lara bunnie❤️‍🔥❤️‍🩹

Miguel didn't know what to make of you in his room like this, acting as if it were your own. It wasn't. But you were married now. Technically, what was his was yours. He didn't like it. He sneered, his features merely angry slashes contorting up his face. “I'm not your sniffer dog.” He barked, storming out of the room and slamming the door so hard that it closed and sprung back open. You rolled your eyes at his outburst, but you had to admit, it was a little unnerving to see him lose his temper that quickly. Miguel huffed, grabbed your stupid bag, and slammed the door open like a bull in a china shop. “Here, and get out of the room. It's mine.”

“What? I was in here first.” You protested in vain, you were the one who was dragged away on a honeymoon, you were the one who was being ordered around like a stuck-up child. The least he could do was let you sleep wherever you wanted to sleep.

“Well, I own the fucking building.” Miguel bit back deadpan, his voice flat and so sadistically arrogant, like money was all that made him. It was an insult to the whole idea of humanity to rely on something as belittling as money.

Miguel's head was storming, dissecting every single premonition about you and how you could so easily flip on him, he would tolerate your disrespect for now, you hadn't properly settled in yet, but if you made it a habit, he'd make you regret it. It should be funny, Miguel was so proper and particular about his women. There were things he liked and didn't like on women. He hated flats. He only liked certain colors. He hated jeans. He liked skirts and dresses for...easy access. He liked his women easy, and you were definitely not easy. You were making it difficult for him on purpose now. But for some reason, defiance suited you more than nonchalant complacency. It was more entertaining than the graceful, polite facade you shirked up.

“Can I put my clothes on now?” You objected, snapping him out of his pondering, looking like an idiot just glaring at you like this.

Part of him wanted to say ‘Well. No. I'd prefer you with nothing on actually.' His steely resolve almost broke at the realization, but he shook his head and pushed it down. Yes, you were attractive but your personality was a mystery for him, he was battling his own personal mysteries, and he didn't have time to psychoanalyze anyone elses.

-

You slept...okay. Miguel didn't disturb you or actually force you out of his room which was odd. He probably had enough of this senseless bickering, you'd probably just go back to ignoring each other, maybe at least try to independently enjoy this stupid 'honeymoon.’

The sun woke you up sweetly, and the soft gentle breeze billowed through the open curtains, offering the hum of salt air whispering through the room. You wanted to avoid Miguel as long as you could, so you decided to just go in the garden, sunbathe, read a book, do something meaningless to just forget about the fact you're married to one of the most dangerous men you've ever met.

You practically jumped out of bed, went to the bathroom, splashed your face with water, brushed your hair, and put it up in a claw clip with the speed of an Olympic runner. But what was all the hurrying for when you were completely stumped on what to wear? You tossed out your clothes and put them all away, you ultimately decided to wear a bikini and on top a cute mid-thigh sundress, you weren't going anywhere too fancy, the back garden wasn't exactly Paris fashion week. When you glanced outside the terrace, you were happy to see that the garden was adorned with carefully cut shrubs, willowing trees, orchids, and chrysanthemums. Considering Miguel rarely leaves for leisure, it was a surprise that is was being kept up - it must have meant a lot to him then. You grabbed your things and opened the door quietly, wanting to sneak out as soundlessly as possible in order not to attract attention from Miguel, or worse, be the reason to wake him up.

You padded away barefoot, feeling the warmth of the sun outside surround you as it seeped through every glass window.

Even though Miguel told you to get used to his lifestyle, you still hadn't settled in, something just didn't sit quite right with you. You were fortunate enough to come from a wealthy family but the way Miguel wasn't bothered by the sheer amount of blood money he acquired is...distasteful. Thinking of which, you peeked your head around the corner in order to see if Miguel was awake but instead you found something else. He wasn't in bed at all. He was asleep, his hands were crossed on the kitchen counter and his head was flat on his upper arm, fast asleep with his laptop open in front of him Jesus. He still hadn't changed. What was it with men not wanting to take care of themselves?

