Chapter 8

• Chiara
• I was about to walk past him when he grabbed my arm.
• “Divorce? Only in your dreams, Chikko,” he spoke, his eyes locked on mine, his hand still holding mine firmly.
• “What?” I froze. “Who decided that?” I yanked free from his grip.
• He exhaled, his hardened face starting to relax.
• I expected his response, but to my surprise, he spun around in his motorized wheelchair toward the mini table and began looking through the files.
• I blinked, my thoughts spiraling. “What are you doing?” I walked up to him.
• He did not respond. Instead, he grabbed my arm, and when I tried yanking it off, his grip tightened.
• What was this about? What was going on in his deranged mind?
• He did not say a word as his fingers trailed down my arm, stopping at my fingers.
• “Anger doesn’t suit you. You’re trembling, Chikko, and you can’t even hide it,” he muttered, rubbing the ring on my ring finger.
• My forehead furrowed. How did that get there? “Did you put this?”
• He nodded. “Wedding band.”
• “I don’t need it,” I spoke spitefully, then roughly pulled the ring off and threw it at his chest. He caught it.
• “Your sudden care means nothing. None of this matters. You all want nothing more than to use me! It’s only because of what I’ve got to offer. It doesn’t matter if I gain anything or not. As long as you are satisfied, then it’s cool. Keep your apology. I don’t need it,” I ranted. My chest rose and fell too fast.
• This was what they always did. Apologize after messing up my life. Psst.
• I stepped away, then turned my back on him, still fuming with anger. Deep down, all I wanted was to scream and cry about how unlucky I was, but I could not let this murderer see me break. So I bottled up my emotions while thinking of an escape from this.
• The rustling of documents and the rattling of his wheelchair caught my attention, and I spun around.
• “I’m not apologizing because I don’t want or mean to use you. In fact, I need to use you,” he mumbled.
• I blinked, stunned. This arrogant man. How dare he? To think he even said it to my face.
• I reached for the document in his hands, my intention to tear it, but he grabbed my arm, spun me around, and the next second, I was sitting on his lap with both my hands pinned to my back, automatically pressing against his chest. The shock hit me instantly.
• I gasped. How did he do that? One second, I was standing, and the next, I was on his lap. Even without a gun and with his crippled legs, he was not one to mess with.
• “You pervert!” I cursed. “What the hell are you doing?” I wriggled while he tightened his grip around me and on my hands.
• “You’re going to sit still now and listen,” I heard his low, husky whisper in my ear, his breath fanning my earlobe and neck.
• I gulped, my body freezing at that instant. He was not telling me. He was commanding me. And my body? That darned bastard obeyed even when I did not want it to.
• “I’m in a fix, a hard one, and you’re not going to add to it,” he stated, matter-of-factly.
• “I’m adding to nothing. You all forced me into this…”
• “Your family forced you. I wasn’t the one who did,” he cut me off.
• I gnashed my teeth. He was acting like he was not the one who used my fingerprint while I was unconscious.
• “I want a divorce then. Give me a divorce and put an end to all these,” I spoke, shaking my head.
• “That’s it. That’s the problem. I can’t give you a divorce because I need this marriage too badly.” A sigh escaped his lips.
• “Then why does it have to be me?” I turned my head over my shoulder.
• “For the record, I wouldn’t even pick you as a wife…” He bit his lower lip as if regretting his words. “No, I don’t mean it that way.”
• I scoffed, turning away. Even though he was trying to be patient and soft, his arrogance and brattiness still had a way of slipping out without warning.
• “Why does being nice have to be this hard?” I heard him whisper.
• “I meant that I was forced into this, too. You and I,” he pointed at both of us. “Have the same fate… or something like that. But I don’t want this either.”
• “Okay?”
• “I don’t have a choice,” he pressed his lips together tightly.
• “I know you hate this and want out, but I really don’t care because you’re going to help me out. You will,” he deadpanned.
• I did not move, did not even breathe as I watched the devil in front of me speak.
• I thought I was getting married to a murderer. They did not mention that he was demented and a psychopath. I mean, he literally used my fingerprint, locked me in here, and was giving out commands like he literally owned me.
• But I knew better than to refuse one more time. To him, playtime was over, and I knew it. I shut my eyes for a millisecond.
• “What’s my cut? What’s my benefit from all this?” I whispered, enough for him to hear.
• In the heat of the situation, I had to think fast. If I was going to do this, then I had to gain something too, even if it was the chance to soar high like I had always wanted.
• He froze for a second, almost taken aback. “Benefit?”
• I opened my eyes, then nodded. “Yeah. You want this marriage so badly that you’re willing to kill for it. You took my fingerprint without my consent, and you’re refusing a divorce, so it is important.”
• “So?”
• “That is what you gain from this, Mr. Vieri. What do I gain?” I leaned closer.
• Being meek and ranting was not going to get me anywhere. Mr. Vieri screamed danger, the type I could not run from, so I might as well use him. Just try not to die.
• He smirked. “You could have just mentioned this, but you decided to pull a stunt?”
• “What is my cut, Mr. Domenico Vieri?” I raised a brow.
• He sat upright. “What do you want? Say it. Anything.”
• I stilled. Anything? Was he serious? I wanted a lot of things. A whole lot of things, which he looked like he could fulfill, but I had not thought of them all yet.
• “Anything?” I finally spoke.
• He chuckled, then grabbed my fingers and slowly inserted the ring I had thrown at him. “Anything. Is. That. Clear?” He spelled out each word.