had gotten rid of my anxiety attacks, but tonight has proved me wrong.

I was in a state of complete confusion as I laid there, weeping uncontrollably for nearly an hour.

I guess it was just the fear. I've always harbored a fear of experiencing another near-rape incident.

"Boss," a man nods at him, and I watch them converse in low tones, the strange man glancing at me at intervals, making me examine him carefully.

He is extremely tall and well-built. In his black pants and black shirt, which hug his muscular arm, I can see the massive black tattoo spread across his exposed arm.

Two other men appear, and fear slowly crawls in, making me start with my wild imagination.

Why did I allow him to bring me here? Who are these people?

He suddenly yanks the door open, and I jolt upright to see him signaling for me to descend.

Swallowing hard, I try to think of something to say. An excuse not to come down. I need to tell him that I am okay and I don't need to be here.

My body trembles at the thought of getting into trouble here again after escaping an hour ago.

"You don't want to come down?" He asks me with curiosity written all over him. He glances back and looks at me again. "No one is in sight. I dismissed them already. You don't need to feel..."

"I want to go home," I suddenly say without thinking. "I...I...thank you for coming. I'm sorry I sent you that message. It wasn't meant..."

"Calm down," he says, gently touching my shoulder, causing a shiver to run through me.

He is handsome. He is extremely handsome, with sharp blue eyes, high cheekbones, and a firm jaw. A perfect example of a Greek god.

Mentally, I slap myself at the thought.

This is not the time to admire a man I barely know. He has recently witnessed me at my most vulnerable.

"You are safe here. No one can hurt you here, okay?"

I want to oppose him, but I can't. He appears to be both dangerous and confident. I feel safe and scared.

I can't leave here in just a bathrobe, and I also can't go back to the hotel because Carter might come back there to finish what he started.

Should I trust this man? What if he doesn't deserve my trust? Is he as dangerous as he looks? Will he keep me safe, just as he said?

"Come," he says, holding onto my legs and placing me down on the floor before hauling me up from the car. "I should carry you upstairs."

It doesn't sound like a question. Before I can even say anything, he picks me up, just like he did earlier. When he carried me out of that hotel room, the emotions were different. I was desperate. Hurting. Sad.

But now, it feels different. Intimate.

Every touch of his ignites something in me, making me close my eyes and curse at myself inwardly.

This is wrong.

I was harassed a while ago. I can't be ogling or drooling over this man. I shouldn't allow him to carry me the way he does.

When we step inside, I manage to tear my gaze away from him. And a low gasp escapes me at the massive house and the beautiful decorations. The artistic paintings, the high chandelier, and the sparkling marble floor did not escape my notice.

The staircase is grand. It feels like a home pulled from the Renaissance period. This is more than just a house; it's a cozy and beautiful home.

Does he live here alone? Does he have a wife?

If he did, he wouldn't carry me.

He climbs the staircase, and I turn to him again. He maintains a fixed, serious, and deadly gaze.

I look down at my fingers, feeling extremely uneasy.

He stalks into a room and kicks it open with his leg. It has just a big bed, a dresser, three beautiful sofas, and a closet.

The painting is dull, unlike the living room's, and the floor is sparkling too. Finally, he drops me to the floor, and I sway.

"You can spend the night here. My room is next to yours, so you can call me if you need anything," he utters with incredulity.

I nod. "Thank you for helping me."

He doesn't smile like I thought he would, so I continue. "The message wasn't yours. I intended to send it to my ex..." I pause, remembering what happened again, and my body shakes with relief and more fear of what would happen when I am out of here and Carter crosses paths with me again.

"Your ex?" His curious tone reaches my ears, making me stare at him.

He holds onto my hand before leading me to a sofa. When I sit, he slumps next to me, making me conscious of the close proximity.

"We broke up a month ago."

"And you felt he was the right person to ask for help?" His question catches me off-guard.

He wasn't. I was stupid.

"I've blocked him everywhere. I used to know his number by heart, but I must have gotten one of the figures wrong, which is why you received the message instead." I say instead of replying to his question.

He is silent, making me wonder if he is a man of few words.

"What happened back there?" He suddenly inquires.

I know what he is talking about. I don't need to tell him the first two messages were out of deceit. I don't need to tell him I sent that message so I could get Ryan's attention.

"Someone attacked me." I tremble beneath his piercing gaze. "He almost raped me."

"Do you know this person? Can you give a description of how he looks?" The next question rolls out of his mouth.

I shut my eyes to wave off the scene, and a tear drops. "I know him. He is my step-brother and he tried to rape me."

He doesn't look surprised when I glance at him. He keeps a straight face, and I whimper, weary with exhaustion.

"Do you have a picture of him?" He demands again, this time picking up his phone and typing on it furiously.

"My phone isn't here," I reply him. Even though I haven't spoken to Carter, mom or dad in years, I have a way of reaching out or finding Carter's picture.

"My men have your things. You should get some rest tonight. Tomorrow morning, we will talk better. I will have the maids bring you a meal and a dress to change into. The bathroom is in there if you want to take a bath. Don't hesitate to let me know if you need anything else." He shoots to his feet instantly and begins to walk to the door.

"Sir...Erhmm..." He halts and whirls around to meet my gaze. "I'm sorry, I don't know your name."

"Vince."

"I'm Ann."

"I know," he admits ruefully, shocking me. "Do you need anything else?"

I shake my head slowly, even though I want to ask him how he knew my name and tell him I can't sleep alone in this big room tonight.

Not tonight.

This man has done enough.

"See you tomorrow," he utters before strolling out.