The Slave of Pleasure

Vincenzo

When the elevator door finally opened on the ground floor, I was immediately hit by a wave of bright lights and incessant flashes. It was as if a camera bomb had exploded in front of us. Paparazzi were everywhere, jostling for the best shot, shouting questions that mixed together and made a deafening noise.

"Vincenzo! Rachel! Are you really engaged?"

"When's the wedding?"

"Rachel, have you met his family?"

The two men and the woman in the elevator with us looked as shocked as I was. They put their hands over their faces, trying to cover themselves from the onslaught of cameras, while trying to get away from the commotion. The incessant brightness of the flashes made everything more surreal, creating distorted shadows around us.

Vincenzo, next to me, seemed unaffected. He kept his face impassive, the cold expression of someone who had been through situations like this countless times. I, on the other hand, felt drowned in anxiety. My head was pounding with the voices and the brightness, the chaos around us seemed to intensify my feeling of suffocation.

Vincenzo's driver, faithful as ever, quickly positioned himself in front of us. He was like a living barrier, pushing his way through the crowd, pushing the cameras away firmly but not aggressively. "Excuse me! Excuse me, please!" he repeated, his voice deep and authoritative, as he guided Vincenzo and me towards the limousine waiting outside the hospital.

I clung to Vincenzo's arm, squeezing his hand without realizing it, as if he were the only anchor keeping me upright. He didn't complain this time, but I knew I was being guided almost mechanically. Each step seemed like a herculean effort, as if I were walking in slow motion while the chaos unfolded around us.

The crowd of paparazzi didn't stop, didn't back away; on the contrary, it seemed to grow larger as we approached the main entrance. The hospital, which had been a place of silence and recovery moments before, now became a stage for a bizarre spectacle.

"Rachel, how does it feel to be the fiancée of one of the most powerful men in the world?"

I nearly stumbled at the question. Fiancée. I still didn't know how to handle that word, much less what it meant now, in this lie we were being fed. Vincenzo squeezed my hand, as if he were telling me without words to keep my composure. Don't talk back, don't get involved.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, we reached the limo. The driver quickly opened the door, and Vincenzo pulled me inside with a calm that seemed unshakable. We climbed into the car, leaving the commotion outside, the flashlights still flashing through the dark windows. I closed my eyes, trying to catch the breath that seemed to have left me.Content is © by NôvelDrama.Org.

As the door closed and the driver took his place behind the wheel, I felt as if I had escaped a storm. But I knew that this was just the first of many.

I got into the car and my first reaction was to try to take a deep breath. The air felt thick, and my hands were shaking so much that I could barely hold them in my lap. I couldn't control the shaking, and my heart was racing, as if it were trying to burst out of my chest. I knew that all that chaos outside was because of me too. I was part of the lie I had created, and now everything seemed to be spiraling out of control.

Vincenzo, who was sitting next to me, watched me silently. His eyes fixed on my trembling hands, and for a brief moment, his expression changed. He seemed to see, perhaps for the first time, that I was on the verge of a breakdown. That brief flash of compassion on his face was almost imperceptible, but it was there. Of course, he didn't say anything, but the feeling that he had noticed my vulnerability made me even more nervous.

The driver was about to start the car, ready to take us out of that hell of flashes and screams, but suddenly Vincenzo stopped him.

Wait. His voice was firm and sure, as always.

I looked at him, surprised. Why didn't he let the driver go? All I wanted to do was get out of there as quickly as possible, to hide from this mess. But Vincenzo seemed to have another plan. He slowly lowered the car window, and was immediately bombarded by an avalanche of flashes and microphones. The noise became deafening again, but Vincenzo, with all his calm and coolness, didn't seem to mind at all.

The paparazzi crowded around the limo, pushing to get closer, shouting questions and trying to catch any reaction we had. Vincenzo ignored all of this, and simply grabbed one of the microphones that were held out to him. -Forgive me for my apparent indifference... he began, and I looked at him in disbelief. What was he doing?... but we just got out of the hospital. My wife and I need to be taken to the hospital.the rest.

"Wife?" The word echoed in my head like a bomb about to explode. The paparazzi's buzz instantly increased, and the questions began to pop up faster than I could process. The flashes became even more intense, as if the word "wife" had set the entire crowd on fire.

"Vincenzo! When did you get married?"

"Rachel, can you tell us about the wedding?"

"Will there be a public ceremony?"

I could barely breathe. The panic that was already consuming me now turned into something much bigger. Vincenzo remained calm, as if this was all part of a game he completely dominated.

He raised his hand, signaling for them to calm down.

"We will make a public announcement soon," he said with a smile that seemed meticulously calculated. "So stay tuned."

And with that, he rolled down the limo window, cutting off contact with the paparazzi and ending the show. The screams and flashes were still there, but we were safely inside the car, away from the chaos. The driver finally started the engine, and I felt the car move, moving us away from the maddened crowd.

As the car sped off, I looked at Vincenzo, still processing what he had just said. "My wife"? I knew this was all part of a bigger plan he was orchestrating, but hearing those words come out of his mouth, in public, made me realize that things were going much further than I could have imagined.