Chapter 4

(Alessia pov)

The room was larger than my old bedroom and twice as cold. High ceilings. Dark wood floors that swallowed the sound of my bare feet. A bed big enough for three people, dressed in black sheets that looked expensive enough to pay off a small debt. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across one wall, the glass so clean it almost disappeared into the night outside. Beyond it, nothing but trees and the distant glow of the city I would never reach.

I locked the door behind me the second I stepped inside, It was a joke, I knew it, still, the click of the bolt made me feel less like prey for half a second.

I went straight to the window, the latch was simple, I shoved it open and cold night air rushed in, carrying the scent of wet earth and pine. The drop wasn’t impossible—maybe twelve feet to the grass below—but the dress would tangle, and the ground looked hard. I yanked the heavy black duvet off the bed, then the top sheet, knotting them together with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking. One end around the bedpost. The other I threw out the window, watching it unfurl into the dark.

I climbed onto the sill, one knee up, the ruined wedding dress hiked around my thighs, the door opened, no knock, no warning.

Matteo stepped inside like he owned the air I was breathing. He took in the open window, the makeshift rope, the way I was balanced half-in and half-out of his house, and something dark and amused flickered across his face.

“Trying to escape already, princess?”

My heart slammed against my ribs, I scrambled back into the room, nearly tripping over the sheet still tied to the bed.

“No.” The lie came out too fast.

Matteo closed the door behind him with a soft click as he walked toward the bed, slow, deliberate, and sat on the edge of the mattress like he had all the time in the world but his eyes never left mine, he laughed completely without humor.

“Come here.”

I didn’t move, his expression didn’t change, but the air in the room did.

“You don’t want to see the other side of me, Alessia.” His voice stayed calm, almost gentle. “Last chance, come here.”

My feet moved before my pride could stop them, I stopped in front of him, close enough to smell the whiskey on his breath and the faint metallic scent of gunpowder that still clung to his clothes, he didn’t ask again.

One second I was standing, the next his hands were on my waist and I was face-down over his knees, the hard muscle of his thighs pressing into my stomach, my dress was yanked up without ceremony.

Cool air hit my bare ass, the thin lace of my underwear was the only thing left between my skin and his palm.

The first smack cracked through the room like a gunshot, pain bloomed hot and sharp across my right cheek. I sucked in a breath, more shock than sound.

“Never lie to me.”

The second smack landed harder, the sting radiating straight between my legs, a broken noise tore out of my throat before I could stop it.

“When I give an order,” he said, voice steady, almost conversational, “you obey, you don’t argue, you don’t hesitate.”

His hand came down again and again. Each strike precise and measured, the heat building until my skin felt like it was on fire. I clenched my teeth, trying to stay silent, but the pain was twisting into something else—something wet and humiliating that made my thighs press together against his leg.

He noticed, of course he fucking noticed, two thick fingers shoved past the soaked lace and drove straight into me without warning.

My whole body jerked, a moan ripped out of me, raw and helpless. I was soaked, embarrassingly, shamefully wet and the sound of it filled the quiet room as he curled his fingers and stroked me from the inside like he already knew exactly how I needed it.

“Listen to you,” he murmured, almost curious. “Getting wet from a spanking, getting wet for the man who stole you.”

I tried to close my legs, he simply spread them wider with his free hand and kept working me, two fingers thrusting deep, the heel of his palm grinding against my clit with every stroke. The dual sensation of pain still throbbing across my ass and pleasure coiling tight and vicious in my core ripped the last of my control away.

I came hard, It wasn’t soft or pretty, It felt like the orgasm was trying to kill me. white-hot and brutal, my body seizing so violently I couldn’t breathe or think,I could only shake and moan brokenly against his thigh while my cunt clenched around his fingers like it never wanted to let go.

He didn’t stop until the last tremor left me, then he pulled his hand free. I hung limp over his knees, wrecked, face burning with more than just the aftershocks, I heard the soft, wet sound of him licking me off his fingers, slow and deliberate, and the humiliation hit harder than any of the smacks.

He stood, dumping me onto the mattress like I weighed nothing, I landed on my back, dress still rucked up around my waist, legs trembling, the taste of salt and shame thick in my throat.

Matteo looked down at me, eyes dark and satisfied. “Go take a bath, food will be brought up, you better eat it.” His voice was calm again, almost bored. “ because you’ll need the strength for what I plan to do to you.”

He turned and walked out without another word, the door clicking shut behind him, I lay there staring at the ceiling, heart still racing, body still pulsing with the ghost of the orgasm he had forced out of me.

I hated him but I hated myself more.