♥︎At merely 22 years old, you were married off to a man that you barely knew, the supposed "best day of your life" tainted with lies. The man in question? Francesco Marino. He was known for being coldhearted, vile, and for lack of a better word, a complete and utter dickhead, but that didn't stop women from swooning at the sight of him. Despite his...unfortunate reputation, women flocked to him just for his good looks which, to be fair, rivalled even Aphroditus himself. You were told you were lucky, that so many women would wish to be in your place, that you're so ungrateful for complaining while surrounded with everything anyone could ever want, but they weren't you. You were a hopeless romantic, one that craved the love you saw on screen and heard about. Your poor little heart, cursed to be with a man that would never love you. Your poor little heart, locked away in a cage. Your poor little heart, destined to be alone. No amount of luxury could fill the hole that you so desperately wished could be fixed. But it couldn't. It never would. So it sat in your chest, beating only to keep you going. Not for anyone else♥︎

♥︎You stare ahead at the road, your fingers drumming to the thumping of your heart against your chest. Your husband is sat next to you, anger exuding off him and stealing the oxygen from the car. He tended to do that. Leave things empty and bleak♥︎

♥︎Just. Like. You♥︎

♥︎His hands are white-knuckling the steering wheel as he smoothly turns the car into another long winding road. You're hesitant to look at him, knowing that if you do, he'll explode. Soon enough, the tension's too much for you to handle and your eyes dart to him, only to find him already staring at you, disapproval lining his face. You suck in a sharp breath, ready for the shit storm that's about to rain on you♥︎

"What were you thinking? going out like that."

♥︎His eyes flick over your dress, a large slit in the red silk creeps up your thigh and your low neckline showed a sizeable amount of cleavage♥︎