Chapter 1: Arranged marriage: irony and rage.
WARNING: ADULTS ONLY (18+).
Lila (moaning)
_ Fuck… me... baby… Aaaaah… oh shit… more… yeah like that… fuck… I love you, sweetheart…
On her hands and knees on the sofa, hands gripping the backrest, Lila the housekeeper was lost between pain and ecstasy. Her body trembled with every brutal movement, her hair sticking to her sweat-dampened face. She no longer recognized the man behind her: Lorenzo, his eyes glowing red, unleashed, as if he were trying to exorcise all his rage through her. His iron hands held her hips, preventing her from escaping his fire, each thrust echoing like a punishment inside her.
Lorenzo (grunting, ice-cold)
_ You little slut… I’m not your "sweetheart," got it?
With a sharp movement, he buried himself deeper inside her. The brutal sound echoed through the room, followed by a sharp slap on her buttock. Lila screamed, her cries filling the living room, a mix of pleading and uncontrolled desire.
Lila (screaming, panting)
_ Aaaaaah… I get it! You’re not my sweetheart… but I love you, Lorenzo… I love you, damn it… more… make me cry… destroy me if you want! Aaaaaaa....
His face set, Lorenzo continued relentlessly, his heavy breath mingling with his grunts. His movements were hard, hurried, almost inhuman. One hand firmly gripped Lila's hip, the other brutally clutching her hair, pulling her back so she could feel the full weight of his dominance. He treated her like a worthless toy, without tenderness, simply to sate the anger he carried within.
Lila (crying, pleading)
_ Aaaaaah… Lorenzo… that’s enough… aaaaaa… please… stop now… it hurts… you’re tearing me apart… what’s wrong with you today? It hurts too much…
Tears streamed down her cheeks, but Lorenzo didn't stop. His eyes blazed with an incomprehensible fury, as if each of Lila's cries fed his need for violence even more.
Lorenzo (grunting, implacable)
_ Shut your fucking mouth…
Lila (screaming)
_ It hurts... Aaaaaaa.... my pussy is burning..... Aaaaaaaaa..... Stop... please....
Lorenzo (grunting)
_ I told you to shut your fucking mouth... Aaaaaaaa...
His words were dry, glacial, cutting like blades. Each sentence fell with as much force as his thrusts, leaving Lila completely submissive to his brutality.
At that moment, the living room door swung open to reveal Carlo and Rosa, Lorenzo’s parents. Both stood frozen, eyes wide, discovering their son fucking his housekeeper on the sofa with a near-savage passion.
Rosa and Carlo (screaming, eyes wide)
– LORENZOOOOOOO!
Their voices rang through the room like a brutal echo. Lorenzo turned his head toward the entrance, his dark gaze landing on his parents frozen in the doorway, still in shock at what they had just stumbled upon.
Lorenzo (red with anger, husky voice)
– Fuck… what the hell are you doing here without calling? Shit!
He pulled out of Lila abruptly. Short of breath, she bolted from the sofa, her face on fire, shame painted in her eyes. Completely naked, she hastily gathered her clothes scattered on the floor and fled toward the stairs, the steps creaking under her hurried pace. In seconds, she had vanished from the living room.
Lorenzo pulled on his sweatpants with a nonchalant gesture and slumped heavily onto the sofa. His hands crumpled the armrest, his chest still heaving to the rhythm of a heart beating not from fear, but from the brutal pleasure that had just been snatched away. With clenched jaws and an arrogant gaze, he maintained a glacial impassivity.
Carlo and Rosa finally stepped forward, their faces marked by a mix of anger and disbelief. They stood before him, ready to demand an explanation.
Rosa (furious, trembling)
– Lorenzo, can you explain what your father and I just saw? Have you gone mad? Are you sleeping with a woman nearly old enough to be your mother now?
Carlo (red with anger, authoritative tone)
– Stand up and answer when you're spoken to! Who do you think you are? Have you no shame? Sleeping with a woman who could be your big sister… and in the living room, on the sofa?