You shifted towards him, inching closer and closer to his sleeping form. Wow. He almost looked peaceful, not full of that mindless aggression he was known for. His copper hair was tousled and disheveled, his golden skin was creased but reflective against the light, and his breathing was slow and heavy- it was odd seeing him this relaxed when he wasn't even in a relaxing position in the first place. You raised an eyebrow at his disposition. Maybe Miguel wanted to outsmart and outwit sleep, he obviously had to succumb to its charms. You worked your way around the kitchen island, unable to stop looking at him like this, you grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl and just stood and stared at him like a creep. You really should leave before he wakes up, but you didn't want him sending his capos combing the entire complex for you, so you just left him a note.

In the garden.

-

Miguel heard a gunshot.

It reverberated in his ears.

More gunshots. Thousands of rounds smoking away.

His eyes widened, and the sleep left his bones. His head spun around, shifting erratically, and he almost fell off the fucking chair. A tight anxiety squeezed the color out of his face, the heavy breaths wouldn't bring any solance to any of the fragments falling at his palms. His chest filled with panic, and the first thing that came into his head to find was you. He eyed your note and rushed down as fast as he could. He needed to get you out of here.

But then all he heard was silence when he stepped out onto the patio. A muffling silence. Then the sharp hum of wildlife, the birds chirping, the distant sounds of the beach, the flattening waves. The crickets trilled and the leaves rustled, the nostalgia of the oddly familiar sounds crept up on him like a disillusioning shadow. An itch he couldn't scratch. A never-ending nightmare he couldn't end. A man with everything he could ever want, but no clear consciousness, no clear mind. He was blind and tortured.

You were lying on a sunbed, and Miguel only caught onto your back and a little bit of your side profile. His eyes were dead set on you, contemplating you...and there you are, emerging in his eyeline. Those flashes of skin become a painting, a jigsaw puzzle coming together. He was slow in his movements, finally viewing you as you were. You were lying there, glowing in a small bikini, taking in the sun like a nymph. Your body was so….

Miguel frowned.

The apple you bit into was stuck to your teeth, you stopped everything you were doing, pausing for your eyes to follow from Miguel's thighs to his face. This was the moment where he saw you as if you were like a deer in headlights, like a naive girl who tries to hide behind back-talk and retaliation. The wide-eyed look you gave him, pupils glazing over, revealing no thought behind your eyes. But he saw you. He saw you being affected by his presence. He felt himself loom over you. Your eyebrows creased in pensive irritation, Miguel's face was hard and steely in something he couldn't quite define. You finished biting into the apple, chewing and just giving him a nonchalant look. Reverting back like second instinct.

“Did you rush out here to gawk at me again? Or to blame me for your lack of sleep?” You breathed out judgementally, but at that moment, the way your eyes connected sent a strange chill down your spine, even when you were lying out in the sun. Miguel felt it too. The scorching, pulsating beat behind your gaze was a never-ending maze, an attempt to figure out who was going to break first. Neither of you was willing to back down. It was sizzling…as wellias unsettling.

Miguel didn't know how to answer your question. He couldn't exactly tell you that his nightmares of the most traumatic thing that's ever happened to him tricked his head into believing he was hearing the remnants of it in real time. Part of him wanted to say yes to both. His sleep schedule was a nightmare in itself and the woman who is the bane of his existence has to be looking so...delicious when he was absolutely not in the mood. He wanted you with nothing on, maybe force you to look at him the exact same way he just found you...with his hand between your thighs.

Miguel shook the annoying, sleep-induced thought away. He was acting like every other man, their mind wandering to hell when they see any attractive woman- he won't fall for it. He won't. But you weren’t any other woman were you?

Miguel watched you bite into the apple and instinctively, he just grabbed it from your mouth, almost pulling at it. He watched your face flit into a multitude of different emotions at what he did. You opened your mouth to say something but you just huffed instead, glaring a hole into his face. Miguel took a bite out of it and tilted his head to contemplate you. He knew he shocked you.

You were really fuckable.

Extremely fuckable.

It was an objective statement.

But he still won't play into it. Nah. You wouldn’t be able to fix him. He was too damaged for you. He wouldn’t mind the primitive pleasure of fucking you. He just won’t do it. You weren’t as nice as before. You’d grown a smart mouth.

“Hm.” That was all he could say to you. “I want my room back.” His fingers reached out and tilted your chin up a little, he felt you flinch just a millisecond and that expression on your face was unamused, dead set looking up at him. It felt like you were holding your breath. He took another bite out of the apple. "Happy sunbathing carino." He yelled behind him as he walked away.

