*Isabella*
I stepped closer to him, the tension crackling between us like a live wire. My voice was calm but laced with steel as I said, "There's one thing you're missing, Matteo." I leaned in dangerously close, staring straight into his infuriatingly calm eyes. "I don't take shit from anyone. That includes you."
For a moment, I felt invincible, as though I'd finally taken control of this maddening situation. But then, he moved. His hand slid around my waist with ease, pulling me closer before I could even react.
The contact sent a jolt through my body, the warmth of his touch rippling out like an electric current. And to my utter disbelief, I felt it butterflies. What the actual hell? My confidence faltered, my mind scrambling to make sense of the chaos in my chest.
I shoved him away abruptly, putting distance between us. "Li… Listen, I'm serious," I stammered, hating how shaky my voice sounded. I straightened up, my eyes narrowing. "If we're going to stay married, then there's going to be some rules. No screwing around with your so-called whores," I snapped, pointing directly at the girl sulking in the corner, who now wore the perfect mask of a victim.
Matteo's expression didn't change. He didn't flinch, didn't blink. Instead, he just gave me that infuriating look half amused, half dismissive. It was the kind of look that said You think I care?
Fine. If that's how he wanted to play it, I'd show him how serious I was. Two could play this game. "Do whatever the hell you want, Matteo," I said, my tone sharp and final. "But count on me doing the same."
Without waiting for a response, I turned on my heel and walked away, leaving him standing there. My steps echoed in the silence as I left the room, refusing to look back.
I didn't care what he did. I didn't care about any of it. This marriage wasn't about love or partnership it was about survival and image. And if he thought for a second that he could control me, he was dead wrong.
Here's a more polished and detailed version of the scene:
I busied myself in the kitchen, trying to focus on making my food. Cooking had always been my escape, a way to drown out the chaos around me. But Matteo? Oh, no. He was in the mood to play games tonight, and I wasn't sure I could handle it.
He was behind me before I could even register his presence. So close that the heat from his body seemed to seep into mine, making it impossible to concentrate. My hands froze mid-stir, and my breath caught as I felt him lean in.
"Do what, wafie?" he asked, his breath warm against my ear, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine.
The tone of his voice changed everything. It wasn't just playful—it was dark, dangerous. A warning wrapped in velvet, and the unspoken promise in it made my stomach twist. He spoke like he'd kill me if I even thought of saying the wrong thing.
But I wasn't about to back down. "I said what I said, Matteo. I don't like repeating myself," I replied, my voice steady as I moved away from him, trying to focus on the pasta I was making.
I thought he'd back off, but no. This was Matteo we were talking about. His next move was to trap me, and before I knew it, he had me cornered. His arms caged me in, one hand on either side of the counter, leaving me no room to escape.
"Can't ignore me like this, can you, Cara Mia?" he whispered, his lips almost brushing my ear. His words were a challenge, soft and infuriatingly seductive.
I clenched my jaw, refusing to let him see how his presence unsettled me. "Where's the girl that was here for you? I think you had a guest, Matteo, so why are you bothering me?" I asked, forcing my voice to stay calm.
A smirk tugged at his lips, and he leaned in closer. "Oh, her? She's just here to fool around. She's actually the head maid," he said casually, as if that explained everything.
For a moment, I just stared at him, dumbfounded. My mind reeled as I remembered what she was wearing earlier. "That's your maid?" I asked, disbelief dripping from every word.
He shrugged, his expression as cool as ever. "Well, yes. Why?"
Anger bubbled up inside me, threatening to boil over. "Listen here, buddy," I said, spinning around to face him fully, meeting his amused gaze with fire in my own. "She is not staying here anymore. End of discussion."
His reaction made me even angrier. He didn't look upset or even annoyed. No, Matteo looked downright amused, like he found my outrage entertaining.
And that only fueled my rage more.
"Consider it done then, Cara Mia," Matteo said smoothly, his voice dripping with amusement.
Now it was my turn to be amused. A sly smile tugged at my lips as I let my eyes roam over him for a brief moment. Did I mention he was standing there in nothing but a towel? The audacity of this man was unmatched.
Sliding my finger along the hard lines of his abs—yes, they were annoyingly perfect—I raised an eyebrow and said, "Thank you, amore." My voice was soft and sweet, laced with just enough mockery to make my point.
Before he could react, I gave him a sharp shove, creating some much-needed space between us. "Please, go put some clothes on," I added, turning back to my cooking.
But of course, Matteo wasn't one to let a moment like that go. He laughed, the sound rich and full of mischief. "What's the matter? Can't handle it?" he teased, his tone infuriatingly cocky as he stepped toward me again.
I didn't even bother to look up. Instead, I grabbed the knife I was using to chop vegetables and pointed it in his direction without missing a beat. "No. Stay where you are," I said firmly, finally meeting his gaze with a deadly serious look. "Get dressed or don't—it's none of my business. But stay out of my space."
For a second, he froze, his lips twitching like he was holding back another laugh. Matteo, the arrogant bastard, probably found the whole thing entertaining.
Satisfied that he wasn't going to push his luck (at least for now), I went back to my cooking. The pasta was nearly done, and honestly, I was starving. I didn't have the energy to deal with his games right now.