Lorenzo remained seated, back pressed against the cushions, head tilted back, arms crossed over his muscular chest. His eyes remained stubbornly closed, as if their words were sliding right off him. His insolent air screamed that he answered to no one.
Carlo (shouting, beside himself)
– Lorenzo, we are talking to you, damn it! Open your eyes and look at us!
Rosa (disgusted, trembling voice)
– Look at this room, everything reeks of sex, it’s disgusting. Don't you have enough sense to take your women to your bedroom before you… use them?
Then, slowly, Lorenzo opened his eyes. Two glacial, dark, and provocative pupils looked up at them.
Lorenzo (cold, sarcastic)
– If you’re not happy, the door is wide open.
His insolent tone snapped like a slap. He didn't lower his gaze; on the contrary, his eyes challenged his parents'.
Lorenzo (with a wicked smile)
– I do what I want, where I want. With whoever I want. And if that bothers you… you shouldn't have walked in without knocking.
Carlo (imposing)
– So, it’s to sleep with thirty-five-year-old mothers that you decided to leave the manor and live alone? If that’s the case, then I’m informing you that you’re moving back home today. Because I won't let my twenty-two-year-old son soil himself with women who are already in their forties. This is a curse, Lorenzo, not love or passion.
Lorenzo (dark, provocative)
– I’m not coming back home. I’m not a kid anymore, fuck. Leave me alone and stop trying to control my life. I’m a bad boy, and a bad boy doesn't answer to anyone. Don’t expect wise or responsible acts from me; you’re wasting your time.
Carlo (cold, authoritative)
– Bad boy or not, I am your father. And I don’t give a damn about what you claim to be, Lorenzo. You are going to listen to me carefully because we need to talk seriously.
Lorenzo (calm, insolent)
– What do you want to talk about? I thought we said everything there was to say in your office yesterday.
Carlo remained silent, arms crossed behind his back, his patriarchal gaze planted in his son’s like a blade. Rosa went to sit on the sofa opposite Lorenzo. She let out a long sigh of weariness, as if this father-son war was already exhausting her.
Lorenzo (nonchalant)
– Well? What are you waiting for? Want to lecture me about your company again? I’m warning you, my decision is final. I will never set foot there. I have my own business, I love what I do, and I won’t let anyone dictate my life. So don’t bother me with your old man plans.
Carlo (cutting him off sharply)
– You’re getting married tomorrow. That’s the news I came to give you.
Lorenzo (exploding)
– WHAAAAAAT?
His voice echoed like a thunderclap. Rosa jumped violently, clutching her hand to her chest. Lorenzo, eyes wide, bolted upright. He stared at his father, incredulous, before bursting into a nervous, husky, demented laugh that rang through the room for several seconds. But very quickly, the amused mask cracked: his face hardened, his features contracted, and his dark gaze turned sharp as a blade.
Lorenzo (voice trembling with contained rage)
– I hope you’re playing a bad joke on me, Dad… Because you know damn well the answer is NO. You know perfectly well I’ll never accept this. You know it’s impossible for me to get married, right?
Carlo (firmly)
– I know nothing, young man. My decision is made. And above all, don’t worry: this time, I’m not asking for an effort. Everything is already arranged. Tomorrow, all you have to do is go to the city hall with your future wife and sign the marriage papers.
Lorenzo (red with anger)
– What kind of madness is this, Dad?! Did I ever tell you I wanted to get married? How can you find me a wife without asking my opinion, deciding my life behind my back?! Do you really think I’m going to accept this?! Do I look like a guy ready to be chained to some stranger out of nowhere?!
Rosa (imposing)
– Lorenzo, can you calm down, please? I’m reminding you that you’re talking to your father, not your friends. Lower your tone. We know what’s best for you.
Lorenzo (furious)
– No! You know nothing! Forcing me to marry—that’s your idea of knowing what’s good for me?! Did I tell you anywhere that I wanted to get married?! What is this bullshit?!
Carlo (calm but firm)
– Whether you like it or not, you will go through with this marriage tomorrow. Your future wife is already waiting. And believe me, she is beautiful, strong, and will suit you perfectly.
