Chapter 4 Tamed on Paper

Giulia kept her eyes fixed on the paper, her fingers pressing hard against the edge of the page, enough to crease it. With every new clause she read, it felt as if she were being pushed into an invisible cell — one without bars, but with walls built entirely of humiliation.

“The wife must dress according to the desires and preferences of Vicenzo Moretti, including at both private and public events.”

“She must accompany him to clubs, parties, and sexually oriented gatherings, including BDSM environments, whenever requested, and participate in any activity proposed by him, with no right to refuse.”

“She must maintain a polite, compliant, and respectful demeanor toward any companion or lover Vicenzo may keep during the marriage.”

“She may not demand exclusivity, affection, or reciprocity.”

“Any act of disobedience shall be punished at the sole discretion of Vicenzo Moretti.”

Her hand trembled with rage, her jaw locked, her eyes still glued to the page as if she could burn those words into ash by staring at them long enough. For a split second, she imagined shoving the entire contract down Vicenzo’s throat, forcing him to choke on every filthy line he had ordered drafted — every command disguised as a clause, every humiliation written with cold precision and pleasure.

She had grown up treated like royalty, surrounded by men who protected her, obeyed her, feared her. She had never needed to bow to anyone, never accepted being ordered around, never been shaped to obey. And now she was facing a piece of paper that demanded exactly that — that she be submissive, silent, decorative, an obedient shadow at the side of a man who despised her.

She drew a slow breath, her shoulders tense, blinking deliberately as she fought the urge to tear everything apart and walk away. But then Luca’s name hit her like a hard punch to the gut. And she remembered why she was there. Why she hadn’t turned her back and left. Why she was still enduring this.

It was for him. For justice. For the truth.

And if the price was signing that paper, then so be it. Because signing didn’t mean obeying. And she wasn’t the kind of woman who bent just because someone thought they could command her.

She lifted her face, met Vicenzo’s eyes, and smiled — not sweet, not resigned, but cold, venom-laced. A clear warning that he might think he was winning, but he had no idea what he had just unleashed.

“Where’s the pen? I’ll sign.”

Inside, the promise was sharp and simple:

Vicenzo Moretti is about to learn that I’m too feral to be tamed.

Her smile unsettled him, and Vicenzo realized it the instant the corner of her mouth curved. He had expected hesitation. Fear. Tears. Pleas. Instead, there was Giulia Salvatore, looking at him as if she were in control — as if the contract were just another piece on her board.

It irritated him more than he cared to admit.

He kept his face impassive, but his gaze hardened. Without a word, he pulled a pen from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and held it out to her, fingers steady, the gesture controlled — like he was handing over a loaded weapon.

Giulia took the pen firmly, her eyes still locked on his, and signed. Line by line. Name by name. Without hesitation. Without looking away. Like someone who knew exactly what she was doing. Like someone who didn’t fear war.

When she finished, she dropped the pen onto the desk with a sharp click, her shoulders loosening as if she’d just driven a stake straight into an enemy’s chest.

It was done.

But she wasn’t his.

And he had no idea what he had just bought.

Vicenzo watched in silence as Giulia signed the contract. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He followed every stroke of the pen with an unblinking stare, as if waiting for her to falter, to hesitate, to break.

She didn’t.

When she finished, she let go of the pen and stood. He picked up the paper calmly, folded it, and slid it into the inside pocket of his jacket. Only then did he speak, not holding her gaze for more than a second.

“Welcome to hell, Giulia. A hell you created yourself.”

She didn’t reply.

“We have a press conference in three hours. Someone will come get you ready. Don’t cause problems.”

He left the room without waiting for a response. The door slammed shut, and the silence that followed was nothing new to her.

Giulia remained seated, motionless, her eyes fixed on the floor, in no rush to move. The contract was signed, but the weight pressing on her chest wasn’t about that.

It was something else. Something old. Something personal.

For the thousandth time, she wondered why Vicenzo hated her so much.

The memory came effortlessly.

She still remembered the day Luca took her to meet his friends. They were at an upscale restaurant, the kind with dim lighting and discreet waiters. She had been nervous but excited. She wanted to make a good impression. Wanted them to like her. More than anything, she wanted Vicenzo to like her.

Luca introduced her with a light, almost proud smile.

“This is Giulia.”

She extended her hand politely, trying to keep her composure. Vicenzo looked at her for a single second, turned his back, and walked out without saying a word. He didn’t even give her the chance to speak.

He never came back.

She stood there with her hand suspended far too long. When she finally lowered it, she tried to mask the embarrassment with a weak smile. She had never wanted to please someone so badly — and never felt so rejected with so little effort.

She knew how important Vicenzo was to Luca. She knew his opinion carried weight. And still, he treated her like a mistake.

Luca smiled at her, trying to keep things light.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Rafael, the other friend, looked at her like she was a problem. He wasn’t friendly, but he didn’t leave either. He simply said, his voice low and dry:

“They’ll work it out. Don’t worry.”

But Luca came back alone.

The rest of the night was tense. Dragging conversations. Forced smiles. And when she asked, later in the car, why Vicenzo didn’t like her, Luca answered without looking at her.

“That’s just how he is. He has his reasons.”

A harder knock at the door pulled her out of her thoughts. She stood slowly, walked over, and opened it. As expected, it was the woman assigned to prepare her for the press conference.

Giulia hadn’t gotten ready in a long time. She didn’t protest. She sat and let them wash her hair, brush it, style it. The makeup was done carefully, understated. When they finished, they showed her a white dress — sleek, fitted, sexy, elegant.

They said it was the outfit Vicenzo had chosen.

She nodded slightly.

“I’ll get dressed on my own.”

The woman hesitated.

“He asked that I take you ready to the press room.”

Giulia smiled — one of those smiles she’d mastered since childhood. The kind that opened doors, unraveled orders, convinced people of anything.

“I promise I’ll be ready. I just need one minute.”

The woman relented. Left without pushing further.

The moment the door closed, Giulia walked to her suitcase, unzipped it, and pulled out a black dress. Short. Tight. Provocative. A dress that said exactly what she wanted without a single word.

Dressed to kill.

She studied herself in the mirror, satisfied with the small act of rebellion. Took a deep breath, adjusted her hair with her fingers — and only then left the room, heading toward the press hall.

The press conference was his.

But the show would be hers.