-

Miguel was quite literally nocturnal. He could never sleep at night, even if he wanted to and even if he tried. He pulled out his laptop and started working, going over some cooked-up books that his crooked accountant had given him. Maybe he was paranoid by triple-checking everything, he had gone through your background check multiple times and it still didn't feel enough, he still didn't feel like it was accurate to the character you were playing for him. Like a facade. Miguel was absorbed in his work, he didn't realize a few hours passed already. He still wasn't tired, and he wanted to avoid sleeping deeply for as long as he could- he couldn't be in a position where his bad dreams could get at him again. He frowned at the startling thought and downed the last of his Merlot. Your soft breathing made him break away for a moment, his head shifted to look at you and you were sound asleep. Your head rested to the side of you away from him and your hair was covering your face. Miguel hesitantly reached his hand to stroke away the strands that were blocking out your features, maybe he just wanted to check if you weren't awake, or maybe he just wanted to gawk at you without the consequence of your smart mouth or belittling stare- either way, he couldn't stop his fingers from brushing the hair away from your face. You breathed deeply and mumbled something incoherent that Miguel couldn't comprehend, Miguel felt you shift in your seat. He immediately retracted his hand, brows knitting together as he studied what you looked like in your natural form, when you weren't pretending to be someone else.

Again. He thought you looked nice. Miguel grunted softly at his ceaseless gaping, he was being ridiculous, staring at an attractive woman as if he'd never seen one before. He won't succumb to something as juvenile as this, his pressures lie elsewhere and he won't let his confusion around you cloud his thoughts to things that matter more. If he was being completely honest with himself, he needed some sort of vacation- he had grown tired of being on edge back home, looking over his shoulder, making sure to preserve what was his. How was he supposed to become more powerful and spread his influence if he was still looking after what he already had? It was startling for him to be in control of so many things at once, but as always, he pushed it down. There were still a few hours before you landed and Miguel didn't want to be engrossed by work anymore, he wasn't paying attention to it. He decided to pull out a book he still hadn't finished reading, he hadn't had time to indulge in such normal trivial things as reading. There were moments when you stirred and twisted in your sleep, surely you weren't comfortable in heels and a tight little dress but Miguel didn't want to meddle with you further. He's done more than enough.

-

“Hey.“

A soft gentle voice made your eyes scrunch.

“Hey, wake up. We're here.” The voice urged again.

Your lashes fluttered when you finally realized that it was Miguel. And that it was also Miguel who was had his hand on your face. You jolted awake, Miguel was next to you but it felt like he was so far away, you didn't realize how little it took for him to extend an arm and brush his fingers against you. The moonlight beamed through the pane, your groggy vision turning into a beautiful portrait of Miguel, illuminating every single feature of him, his brown hair turning honey as the Italian moon hit him perfectly. You shook your head and raised yourself on your seat, still not understanding how you could fall asleep in something so heinously uncomfortable, and even then you still resumed being graceful as always, you wouldn't let that appearance shatter, especially in front of Miguel. His presence itself didnt bother you but what went on in his head did.

Speaking of, Miguel's mind was whirring away but it drew to a blank

There was one thing he wanted to say though; 'Is this what we're doing? Just not talking to each other?’ Well. He preferred that to that polite small talk, you both kept on upholding, the thought made his skin crawl.

-

The drive to the complex was silent as per usual, but this time it was Miguel who was driving and you were in the front seat. His cars were expensive, his Audi RS Q8 wasn't an exception, it was a sinful amplification of the word money. You settled into the passenger seat, trying not to inspect every single inch of his car like a lost tourist, awing at the model but you contained it, your face expresser something akin to that of being unimpressed and uninterested, when in fact you were the complete opposite. The fact that you had to act this way just to not give Miguel the satisfaction wasn't difficult but inconvenient. You wanted to be yourself, but you didn't want to seem weak in front of him, you won't let that happen. Ever.