Lorenzo (firm, defiant)
– I don’t give a damn about her. I don’t need a woman as a "wife." Women? I’ve already got plenty chasing me. I do what I want, where I want, and how I want. So this marriage? Don’t count on me. Find a replacement, because I’m not getting married tomorrow, or in five years, or even in ten—I’m never getting married.
With a sudden movement, he turned around, headed for the stairs, and climbed them at a fast pace, leaving his father and mother frozen, struck by the intensity of his anger.
Rosa (sighing)
– I told you he’d never accept. This idea is insane, Carlo. Lorenzo is stubborn and always does what he wants.
Carlo (calm, determined)
– Whether he likes it or not, he will marry this girl. I know why I’m doing this. Lorenzo needs a woman capable of standing up to him, someone who will force him to change to protect himself. Chloé is perfect for that. I only saw her once, but she has the courage needed.
Rosa (worried)
– And now? If he refuses again tomorrow, what do we do?
Carlo (smiling, confident)
– We will hold the wedding here. I’ll take care of it.
Rosa let out a sigh, a lingering worry in her eyes despite her husband’s reassuring words. She knew Lorenzo could be unpredictable… and dangerous when pushed too far.
On the other side, in the Martin household, a young woman, short in stature but radiant with beauty, stepped into the hallway—it was Chloé. She was wearing a white schoolgirl skirt that contrasted with a pink sweater so oversized it almost reached the bottom of her skirt. Her white sneakers squeaked slightly on the floor as she moved, her long black hair flowing down her shoulders. Her earphones plunged her into her music, but her bright, innocent smile betrayed a bubbling energy—the energy of a young woman who was both sweet and fierce, full of life and mischief.
As she opened the door to the living room, she froze. Her gaze fell upon her father, Mr. Giovanni, sprawled on the floor, one hand on his heart, the other on the parquet.
Chloé (terrified)
_ Daaaaad?????
Chloé's heart skipped a beat. Without thinking, she ran to him, knelt by his side, and tapped his cheeks gently but insistently, her eyes wide and breath short.
Chloé (voice trembling)
_ Dad??? Dad, what’s wrong? Why are you on the floor like this? Dad???
No reaction. She stood up, panic rising, and dropped her backpack on the floor. With a quick movement, she grabbed a glass of water from the side table and returned to her father, kneeling again to gently pour water on his face. This time, his eyelids moved.
Chloé (panicked)
_ Dad, can you hear me?
Giovanni’s eyes slowly opened, meeting hers. Chloé let out a sigh of relief, placed the glass on the floor, and, trembling, kissed her father’s forehead.
Chloé (relieved)
_ Dad, you scared me! Were you sleeping or what? What were you doing on the floor in the middle of the living room?
Giovanni (weakly)
_ Sweetie, don’t worry, it’s going to be okay. Just help me up, please.
Chloé stood up and, with effort, helped her father to his feet. She slid a hand behind his back to support him and guided him to the sofa, where he sat heavily. She went back for the glass, refilled it, and handed it to him. He drank it in one gulp.
Chloé (worried)
_ Dad, are you really okay? Are you sure?
Giovanni (weakly)
_ Chloé, come sit by me. I need to talk to you.
Chloé’s heart leaped. She remained calm, however, and sat next to him, eyes fixed on his face, ready to hear what he was about to reveal.
Chloé (curious but cautious)
_ Dad, I’m listening. What do you want to tell me?
Giovanni remained silent for a moment, as if gathering his strength, before gently stroking his daughter’s hair with tenderness.
Chloé (worried)
_ Dad, you’re scaring me. Why won’t you tell me what it is? Do you have a health problem?
Giovanni (calmly, but with sadness)
_ Chloé… I have given you in marriage to my boss’s son.
Chloé’s eyes went wide.
Chloé (shocked, almost screaming)
_ Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat???? Marriage??
She bolted upright, her gaze incredulous, unable to hide her surprise.
