Chapter 7 Chapter Seven
One solid minute passes in dead silence.
Two.
Three.
Okay, this is starting to piss me off.
He still hasn’t said anything or moved an inch from where he stands. The only thing unchanged is his glare, fixed on me.
Didn’t he hear me? Why is he still standing there, staring at me like a fucking mute?
Annoyance and frustration course through me in every direction, and I repeat, more firmly than last, my eyes glinting with determination, "I said I want an annulment, Mr. Sorrentino."
After what feels like an eternity of eye contact contest, he finally speaks, nonchalance lacing his monotonous response.
"No."
My brows knit in confusion, and I retort sharply, "The fuck you mean ‘No’? I said I want an annulment. I want out of this marriage."
"And I said no, you’re not getting what you want." He tells me, undeterred. He regards me again and adds, "And I advise you to watch your language from now on, mi eposa. I have zero tolerance for brats."
This makes me even angrier. I should be terrified of him, but I’m long past that. All I want right now is to leave this place. To return to Los Angeles. Why the hell is he telling me I can’t?
Come to think of it, I was never meant to be his bride. My sister was. Maybe I should remind him of that.
Gathering my wits, I say more calmly, hoping he’ll actually listen this time, "I’m not a brat and I’m most definitely not your ‘mi eposa.’ This is all a misunderstanding. I mean this marriage."
"It isn’t to me," he asserts. "You married me willingly."
I point out desperately, shaking my head. "That's the thing, that's the thing right there. What I did was a mistake. I was covering for someone—my sister. She’s the one who was supposed to be your bride, okay? I only stepped in yesterday when she chickened out. No, she begged me to—"
"So what’s your point exactly?" he cuts me off.
"My point is I was never meant to be your bride," I say, pointing at myself. "Okay? My sister is. And she’s still very much available for you to go after. As for me, I’m not. I have a whole life elsewhere. So if you’d just let me leave in peace… thank you very much."
He nods thoughtfully, and I think he’s finally seen my point. That we’ve reached an understanding. Thank God.
Phew.
Just as I’m about to release a sigh of relief, he all but detonates my newly found hope.
"That’s not happening."
My brows furrow deeply, bewilderment washing over my face. "What? Why the fuck not?"
"It’s too late."
"What do you mean it’s too late? It’s only been two days. You can easily reverse this. I know the deal you made with my father. All you have to do is tell him I was never the one you wanted—Skylar is."
"Who is Skylar?"
I frown and huff the answer. "My sister."
"Exactly my point, mi eposa. I don’t even know who that person is, so there’s no way she would have been the one I originally wanted." His lips lift into a sinister smirk, and I figuratively hear my heart break into pieces.
He’s not taking this seriously, is he?
He has no intention whatsoever of letting me go. No, he wouldn’t.
I feel anger bubbling in my veins. I’m reaching my breaking point, and I swear to fuck if this man doesn’t take me seriously—doesn’t offer a real alternative before letting me go—I’ll do something crazy right here and now.
He speaks, but I don’t hear it. My ears are clogged with rage, my fingers drumming against my hips as I glare at him.
I draw in a sharp breath, trying to calm myself down. For reasons I already know, I feel even more suffocated now than before. You don’t understand how badly I want to get away from this man.
He’s a murderer, for crying out loud!
By the time I finally regain my composure, I speak defiantly, totally forgetting Skylar’s warning about the man’s reaction to defiance—and also forgetting what he did to me last night.
"Let me go, Mr. Sorrentino. Let me go." I’m not asking.
"No." He replies coldly.
My heart twinges, my voice breaking. "Why are you doing this? Are you seriously going to force me to marry you against my will?"
"That’s the thing, baby," he shrugs cockily, "we’re already married."
A lump clogs my throat at the nickname he just called me, goosebumps erupting across my skin.
Baby?
Isn’t it a little too early for that? And why the hell does he seem to be enjoying this?
I want to speak but all of a sudden, I can’t. His gaze pins mine from across the room, and I feel a symphony of emotions pulsing through me. I know it’s not just the synonyms of rage. Some other emotion I can’t explain is mixed with it.
I nibble on my lower lip as I continue staring at him. But really, I can barely see him. Pressure builds behind my eyes and my vision blurs with moisture.
Reality dawns on me again as I recall his dark past. And to compound my misery, this man clearly has no plans of letting me go. He keeps bringing up the fact that we’re married—my fate sealed.
Every broken piece of betrayal I once felt comes rushing back, stabbing at my heart as I realize who’s really responsible for this — the family who deceived me.
My fucking sister, who blackmailed me into something I never wanted. Something I never saw coming.
My heart aches so much, it feels like the cruel knife of reality has slashed through it.
A tear rolls down my cheek as my face contorts bitterly. I plead. No—I beg.
"Please, just let me go. I don’t want any of this." No, what I really meant was I don’t want to die.
I don’t want to meet the same fate as his late wife.
I should hold my ground and remain defiant, but I’m broken. Tired of fighting. I just want out.
The scent of his intoxicating perfume—which my treacherous body is now beginning to warm up to—thickens when he pushes off the entrance, closing the door and strutting toward me.
I gasp quietly, taking a step back. And another, as he keeps advancing with unhurried calm.
A gulp tightens my throat when my back finally hits the hard wall behind me and I realize I have no more space to retreat.
His eyes bore into mine as he gradually eats the distance between us, his imposing frame towering over mine.
He halts in front of me, so close I feel his scent clogging my senses completely.
Tears stream down my face as I drag my eyes away from him and turn my head to the side. I don’t want to look at him. I already feel ashamed for crying in front of a man, talk more of my captor, who I'm now realizing delights in my misery.
"Get away from me," I mutter inaudibly, swallowing hard and ignoring the way my heart keeps thudding loudly as he draws nearer.
Why does he always do the opposite of whatever he’s told?
I’m not supposed to, but I flinch hard when he abruptly raises his hand to my face. This is a result of my traumatic past; I’m still not over it no matter how many therapists I’ve spoken to about it. Fuck me.
Lorenzo must see my reaction because he pauses, his eyes flickering over my face. I can’t tell if he’s fazed or just delighted he’s found a new weakness to exploit.
I highly doubt that.
But then he does something I didn’t expect. My heart clenches the moment his gentle thumb and forefinger capture my chin.
He tilts my face until my blurry eyes meet his again. I want to look away, but his hold is firm—firm enough to make breathing feel like a chore, leaving me with no choice but to look into his soulless eyes.
"Cry all you want, Liora, but you’re not leaving me," he says while swiping my tear-streaked face with his thumb. "I won’t allow it. You’re mine."
This is the first time he’s actually called me by my name. And I must admit, against my better judgment, I liked it better when he used those custom-made nicknames.
Am I supposed to be thinking about this right now?
Didn’t I say I wanted an escape from this man? So why the hell does his touch ignite sparks in me? Why does the depth of his voice vibrate down my spine?
And most importantly, why does his last promise —or threat, really— make my heart tingle with inexplicable sensations?
"And by the time I’m done with you, mi eposa, an annulment will be the last thing on your mind."