You breathed out, your fingers smoothing against the seatbelt, reminding you of the way he so easily trapped you in the plane, that hand keeping you in place. You couldn't remember the last time anyone had touched you like that, well, anyone who even touched you at all in the last few months. Your eyes couldn't help but glance over at him, sneaky eyes trailing over him, almost thickening the distance and tension between you- he was right here, but a million miles away. Miguel's hand slid over the wheel seamlessly, but you noticed his knuckles turning white as he gripped onto it. His jaw ticked as he let out a short frustrated breath, his gaze nothing more than penetrating as he glared at the window, completely unamused- his autopilot mood.

If only he wasn't blinded by rage and other primitive and frankly boring emotions- it was so predictable that it didn't phase you. You pursed your lips and stared outside the window, pensive and aloof as the night clouded your peripheral. the bleak darkness you were gazing at, seemed to reflect Miguel's mood more than anything and you didn't know how to confront this deep tension between you that was certainly getting thicker and thicker. Then your mouth ran before you could check it.

"You'll break it.”You said flatly, brimming with confidence by the way you squared your shoulders, surprised by your own voice thrumming out of your throat.

Miguel's head shifted to regard you. Oh wow, the church mouse finally roars. The fact that you're saying something at all, let alone something in a knowing tone made him halt in his tracks. You seemed so sure of yourself like you knew exactly what he could do. Like you had any idea who he was. Aw, honey. You didn't know anything. You needed to stop pretending like you did

"Hm?” Miguel mumbled impatiently, waiting for you to elaborate on your not-so-graceful statement.

“Don't grip so hard on the wheel. You'll break it.” You replied as if you were bored out of your mind, Miguel despised it entirely. His eyes turned into mere slits when they found his knuckles turning a pale white against the wheel, his veins turning thunderous and borderline pulsating with resigned anger he was used to but now since you pointed it out, he was becoming more aware of his actions than he was happy with. Miguel mostly kept to himself, but primitive emotions such as anger or frustration, creeped out of him slowly and etched at his features like a lingering poison.

"Hm. I see the only time you open your mouth is to critique me.” He replied with a soft snarl.

“I'm not criticizing you. I just don't want this ludicrously expensive car to break under your thumb.”

“I can afford another 10 of these.” Miguel's words ran off his tongue so smoothly you realized the point he was proving: he was extremely wealthy, he didn't need to care about things. It's something that you shouldn't forget. Miguel doesn't conserve material things, why should he? You shouldn't expect him to want to take care of his possessions, though you didn't realize how careless he actually was with it. you wouldn't have guessed a man as arrogant and careful as him within his work and his business to be so callous with his money, but then again- the money spent on a new car is a mere droplet within a river of riches. It left a bitter taste in your mouth. You shot him a glare and that's when he muttered flatly, “Don't ever question that again, we clear?”

"Hm. And also, I have a brain and a mouth. When I don't want to talk I won't talk, I don't need to fill the silence with empty words, if I want to talk or call you out on something I will. Just because I don't entertain petty or better yet polite conversation doesn't mean I'm a wallflower or taker of shit, we clear?”

Miguel's face was set in an uncrackable scowl, his jaw ticked as you talked to him in such a patronizing way, it may have been deserved or it may have been a clear indication of your intentions- but either way, he didn't like the way you were talking.

“Careful.”

“We may be married but I will not answer to yo-“

He cut you off sternly with his hand reaching out and gripping your cheeks to close your mouth, it was a warning, the way he stared at you proved that, his hand proved harsher. “I said careful.” You let out a frustrated breath, struggling with your hands on his to pry his iron-like fingers off of your cheeks and chin. Miguel felt you struggle in your seat, hissing and thrashing but he remained unaffected, so completely normal about it all as he kept driving. He released his grip on you and you breathed out deeply, flashing him a look of surprise and hatred. He had a tendency to make people this way and he revelled in it. “Smart mouth...All bark, no bite….it can only get you so far. Remember that the next time you wanna try and lay into me Cariño.”

-

You remained embittered with Miguel when you got to the beachside apartment complex, you slammed the car door shut harshly, seemingly acting like him for not caring for his little playthings. If he didn’t care, why should you? He could tell by that look on your face you wouldn't be all polite and graceful after what he did. You didn't help him with the bags, you didn't care. The doorman let you in, informing you that the complex would be all yours for the week as he gave you the key. Miguel trudged behind you, carrying the bags up the stairs like they were feathers. You slammed the door in his face but he knee stopped it from closing fully, he knew that you were trying to prove a point and it was dancing on his nerves.

