Chapter 59

Chapter 59
Sophia's POV
Damn. Damn. Damn.
The black lace corset felt like it was burning in my hands as I clutched it against my chest, my heart hammering so hard I was sure the entire house could hear it. I pressed my back against my bedroom door, trying to catch my breath.
God, Emily, I really don't know what to say.
The memory of Emily's knowing smile when she'd handed me this "gift" made my cheeks burn hotter. She'd been so casual about it, like passing along lingerie designed to seduce your husband was just another friendly suggestion. Like buying coffee or recommending a good book.
"Trust me," she'd said with that conspiratorial wink. "Sometimes men need a little visual encouragement. Even the most... traditional marriages can benefit from some creative inspiration."
At the time, it had seemed mortifying but harmless. Emily was pregnant and glowing with marital happiness—maybe she knew something I didn't about keeping husbands interested. But now, after what had just happened in Vito's office, her innocent advice felt like it had pushed me off a cliff I hadn't even realized I was standing on.
I sank onto the edge of my bed, still holding the corset like it might explode.
But I found I couldn't refuse Vito.
That was the problem, wasn't it? When he'd looked at me with those dark eyes and commanded me to put this on, when his voice had dropped to that dangerous whisper that made my knees weak, I'd been completely unable to say no.
Not because I was afraid of him. Well, not entirely.
But because some treacherous part of me wanted to say yes.
I set the corset down beside me and stared at it. The delicate lace was beautiful, intricate patterns of roses and vines that probably cost more than most people spent on rent. It was designed to enhance, to entice, to transform its wearer into something irresistible.
The question was: did I want to be irresistible to Vito Romano?
But what if I'm more proactive? Could that make Vito less suspicious? Ease the tension between us?
The thought had been lurking in the back of my mind ever since those awkward questions about my college professors. Vito was getting suspicious—I could feel it in the way he watched me, the careful probing disguised as casual conversation.
Maybe Emily had been right. Maybe what our marriage needed wasn't more distance, but less. Maybe if I could convince him that I was attracted to him, that I wanted this relationship to work, he'd stop looking for cracks in my story.
I picked up the corset again, feeling the silk lining against my fingertips.
Could I actually do this?
The memory of our wedding night flooded back—the way his hands had felt on my skin, the heat of his mouth, the shocking intensity of my own response. That hadn't been fake. The attraction between us, whatever else was built on lies, that part was real.
Maybe it was time to stop fighting it.
I stood up and walked to my mirror, holding the corset up against my body. The black lace was striking against my pale skin, and I could already imagine how it would look when properly fitted. How it would make me look.
How it would make Vito look at me.
Intimate action. I knelt down to help Vito.
The thought made my pulse race, but not entirely from nervousness. There was anticipation there too, and a heat I didn't want to examine too closely.
I'd spent weeks walking on eggshells around him, trying to be the perfect wife while maintaining enough distance to protect my heart. But what if I stopped protecting myself? What if I took Emily's advice and became the kind of wife who made her husband lose control?
What if I made him want me enough that he stopped questioning who I really was?
Twenty minutes later, I stood in front of my full-length mirror, barely recognizing myself.
The corset fit perfectly—Emily had somehow guessed my size exactly—and the effect was dramatic. The structured bodice lifted and enhanced my curves while the delicate lace created an illusion of both coverage and revelation. I'd left my hair loose around my shoulders and added just a hint of lipstick.
I looked like someone's fantasy. Like a woman who knew exactly what she wanted and wasn't afraid to ask for it.
God, what am I doing?
But even as the doubt crept in, I found myself heading for the door. My bare feet were silent on the marble floors as I made my way through the darkened hallways toward Vito's study.
I could see light spilling from beneath his door, and I paused outside, my hand on the handle. This was it. The moment where I either backed down and ran back to my room like a coward, or I walked through that door and changed everything between us.
Be proactive. Make him trust you. Make him want you.
I took a deep breath and opened the door.
Vito was behind his desk, still in his wheelchair, papers spread out in front of him. But the moment I stepped into the room, his attention snapped to me with laser focus.
He tilted his head slightly, as if listening, then turned toward my voice. Even though he couldn't see me, I felt exposed under his attention, as if he could sense exactly what I was wearing through some other sense entirely.
"Isabella." My name—or the name he thought was mine—came out rougher than usual. His hands paused over the papers, fingers twitching slightly. "You're not wearing much, are you?"
Heat flooded my cheeks. Could he tell just from the sound of my breathing? The way my bare feet had moved across the floor?
"You said I should try on Emily's gift," I said, proud of how steady my voice sounded despite the way my heart was racing. "I thought you might want to... feel how it looks."
"Come here."
The command in his voice sent a shiver through me, but I obeyed, crossing the room until I stood directly in front of his desk. Close enough that he could reach out and touch me if he wanted to.
"Come closer," he said quietly. "Let me feel what Emily chose for you."
I stepped forward until I was within arm's reach. His hand lifted, hovering in the air for a moment before finding my waist. His fingers traced the structured bodice of the corset, following the delicate lacework with surprising gentleness.
"Beautiful," he murmured.
"Does it... please you?" The question slipped out before I could stop it, and I felt heat flood my cheeks at my own boldness.
"Very much." He reached out and caught my wrist, pulling me closer until I was standing right beside his wheelchair. "But I think there's still something missing."
"What?"
Instead of answering, he tugged gently on my wrist, and somehow I found myself sinking to my knees beside his chair. The marble floor was cool against my skin, and from this position, he seemed even more imposing, more powerful.
"This," he said softly, his hand threading through my hair. "You, exactly like this."
I looked up at him, my breath catching at the intensity in his expression. Even behind those dark glasses, I could feel the weight of his gaze, the heat of his attention focused entirely on me.
"Vito," I whispered, not even sure what I was asking for.
"You came to me," he reminded me, his fingers still tangled in my hair. "Wearing that. Kneeling beside me. Tell me what you want, Isabella."
What do I want?
My hands were trembling as I reached for the belt of his pants, but I didn't hesitate. Emily had been right—sometimes you had to take what you wanted. Sometimes you had to stop waiting for permission and just act.
And as Vito's breath hitched at my touch, as his hand tightened in my hair, I realized that maybe I'd been approaching this all wrong.