The Mafia Boss's Pet Wife

I was still trying to process the events that had brought me to this opulent mansion. The white walls, adorned with golden details, exuded luxury and power, but also a suffocating sense of isolation. It felt as though every piece of furniture, every artwork, was there to remind me that I now belonged to this world-or more precisely, to him.

The sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway, firm and deliberate. It was him. My body tensed automatically, a mix of fear and an unspoken curiosity overwhelming me. He entered the room without knocking, as if formalities were unnecessary between us. His impeccably tailored black suit accentuated his broad shoulders and commanding posture. His eyes, a blend of ice and fire, locked onto mine, stealing the air from my lungs.

"Did you rest well?" he asked, his deep voice filling the space.Content is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

"How could I possibly rest, knowing where I am?" I replied, defiant. My voice was steady, though my fingers nervously clutched the hem of the simple dress they'd given me.

He gave me a small smile, though it wasn't warm. It was the smile of someone who knew he was in control. "That's something we're going to address today. Come with me." I hesitated. "Where are we going?"

"To your first lesson," he replied, his expression unreadable. "Don't make me repeat myself, Sophia."

Swallowing hard, I followed him. My legs felt heavy, each step weighed down by uncertainty. We walked down a softly lit hallway and entered a room that seemed to belong to another world. It was a cross between a library and a lounge, with dark leather furniture, a crackling fireplace, and bookshelves lining the walls. But what caught my attention most was the structure in the center of the room.

It was crafted from polished wood, functional yet intimidating.

"This is where we'll begin," he said, gesturing for me to come closer.

I stopped mid-step. "Begin what exactly?"

He sighed, as though explanations were a rare concession for him. "I want you to understand that this isn't just about obedience. It's about trust. The dynamic I'm offering may seem oppressive, but there's beauty in it. You'll learn to trust me, and in return, I'll take care of you in ways no other man ever has."

I stared at him, my mind a whirlwind of doubts and questions. "And what if I don't want this?"

"You do, even if you don't realize it yet," he said, stepping closer. His presence was overwhelming, his woody cologne invading my senses. "And I'm going to show you why."

He raised his hand but paused before touching me, leaving the space between us charged with electricity. "Everything we do will be with your consent. But consent must be given fully, without reservation. Now, tell me, Sophia, do you trust me?"

"I don't even know you," I replied, anger creeping into my voice.

"Knowledge comes with time. Trust begins with a choice." He stepped back, giving me room to breathe. "I don't expect you to trust me now, but I want you to take the first step."

I looked at the structure in the center of the room, my heart pounding. It felt more symbolic than functional, I realized. He was testing my will, my determination. Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward.

"Good girl," he murmured, satisfaction evident in his tone.

He walked over to me, placing a satin blindfold in my hands. "Put this on."

"Why?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"Because you need to learn to trust me. When you can't see, you'll have to focus on what you feel."

Hesitation consumed me for a moment before I decided to comply. The blindfold slid over my eyes, blocking out the light. The world around me went dark, but his presence felt more intense than ever.

"Now, listen to my voice," he instructed. "Nothing will happen without your consent, but I will guide you. Trust me not to cross your boundaries."

The warmth of his hands enveloped mine, guiding me carefully toward the wooden structure. His movements were firm but gentle a contradiction that both confused and intrigued me. He positioned my hands on the polished wood, pressing them softly.

"Do you feel this?" he asked.

I nodded, unable to find my voice.

"Good. Now, we'll start slowly."

He explained every movement before executing it, describing what he would do and how I should respond. Each touch was measured, each instruction delivered with surprising patience. Despite my initial fear, I began to feel curiously at ease, as if he were building a bridge between us.

"What are you feeling right now?" he asked, his voice soft.

"I... don't know," I admitted truthfully. It was a mix of vulnerability, curiosity, and a strange sense of safety.

"That's good," he said, his tone almost encouraging. "Keep trusting me."

The lessons continued, each exploring a new aspect of the dynamic he wanted to create with me. He challenged me but never forced me, and it baffled me. I had expected brutality, but instead, I found something unexpected: control, yes, but also care.

When he finally removed the blindfold, my eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the light. He was there, watching me with an intensity that made me look away.

"You did very well," he said, approval lacing his voice. "But this is only the beginning. We'll learn much about each other, Sophia. And in time, you'll see there's beauty in surrender."

I didn't respond. I was still processing everything that had happened, everything I'd felt. But deep down, I knew something inside me was changing. And that terrified me more than anything.