“I’m taking a shower and going to bed. Don’t even think about interrupting me for anything.” You spat out lowly, irritation causing your brows to knit together slightly. Miguel just grunted in response, dropping the bags on the floor gracelessly.

He hadn’t been to this beach house in a while, although it was thoroughly cleaned, it still felt lived in from when he was a kid living here with his family. Miguel didn’t know how to feel about the fond and somewhat nostalgic thought. Then his eyes flicked to the glass cabinet in the corner of the living room. He stepped closer and found the thoroughly familiar photos of him and Gabriel, playing. Careless as ever. He scoffed slightly with a little smile touching at his lips. It was a lot easier back then.

Now he has to deal with a pissed off wife, with a pretty mouth.

You explored the hallway first, walking down and vaguely peeping into every room, but you reached the master bedroom by the end of the hallway. You opened the door and found a beautiful room with a marble layout and wooden details, the balcony you stepped into was slightly protruding, looking out into the grassy planes, sandy beaches and palm trees. Something out of novel. The iron bars were covered in ivy and vines, shrubs and bushes of plenty alonside even more greenery. The moon shone onto the waves hauntingly, creating a halo onto the Earth.

It really was beautiful.

You shifted your head, raising an eyebrow at how big the white bed was, but you didn’t read into it. It’ll be just like it was at home- you and Miguel in seperate rooms, like always. Your heels clicked to the en suite and Jesus Christ, it was huge. Your eyes gleamed from corner to corner of the room, and then you reached the sink and immediately rolled your eyes.

Of course the best room in the building had to be Miguel’s.

There was a tiny frame sitting at the corner of his sink. It was of him holding Gabriel as a newborn, your vision turned sharp as you inspected the photo. Well. Miguel definitely had his boyish charm back then, a shame he doesn’t have it now. His smile would always remain a mystery to you. You settled the frame down and instead you eyed the copous bottles of cologne he had. Each more expensive than the last, as always.

Instead of just gawking around like a fool, you turned the shower on and immediately started stripping of this dress and heels you’ve been subjected too, you grabbed a fresh white towel and threw it to hand over the glass sliding door. You slipped in the shower, letting the warm water travel down every aching sore muscles, you hadn’t been this relieved in a long time.

Miguel, on the other hand, poured himself another incredibly strong scotch, he really needed to absolve himself of…something. He raked an exhausted hand over his face, he grabbed the whole bottle alongside the glass and trudged to his room begrudgingly, hoping to be rid of this night.

You wanted to keep the shower as brief as possible just so you could slip into bed sooner. Fuck. You didn’t bring your bag in here with you. Your shampoo was in it. Shit. You had to make do with what was around you, well, lucky for you, you only had Miguel’s shampoo around. With a defeated sigh, you had to go for it. As if this could get any worse.

You opened up the bottle and raised it to your nose, it smelled…dark? Cederwood. Coffee? Maybe a little bit of vanilla. That was just picking it apart, as a whole it the scent of it was just so… Miguel. Extra thickening? Interesting. Without caring, you squirted some into your palm and lathered it together with your hands, quickly soaking your hair and rubbing it softly into your scalp.

The bubbles surrounding you made the aroma that much more…intense.

Miguel heard the sound of the shower coming from his room, he wanted to grit his teeth until they shattered and fell into his hands. A frission of irritation thrummed at his temple. He swung open his bedroom door hurriedly with the might of one hand and exclaimed, “I swear to God if you’re in here I’m gonna-“

His feet stopped in their tracks. His mind went blank at what he was seeing. He was surprised he didn’t drop his damn scotch.

You going through his wardrobe in a tiny towel, legs dripping and glowing, hair wet and messy, glaring at him with a certain blank apprehension. Almost like a deer in headlights, but what could Miguel say? He was looking at you the exact same way.

-

It was getting dark out and Miguel said you'd fly out tonight but he still wasn't back. You hadn't seen Miguel since breakfast, you probably ruffled his feathers just by challenging him minutely. All you did today was get ready, did up your hair, splashed on some makeup, wear one of the dresses he gave you, and sat around. You were bored out of your mind, if this was what married life would be like, you would be very irritable and uncooperative indeed. You couldn't back out now, being bored was better than being dead.

