A few minutes later.
About ten minutes had passed. Lorenzo had remained locked in his room, his expression dark, while Chloé was still lying on the floor, motionless, in the same position. Her pale face contrasted with her long hair scattered around her. She looked like an abandoned doll—fragile, completely vulnerable.
The hallway, drowned in a heavy silence, barely echoed the faint breath of the young woman.
That's when footsteps resounded. Marco and Fabio, Lorenzo's inseparable buddies, appeared in the hallway. They froze instantly, eyes widened at the sight of Chloé lying there, unconscious.
Marco and Fabio (shocked, at the same time)
"Who the hell is this girl???!"
Fabio (curious, frowning)
"What's this chick doing lying on the floor like that? Lorenzo isn't here or what?"
Without waiting, they approached her. Marco crouched down beside Chloé. He gently moved a strand of hair stuck to her cheek to see her face better. His gaze froze. He stayed there, stunned, studying every feature as if trying to understand her just by looking. A hint of worry crossed his hardened eyes.
Fabio remained standing, arms crossed, near Lorenzo's door. He was about to open it, but it suddenly swung wide. Lorenzo appeared, already dressed in fitted black pants and a half-open white shirt revealing part of his chest. His closed expression and furrowed brows made his presence instantly intimidating.
Fabio lifted his eyes toward him, still intrigued.
Fabio (curious, staring)
"Bro, who's this girl? You—"
Lorenzo (rough voice, detached)
"She's the kid my father picked for me as a wife."
Fabio's eyes widened instantly.
Fabio (surprised, nearly laughing)
"Bro, and you just left her unconscious like that? Seriously, that's messed up. What did this pretty doll do to you? Man, you're actually cruel."
Lorenzo (annoyed)
"That kid gets on my nerves. I'm getting out of here."
His gaze suddenly locked onto Marco—who had just slid a hand under Chloé's back and the other under her legs, lifting her gently like a princess.
Unconscious, Chloé's head fell slightly against his chest. Marco held her tighter, his dark eyes fixed on Lorenzo.
Marco (serious, firm)
"Dude… what you're doing is really not okay. The girl is unconscious, and you're acting like you don't give a damn?"
Silence fell in the hallway. Fabio shot nervous glances between the two friends, sensing things could escalate quickly. Marco didn't take his eyes off Chloé, his features softened by genuine concern, while Lorenzo, arms crossed, wore that mix of arrogance and indifference that made him even more unbearable.
Lorenzo (imposing voice)
"Did I ask you to touch my wife? Huh? Did I give you permission to pick her up like that, in front of me?"
Marco held his stare, tightening his arms slightly around Chloé. The silence grew heavier until Fabio sighed and cut in.
Fabio (sighing)
"Chill, boss. He's just trying to help her. You're always in tough-guy mode, but come on—we weren't going to leave her dying in the hallway. Someone had to do something. Let's at least call a doctor."
Marco (firmly)
"If you don't care to do it, then I'll take care of her. Just tell me where her room is."
Lorenzo (imposing)
"Put her in her room. And next time, if you touch her again, I'll rip your arms off. My girl—you can look at her from afar, but you don't touch her."
Marco and Fabio exchanged a look—half annoyed, half amused by their friend's brutal jealousy. But Lorenzo wasn't joking. With a sharp gesture, he opened Chloé's bedroom door. The handle slammed against the wall.
Marco entered, still holding Chloé. He approached the bed, climbed onto it gently, and laid her down carefully on her back. His gaze lingered a few seconds on her pale face, her slightly parted lips, her lashes stuck with tears. He swallowed hard, then looked away, feeling Lorenzo's burning, threatening stare behind him.
He stood up, left the room, and closed the door softly before turning to face Lorenzo.
Marco (serious)
"So what now? You're just going to leave her like this and go out? You realize she's not sleeping, right? She's unconscious! And that red mark on her neck—did you strangle her or what?"
Lorenzo (furious)
"Mind your own damn business, bro! She's my wife. Whatever I do or don't do to her is NOT your fucking problem!"
Marco raised his hands to calm the tension, his tone softening.
Marco (calm)
"Okay, chill dude, I'm not trying to provoke you. So… we going or not?"
