My Wife
I closed the door behind me with a quiet click, finally alone in my own space. My room feir smaller somebere, Colder. Like Alessandre’s plesner had followed me down the hall, ruling in the cones, seeping into the
Still clutching the folder, I staggered toward the bed and dropped onto it with a groan. Every inch of me protested, my legs stiff, my back throthing, mused. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever walk normally again. Not that Alessandro seemed to care.
The folder sat on my lap like a loaded weapon. I hadn’t even opened it yet. I stared at it, hands resting on the deck Black comer, my breath coming in shallow pull.
You can be something, or you can be nothing.
His
words echoed in my skoll, sharp and cutting. That was Alessandro. Always ching options that weren’t really choices at all.
I peeled the folder open.
The first page had my name on it; Nikolai Sorrenting typed in bold, impersonalities Beneath it, the logo of his luxury fashion house gleaned in glowy
It felt surreal.
Modeling. For him. For his company.
I flipped through the pages slowly, skimming the dense paragraph Terms. Conditions. Percentages. Image rights. Travel classes. Expectations.
And right at the bottom of one page: All creative control remains with A. Moretti & Associates.
Of come it did.
I let the folder fall to the side and scrubbed a hand down my face. I felt filthy. My skin sticky with sweat and soreness, and my pride scraped raw, Whatever this was whatever we were, it didn’t make sense in the daylight.
I dragged myself to the bathroom, preling off the cowel. Every step was a reminder of how thoroughly Alessandro had taken me. Claimed me.
I slammed the door shut behind me with more force than I intended. My reflection in the mirror stopped me cold.
I looked wrecked.
My hair was a mess, sticking to my forehead and neck. My lips were swollen. There were bruises on my chest, my collarbone, deep ones, shaped like fingers and teeth. Alessandro hadn’t just fucked me. He’d devoured me.
And I let him.
st part.
No I wanted him to. That was the worst
I turned on the shower and stepped in, the hot spray hitting my sore muscles like a slap. I flinched, biting back a sound, but didn’t pall away. I needed this. Needed to scrub off the memory of his hands, his mouth, his everything
But no amount of soap could touch the ache inside me.
I washed slowly, wincing with every movement. My legs were shaky, and the soreness between them was a brutal reminder of everything I’d let him da. Everything I begged for,
By the time I stepped out, steam had filled the bathroom like fog. I dried off and wrapped a towel around my waist, standing there for a second, grounding
myself
By the time I stepped out, wrapped in a new towel, I almost felt human again.
I pulled on loose, soft clothes that didn’t chade, ran a hand through my wet hair, and finally looked at myself in the mirror.
1/3
Still me. Barely
My stomach growled loudly, betraying mr.
I padded out of my room, walking a little better now, even
en if I still winced with ferry step. The hall was quiet. Alessandro was nowhere in sight.
Good
The kitchen smelled like something buttery and warm. When I stepped in, a few of the staff glanced up, hat quickly returned to their tasks. They didn’t im anything. Just slid a plate onto the marble counter, eges, loast, some kind of fancy fruit aangement and a tall glass of orange price beside it.
I muttered a quiet, “Thanks,” and sank to one of the stools, grateful for the silence.
Halfway through my eggs, my phone butred
A new message from Alessandro.
Dress
ing at 11. Your agent will call in ten
Fitting
No Are you okay. Just orders.
I stared at the message. en set the phone down beside my plate and picked up a piece of toast
I was already in it. Might as well see how far it went.
At exactly 10-58, a knock echoed through the house from the entrance door.
I was still nursing the last sip of orange juice, body aching but marginally more alive after food and a long, scalding shower, I didn’t move right away already knew who it would be.
I opened the door to find a woman standing there like she belonged in a Milan runway lineup. Tall, angular, dressed in black from head to toe with a leather folder clutched to her chest and a Bluetooth earpiece tucked in her ear.
“Nikolai Sorrentino?” she asked, not even waiting for confirmation before stepping inside. “I’m your agent. I’m here to collect you.”
She didn’t offer a handshake. No smile, Just turned and walked back down the hall like I was expected to follow her.
| barely had time to grab my phone and slide into sneakers before she was holding the elevator for me.
“I’m Awa,” she said once we were enclosed in the polished metal box. “I be handling your scheduling, press, and public image for Moretti Studios. That includes fittings, campaigns, brand placements, interviews, and whatever Alessandro dreams tip at 1a.m. You do what I say, when I say it. Understood?”
I blinked at her, still processing.”
The elevator doors slid open to the parking level, where a matte black SUV waited with tinted windows and an all–too–familiar aleckness.
alid into the back seat first, and I followed, the doar snapping shut behind me.
“You’ll be fitted today for the spring showcase. Alessandro wants you walking the runway, possibly fronting the campaign if the shots come out right.”
I stared ahead, not at her. “He said I’d be modeling. He didn’t say anything about runways.”
me over the rim of her sunglasses. “Alessandro doesn’t say things. He decades. And you? You agreed the moment you signed that contract.”
She looked at me me
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