You took this eventless time to wander around this penthouse, one of his capos told you he owned many but this was one of the nicer ones, it was quiet, serene. You spent this day with one of Miguel's lackeys stationed outside of the door and Little Miss Fuck Me Eyes, AKA the maid, but you actively avoided her.

It was a nice place to live in, expensive and clean, but it felt...empty, even with people in and outs mavbe it was just the lack of Miguel that was making you feel this way. Your heels clicked around and your eyes squinted towards Miguels study.

Should you...? You'd probably get a shot to the kneecap at least for meddling with Miguel's private affairs. Your fingers wandered to the handle tentatively, your curiosity outweighed your fear. It would be a stupid mistake, yes, but if Miguel wasn't going to be here now, he definitely wouldn't be around later, so you had time to snoop and pretend you weren't there.You opened the door and your eyes shot around, he was such a neat freak, but there were bits of paper strewn on his desk. His desk was dark oak, it was almost black, his desk chair was real black leather too, and the warm ambient lights offered some sort of atmosphere where he could work. You strolled softly behind his desk to look at the loose papers. The first one was marriage papers, the official documents to your betrothal, the other one was the NDA you signed and the last one was...an entire background check on you. You sifted through the paper and there were pictures of you walking around on the streets of New York, you clutched onto it, your eyes narrowing at the words you were reading on the page.

It had your bank details.

Your clothing measurements.

Your GPA.

The earnings of your parent's company.

Every ex-boyfriend you've ever had

The shops you go to.

Your favourite food.

Quite literally everything about you.

He ran a background check on you and had someone follow you around before you got engaged. You frowned at the paper. You set it down and sighed, taking a minute to consolidate what you had just read. Raking a hand through your hair, you walked around his desk and stole a glance at the walls- you couldnt believe you missed what he hung up on the walls. You inched forward to inspect the Renaissance paintings that covered the room, he even had a real Caravaggio, Lord knows how much it cost. Then you shifted towards a picture that wasn't a painting. It was of Miguel and his brother when they were about teenagers, embracing each other for the camera after a presumably long day of playing sports or something like that- but what really stunted you was that he was smiling. You don't think you've ever seen Miguel smile at all.

What you didn’t realise was that Miguel was at home, trying to find you in the penthouse.

He knew he was an hour late but he was held up by some important consultations. His brow raised when out of the corner of his eye, he found the door to his study open which was very odd- it was always left closed, he should probably invest in a lock. His fingers opened it up sottly and there he found you, snooping around his study like a second-rate degenerate criminal, but when he found you, you were gawking at the art on his walls. You were absorbed in the paintings, in a trance akin to that of a dream, he almost didn't want to disturb you, You were wearing a slinky black strapless dress that hugged you just right, it stopped just below the knee, your skin was glowing in the ambient light, the heels on your feet making you look taller, but not as tall as him. He liked that he had the choice to power over you.

He had the sentiment he always had when he looked at you: you looked nice.

“Enjoying your prying?” A low irritated voice husked behind you, you turned around and yelped in surprise, your chest heaved at the shock of seeing him right here, in a place you had no business being in. You were dead already. You winced when your eyes met his, he seemed amused and annoyed all at once as you gaped at him at the doorway. He was so….so…clean and smart but his sleeves were rolled up and a few buttons were undone, he ditched his tie as you saw it in his hand. You swallowed thickly.

“I'm fine.”You seemed to muster up, unsure of what else to say, You had to admit, you were a little afraid but you would rather die than show that. You weren't sure what was going to fall out of his mouth, probably a verbal tongue-lashing. “Caravaggio? His paintings are rather dark.” You couldn't help but comment on it, of course, he would have refined taste, not just in anything business-related but also something as cultural as art.

“Isn't that what's fascinating about it?” Miguel grumbled, hoping you wouldn't hear him. It was a bright, keen and astute observation. You pursed your lips and stayed silent whilst crossing your arms. “I don't want you in here.” He clipped coldly as he finally made his way to approach you, he stole a look towards his desk and found that a few papers had been messed with. So you know about it now.

