Chapter 6

Mature content ahead, skip if you're uncomfortable 

Author's POV,

The room was humming with polished laughter, clinking glasses, and the kind of superficial charm only wealthy parties could manage. Matteo stood at the far end of the ballroom, nursing a drink that had long since lost its edge. His gaze was locked on Aurelia.

She was everything she was supposed to be — poised, polite, beautiful in that restrained, untouchable way. But something was different now. It wasn't just her quietness or how she didn't look at him like she used to. It was how she didn't look at him at all.

No matter what he did — small jabs, cold glances, dancing a little too close to May when the music began — Aurelia didn't react. She just played her part with mechanical precision. Like a ghost moving through a house, she didn't believe in anymore.

And Matteo hated it.

He hated her calm. He hated the way it made his chest tighten. He hated that she was slipping through his fingers without screaming, without even trying to be held.

By the time the evening was halfway over, Matteo had already poured himself into four or five glasses too many. His movements were slower, his tongue looser, and his thoughts increasingly irrational. He could feel eyes on him — always did when May was around. But all he could focus on was her.

Aurelia.

They were escorted to a five-star hotel that night — a formality after the charity gala, offered to all elite guests by the host. Matteo said nothing as they entered the room together. Aurelia didn't either. They were simply husband and wife on paper. On display. And now, behind closed doors, they didn't even have the audience to fake it for.

She began removing her earrings in silence.

Matteo closed the door behind them harder than necessary.

"You're really going to keep doing this?" he asked, his voice low and bitter. "Pretending you're unbothered? That nothing gets to you anymore?"

She didn't answer. Just set her earrings down and moved to the vanity to wipe her makeup off.

He approached slowly, the smell of scotch and fury heavy on his breath. "Say something."

Aurelia looked at him in the mirror. Her reflection didn't flinch.

"There's nothing left to say."

Something in him cracked.

"No — you don't get to be the one who walks away," he snapped. "Not after you clung to this marriage like a badge for so long. Not after everything I— we—"

Her chair scraped the floor as she stood. "What, Matteo? After everything you did to push me away?"

He reached for her wrist without thinking. Not harshly, but firm. "You think you're punishing me by going quiet? By making me guess what's in your head now? This isn't strength, Aurelia. It's cowardice."

She tried to pull back. "Let go."

"I'm not done."

"But I am," she said coldly.

The words stung more than he expected. Matteo's fingers loosened, but he didn't back off. The fire in her voice wasn't heat — it was ice. Pure detachment. And for the first time, he felt fear.

Fear of losing control.
Fear of losing her — fully, finally.

She turned away, but he caught her again, this time not as tightly. His voice dropped, unsure now, lower than a whisper. "Don't do this."

Aurelia froze at the sound of his voice. Not the anger. But the edge of vulnerability behind it.

That's what made her pause.

When she looked up at him, something in Matteo's eyes wasn't rage or pride. It was a flicker of desperation. A man drowning — too proud to call it that. They stood there, inches apart. Breathing the same air. Bound by something ruined — and still unfinished.

When Matteo leaned in, she didn't move.

He kissed her.

It wasn't gentle.

It wasn't rough.

It was confused. Raw. Emotionally clumsy.

Aurelia didn't kiss him back at first — her body was frozen with disbelief. But his hand moved to her face, cradling her cheek with a softness that didn't match the venom he usually spat. Something inside her — old, tired, aching — cracked.

And in that moment of weakness, in that flicker of grief disguised as surrender, she let herself kiss him back.

Not because she loved him.

Not because she wanted him.

But because some part of her still remembered what it felt like before it all broke.

Clothes came off. Not urgently, not passionately — just with the need to feel something other than numb.

Clothes came off slowly, deliberately — each piece a silent negotiation between desire and desperation. Matteo's fingers traced the zipper of her dress, his touch burning through the silk as it pooled at her feet. The air between them crackled with unspoken hunger, years of tension finally finding release.

Aurelia's hands moved to his shirt, her fingers trembling as she undid each button. The moment her palms pressed against his bare chest, feeling the rapid rhythm of his heartbeat, something primal awakened in both of them.

When their bodies finally met on the mattress, the silence was electric. It had been ages since they'd touched — truly touched — and every nerve ending seemed to remember and forget simultaneously. Tonight, something had shifted. Not in words, not even in glances, but in the way Matteo's hands mapped her body like sacred territory.

For the first time in what felt like lifetimes, he looked at her like she was the only woman in existence.

His mouth found hers again, deeper this time, tongues dancing in a rhythm that spoke of desperation and need. She could taste the scotch on his lips, smell his cologne mixed with something uniquely him — a scent that made her body respond despite her mind's protests.

Matteo's hands roamed her curves with newfound reverence, fingers trailing fire across her skin. When he cupped her breast, she gasped against his mouth, her back arching involuntarily. The sound sent blood rushing south, and he groaned, his thumb circling her nipple until it peaked under his touch.

"God, Aurelia," he whispered against her throat, his voice rough with desire. His lips traced a burning path down her neck, teeth grazing her pulse point until she shivered beneath him.

Her hands fisted in his hair as he lavished attention on her breasts, his tongue swirling around each sensitive peak before drawing it into his mouth. The wet heat of his lips sent shockwaves through her core, and she couldn't suppress the soft moan that escaped her lips.

Matteo's hand slid down her body, fingers dancing across her inner thigh with maddening slowness. When he finally touched her where she ached most, she was already slick with desire. His touch was gentle but insistent, fingers stroking and circling until she was writhing beneath him.

"You're so wet," he murmured against her skin, his voice thick with satisfaction and need. "So beautiful like this."

She could only whimper in response as he continued his sensual assault, his mouth and hands working in perfect harmony to drive her to the edge of madness. When his lips found the small mole beneath her ribcage — the one only he knew about — he lavished it with attention, sucking and licking until she was gasping his name.

The sound of his name on her lips nearly undid him. Matteo positioned himself above her, his eyes locked with hers as he slowly entered her. The feeling of being joined with her again after so long was overwhelming — tight, hot, perfect.

They moved together in a rhythm that transcended their broken marriage, their bodies remembering what their hearts had tried to forget. Each thrust was deep and purposeful, building a fire that threatened to consume them both.

Aurelia's legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper, her nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure built within her. Matteo's mouth found her ear, his breath hot against her skin as he whispered words of desire and need.

"You feel so good," he groaned, his movements becoming more urgent. "So perfect. I've missed this... missed you."

She could feel herself climbing toward release, her body tightening around him as he hit that perfect spot again and again. When his thumb found her sensitive bundle of nerves, applying just the right pressure, she shattered beneath him with a cry that echoed through the room.

The feeling of her climaxing around him sent Matteo over the edge. His thrusts became erratic, desperate, as he chased his own release. When it finally claimed him, he buried his face in her neck, his body shuddering with the intensity of it.

But in that moment of complete surrender, when his defenses were down and his mind clouded with pleasure, a name slipped from his lips like a betrayal.

"May..."

The word hung in the air like a death sentence.

Aurelia froze beneath him, her body going rigid as the reality of what had just happened crashed over her. The warmth that had been building between them died instantly, replaced by a cold that cut deeper than any physical pain.

No sob. No gasp. No protest.

Just devastating stillness.

As Matteo's breathing gradually returned to normal, seemingly unaware of what he'd done, Aurelia slowly turned away from him. Her movements were careful, controlled — the actions of a woman who had just had her heart broken all over again.

Not because of pain.

But because there was nothing left to feel.

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