Lorenzo inhaled loudly, the veins in his neck still bulging, then finally answered with a voice colder than calm:
Lorenzo (slightly calmer)
"We're going."
The three friends left the hallway, went down the stairs, crossed the living room, and stepped outside. A few seconds later, they slid into Lorenzo's car.
At the wheel, Lorenzo gripped it so hard his knuckles turned white. Eyes fixed on the road, jaw clenched, he drove like a madman, devouring the asphalt.
In the back, Fabio laughed quietly at messages on his phone, completely indifferent to the tension. Marco sat with arms crossed, gaze lost, unable to erase Chloé's image from his mind.
His thoughts echoed heavily.
Marco (inner voice)
Damn… she's really cute. And that's who his dad gave to Lorenzo? Seriously… that dude doesn't even know how to love. He commands, he owns, he fucks, and then he discards. That's not a husband, that's a hardcore bad boy. Honestly, his father screwed up giving a girl like her to a guy like him. Poor thing… she's too innocent, too pretty to put up with Lorenzo.
---
Hours later
In Chloé's bedroom.
An older man wearing a doctor's coat stood by the bed. His stern face revealed worry and impatience. He watched Chloé closely, waiting for even the smallest sign of awakening.
Chloé, still lying down, looked fragile and broken. An IV was attached to her arm, and an oxygen mask covered her delicate face. Her chest rose lightly—each breath seemed to cost her effort.
---
Flashback
A few hours earlier.
After his shower, Lorenzo came out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist. Water dripped down his sculpted torso. He walked toward his bedroom door, opened it, and paused.
His dark eyes fell on Chloé, lying on the floor, motionless. His lips tightened slightly, but no real emotion crossed his face. Just that indifference—that coldness—that defined him as the unpredictable, hard-edged bad boy he was.
Then, without a word, he looked away, shut the door, and walked to his bed. He grabbed his phone, quickly dialed a number. Seconds later, someone picked up.
Lorenzo (imposing, cold voice)
"Come to my house immediately. My wife fainted."
Voice (respectful)
"Yes, sir. I'll be there in a few minutes."
Lorenzo hung up sharply, tossed the phone aside, and calmly got dressed as if nothing had happened.
---
End of flashback
The doctor noticed a slight movement. Chloé's hand had just twitched. He approached instantly, eyes fixed on her. She slowly opened her eyelids—her vision blurry and heavy.
He sat on the edge of the bed and gently removed the oxygen mask.
Doctor (curious)
"Madam, can you breathe properly?"
Chloé nodded weakly. Her breath was short but steady.
Doctor (professional)
"Good. Are you hurting anywhere?"
Her trembling hand rose to her neck—where Lorenzo had gripped her. The area was red, marked like a rope burn. The doctor frowned slightly but remained professional.
Doctor (reassuring)
"Don't worry. The pain will fade away. I already gave you painkillers. In a few days, it'll be gone."
Chloé nodded, unable to speak. Her eyelids grew heavy again—exhaustion pulling her back down. She closed her eyes gently. The doctor, reassured, gathered his things and left the room. Before closing the door, he took one last glance at her, then disappeared silently.
---
Chloé (inner voice)
I just woke up… first news: I'm not dead. Thank you, Lord. You didn't let me die stupidly in that monster's hands.
Seriously, I don't get it… what did I do to deserve this? Since I got here, it's slap after slap—like it's his favorite sport. My cheeks feel like radiators; they're always burning.
And as if that wasn't enough, mister bad boy decided to try strangling me today. Like… hello?? The dude literally tried to choke me. Calmly. As if it was normal.
And his father dares say this man will protect me? Him? This monster? I'm terrified of him now. I thought I was going to die. I saw my life flash before my eyes. I wasn't ready.
Thank God the doctor came… but who called him? Lorenzo's mother? The maid? Whoever it was—may God bless them. Because if it were up to Lorenzo, I'd already have a quick burial in his backyard.
One thing is certain: I hate him. I hate him with all my soul. He can't protect, he can't love. He only knows violence. He terrifies me, but I won't let him think I'm weak. No way.
---
Meanwhile, at Chloé's house
Her father, Giovanni, sat in his armchair, a small notebook in his hands, a trembling pen between his fingers. His flushed face wasn't anger—it was pain. Every heartbeat pounded violently in his chest. Sweat dripped from his forehead; his entire body shook as if consumed by an invisible fever.