“I don't want you having your capos stalk me.” You bit back shrewdly with challenging eyes and Miguel raised an eyebrow a little, just enough for you to notice from the corner of your eye. Touche, dick.

“I have to know how I'm working with.” He said so emotionless, so flatly. Like everything was about business, like neither of you was actual people with feelings.

“Well, I don't know who I'm working with, so you're not fighting fair.” You inched forward to him as you let out with a strained breath. Unfortunately for him, your statement made him think.

“You won't have to and you're right, I don't fight fair.”

“I told Gabriel I want to go to Italy, by the way.” You pivoted the subject around and Miguel was internally pleased that you did.

“Portofino is nice this time of year.” He commented briskly, again, reverting back as if you were mere acquaintances discussing destination spots and the fucking weather. It still left a bitter taste in his mouth.

-

You packed quickly and Miguel's driver took all your bags as you were about to head out of the front door. You weren't really paying attention as Little Miss Fuck Me Eyes was all over Miguel again, talking to him about what needed to be done the time both of you came back. You didn't know why you didn't like her, it was probably because she was so obvious about it, she was practically drooling over your husband as if you weren't here.

He was your husband. Whether you liked it or not. When she glanced over at you, you raked a tuft of hair behind your ear, your wedding ring on full display as you did so, she definitely noticed it with the way her face settled into a scowl.

It didn't take long until you were both in the back seat of Miguel's lamp-black Porsche, completely silent to the drive to the airstrip that Miguel owned. You blinked out the window, watching the bright city lights blur into colors against the dark of night, well-mannered in your straight posture and crossed legs. Miguel took a second to contemplate your presence, he almost hated how well-behaved you were. A small fraction of him wanted to see you get messy, preferably under him. He shook the defiant out of his head with a scowl, staring out of his own window in response. There was this thick tension between you, this sustaining of a non-existent friendship, trying to keep the conversation simple and polite between you and the man you barely knew anything about.

He did his research but your parents did their own- they didn't let you get involved even though you were the one they were marrying off.

It felt like forever in the car, Miguel escorted you out like a...gentleman. Watching you sway so confidently up the stairs to his private jet. He had a full view of your ass in that dress he liked, he didn't know how to feel about it so he just breathed deeply instead. Miguel followed you up, stepping into the cool, crystalized plush leather of the plane. Jesus, the amount of money he spent on this is probably uncountable, just thinking about it made your head ache. Miguel watched as you were awed at the interior, he had a slight feeling of contempt at your reaction, like you didn't think your lifestyle would change into this. He makes this kind of money every minute. He was a very wealthy man. He could afford 20 of these if he wanted to. You needed to stop being so surprised and get used to shit like this.

You thought that Miguel would probably want to sit the furthest away from you, he was distant like that but a flash of confusion covered your face when you found him sitting next to you as he did up his seatbelt.

So close.

The proximity was...different. So different.

“Good evening, Mr. O'hara.” Before you knew it a soft sensual voice in front of you pierced through your absent-minded thoughts. Oh, of course. Another insanely beautiful woman worked for him. She took out a single glass and pulled out a 100-year-old Merlot. Her perfectly tailored uniform clung to her so tightly it was like glue. Of course, he had a gorgeous flight attendant. Of course. It shouldn't bother you, but for some reason it did. “How was your night...with your friend here?” She glanced to the side at you, finally realizing that it wasn't just her and Miguel in the plane, so they couldn't exactly fuck like dogs. Her face scrunched into a condescending smile, looking you up and down. It was obvious she was defeated but she concealed it behind bright eyes. Why did every single woman who worked for him want to fuck him? It was honestly galling.

“She's my wife.” Miguel said thickly, his voice held a certain gravitas, and his tone was clipped, almost like he was annoyed. The revelation seemed to get to Little Miss Fuck Me Eyes Number 2, her face dropped and it honestly made you feel better. “And yes, we had a good night, thank you. Please get another glass for us please.” It was almost like he was politely laying into her.

“Of course, Mr O'Hara.” She smiled softly as she whisked away to get another glass.