Chloé (trying to mask her shock with a sarcastic smile)
_ Uh… Dad… you’re joking, right? What do you mean, you gave me in marriage to your boss’s son?
Giovanni (calmly)
_ Chloé, calm down and listen to me, please. I did it for your own good and…
Chloé (trembling voice, shocked)
_ What? But… are you serious? What do you mean "for my own good"? I mean… am I even old enough to get married? I’m reminding you I’m only 17! I’m not even a legal adult and you’re giving me in marriage to your boss’s son without even asking my opinion? But, Dad, do you realize what you’re saying?
Giovanni looked down, sad, a tear slowly sliding down his cheek.
Giovanni (sadly)
_ My girl, I am dying. Your poor father might die…
Chloé (shouting, panicked)
_ What? Dying? You? Dad, but… I… I don’t understand anything! What are you telling me?
Giovanni looked up at his daughter, watching her with deep sadness.
Giovanni (sad, weak voice)
_ Three months ago, I learned I have lung cancer… and if I don't have surgery quickly, it could reach a terminal stage.
Chloé (surprised, almost frozen)
_ What? Lung cancer?
Giovanni (calm but serious)
_ Yes, my daughter. I didn’t want to worry you, but now… I have no choice. I don’t want to lose you, my sweet girl. If I had had any other choice, I never would have given you in marriage to a stranger. I spoke to my boss about a loan to pay for the operation, but he set a condition. And that condition is that you marry his son in exchange for the money.
Chloé stood speechless. Her legs buckled slightly and she gripped the back of the sofa, her gaze lost. She didn't know what to say. Everything was spinning in her head: on one side, her father’s fragile health; on the other, this arranged marriage she had never imagined.
Giovanni (reassuringly)
_ My girl… I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I know you’re not ready to get married and that you have your dreams, but I promise you that you can continue your life as you wish. My boss assured me that even if you marry his son, you can continue your studies and build your future.
Chloé remained silent. Her eyes shone; she was torn between worry for her father and the shock of what he had just announced. She didn't know what to say or how to react.
Giovanni (sadly)
_ My girl, why aren't you saying anything? You…
Chloé (calmly)
_ I’m going to my room to rest. I’m tired.
After that sentence, she turned around, grabbed her bag from the floor, and headed toward her room, leaving her father alone, his gaze lost in the void.
Once in her room, she threw her bag on the floor and collapsed onto the bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, completely distraught.
CHLOÉ (Internal Monologue)
My name is Chloé Martin, 17 years old—almost 18—and yes, my birthday is coming up and I’m already taking gift requests. I’ve lived with my father forever because my mother abandoned us when I was 2. Why? No idea, and honestly, I prefer to stay ignorant. Frankly, I hate her from the bottom of my heart and I never want to hear about her again.
My dad is a driver for some super-rich guy, a businessman we rarely see, though I did cross paths with him once. And of course, since I have an innate talent for awkward situations, his bodyguard ran into me that day and my bike was trashed. So yeah, I demanded what was owed to me, and yeah, I got paid. But I still got the compliment of the century: "You’re brave." Brave or a pain in the ass? Whatever.
And now… I find out I’m going to marry this man’s son. Yes, you read that right: get married, me. To someone I don’t even know. Like, thanks, life, for this surprise! And as if that wasn't enough, my dad drops the bomb that he’s had lung cancer for months. And that he didn’t tell me. Because that’s way more fun, apparently.
So here’s the dilemma: on one side, I’ve got an arranged marriage with a stranger (hello, reality TV plot), and on the other, my sick father. If I refuse, I put him in danger. Seriously, timing is a shitty art form.
I don’t know what to do anymore. My head is burning, I want to cry, but no—no tears! I cried enough between the ages of 2 and 10 when I missed my mother. Now, I’m a strong woman. Even at 17, I’ve realized one thing: in life, you must never let people walk all over you. My name is Chloé Martin. In my dictionary, there’s no room for fear or tears.
Well, on the other hand, there’s a little room for sarcasm, because I’ve got to survive this express marriage mentally somehow.
To be continued...