His hands trembled so badly he struggled to write, but he persisted—as if every word on the page held his last hope. Tears filled his eyes.
Giovanni (crying, broken voice)
"Forgive me, sweetheart… forgive me, my daughter. I never told you the truth, but I know… I know that man will protect you… from your mother."
His throat tightened; his body slumped against the chair, hands gripping his notebook.
---
Flashback — Months earlier
Giovanni was driving calmly along a tree-lined road, one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift. The engine hummed softly. On the passenger seat, his phone vibrated.
He glanced at it, frowning at an unknown number. After hesitating, he picked it up and answered.
Giovanni (curious)
"Hello? Who's this?"
A woman's voice—deep, assured—echoed through the phone.
Voice
"It's me, Giovanni… don't you recognize me?"
The second he heard those words, Giovanni's fingers tightened on the wheel. His heart skipped a beat. He braked abruptly, the car stopping in the middle of the road. His breath caught, his eyes widened.
Giovanni (shaky voice)
"Aurore? Aurore… is that you?"
Aurore (imposing voice, with a cold smile)
"Yes, it's me. Time passes, but clearly you didn't forget me. I'm flattered."
A burning sadness spread across Giovanni's face. A tear slipped down his cheek. His throat tightened; speaking became hard. Questions he had buried for years resurfaced violently.
Giovanni (broken, breathless)
"Why, Aurore? Why did you leave? Was it because I was poor? You know… our daughter is turning eighteen soon. Don't you ever think about her? Don't you miss her?"
A soft, cold laugh echoed in his ear.
Aurore (amused, almost mocking)
"Oh, Giovanni… stop asking useless questions. You know very well I never tolerated that miserable life with you. And that child—I never wanted her. If it hadn't been you, I would've never kept the pregnancy. But now… she'll finally serve a purpose. She'll be my ultimate weapon in the world she belongs to."
Giovanni's face drained of color. His fingers whitened around the phone.
Giovanni (yelling, panicked)
"WHAT??? What are you saying?! What world? Aurore—what do you mean?!"
Aurore (glacial, powerful)
"I called to inform you, Giovanni. On her eighteenth birthday, I'll come get my daughter. And neither you nor anyone else will stop me."
Giovanni (heart racing, broken)
"You… what are you going to do? What are you talking about, Aurore?!"
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The call had ended. Silence filled the car. Giovanni remained frozen, phone against his ear, hands trembling, breath short. Aurore's words echoed through his skull like a curse.
His body convulsed; his eyes rolled back. Seconds later, he collapsed unconscious in his seat.
He forgot one thing: when he slammed the brakes, his car had stopped in the middle of the road. Behind him, a long line of cars had formed. Horns blared angrily.
Driver (furious)
"Hey! Move it, damn it!"
Insults filled the air; some drivers shouted through their windows, others pounded their steering wheels. No one imagined the man in the stopped car was unconscious.
A car door slammed farther back. A young man stepped out, his face stone cold, fists clenched. His dark eyes burned with impatience and anger. Every step he took radiated intensity.
He reached Giovanni's window, leaned in—and froze at the sight of Giovanni's pale, lifeless-looking face.
Man (surprised, frowning)
"What the hell? Is this guy dead or what?"
Without hesitation, with a sudden brutal gesture, he grabbed the door handle—
and ripped it clean off.
Metal screeched, the door crashed to the ground, and screams erupted across the traffic line.
A murmur rose among the drivers.
He checked Giovanni's pulse with chilling precision. Relief flickered in his eyes.
Man (cold, clipped)
"He's still breathing."
Without another thought, he slid his arms under Giovanni's body and lifted him easily—
as if he weighed nothing.
He carried him back to his own car, laid him gently in the back seat—surprisingly gentle compared to his earlier strength—and shut the door.
Then he returned to Giovanni's car, climbed in, started it, and maneuvered it to the roadside, clearing the traffic.
Seconds later, he sprinted back to his own vehicle, got in, and sped off, disappearing with a screech of tires—
leaving behind stunned witnesses who had no idea what kind of man they had just seen.
---
To be continued…