Miguel wanted to roll his eyes. Yeah, yeah baby, keep dreaming he wanted to say. He really didn't like it when people gawked at him, especially the women who worked for him. It wasn't him who employed all these objectively beautiful women, it was Gabriel and he was extremely biased. He doesn't fuck his staff. Well, he can't because he's a married man. Married to you. A beautiful woman who he just can't figure out. Even though, he had all the info he could get about you...the way you talked to him, and the way you acted around him was confusing. You were so puzzling and he wanted to uncover the secrets that you held, how messy you could actually get behind this complacent good girl agenda.

His eyes flickered to you and it was obvious you were lost in your own little world. He looked at your lap and noticed that you weren't wearing your seatbelt, before his mind could even check it, his hands reached out for your seatbelt.

You almost jumped into your seat when you realized where his hands were, he was leaning towards you, close enough where you could fully smell his deep and rich cologne. He did your seatbelt and without hesitation, tightened it harshly with one tug, you gasped softly at the unexpected action. Woah. His hands were...big.

“Make sure you don't die a day after your wedding day.” He muttered just above a whisper. You let out a gentle cough and resumed your 'respectable' position, pretending like it didn't affect you whatsoever.

Miguel wanted you to be affected by him, maybe so he could intimidate you. But after just a short few days together and many moments of where you should be intimidated by him- you weren't. It was as refreshing as it was unsettling. He could have you affected by him in another way…maybe sexual tension would do the trick in breaking this facade you had up... He contemplated the idea but then ultimately rejected it as quickly as it came.

He can't fraternize with you.

This was merely a business transaction.

He wanted this as clean as possible.

No feelings. No fucking up.

He would never get involved. He won't do it.

He’s done too much to stop now.

-

Everything was done with the utmost sensitivity and respect, the O'Hara family's Consigliere placed piles of paperwork in front of you, NDAs were rarely ever necessary, and guns and fists normally did the trick but Miguel personally wanted all of this to be clean. He was getting married for the sole purpose of extending his power and influence, being a part of the 5 Families in this city wasn't something that was done without shedding blood. And Miguel shed a lot. This was a very important occasion to him, marriage was important in all generations of his family, and almost every single Don arranged a marriage with a woman from another Dynasty just for the purpose of spreading influence and agendas. Miguel and his brother talked for hours about it and in the end, he had to do what was necessary for his family and his capos. He needed to conserve what was his whilst also inserting his power.

Dealing with ill-tempered men and being a sounding board for their last scraps of sanity wasn't new but Miguel wasn't that. He was just silent in a way you didn't like. It was almost unsettling. Maybe it would be easier to hate him if he was an asshole, but he was very kind and respectful in the little words he said to you.

All of this was strictly professional, a beautiful show for the underworld. It was ridiculous and you felt like a fool, and after the day you had, it felt perfectly reasonable to feel that way.

It was your wedding day and word got around fast.

The dress he picked was fine.

The ceremony was fine

The ring was fine

Everything was just fine.

Now you were in his cold, lavishly destitute penthouse at an ungodly hour, sitting around, still in the wedding dress that you haven't taken off for some reason- maybe to compensate for the fact that you'll throw it in a corner, leave it in the cold and black dark, collecting dust for you to never see it again. Miguel's capos had to scamper around and follow you just about anywhere but for once, they left you alone with Miguel shooing them out.

Is this what your life would be like? Sitting around, waiting for something to happen? Was everything meant to be so banal and grey?

“You looked lovely today.” A low voice grumbled behind you, you whipped your head around to see Miguel leaving his study and entering the living room, he was still wearing his tux with that unknotted ugly bow tie that was crooked the whole ceremony. He looked tired. You gave him an agreeable smile in response.

"Thank you.” You said politely, there was just nothing purposeful behind your voice. All there was between you and Miguel was agreeable conversation, polite and meaningless drivel to distract from the very true and real fact that you were betrothed, you both owed each other something. Miguel gave you protection and you gave Miguel his pathway to influence- it was a business transaction, that was all, but it didn't mean that all of this wasn't abnormal. “I can't reach the zipper, can you please zip me down?” You asked as if it was a normal question- it wasn't for your kind of relationship but what the hell was normal nowadays? For Christ's sake, you were married to a man you barely knew and you slept in different rooms.

Miguel approached you in silence, watching you stand up from the couch and turn around. He liked the dress, he picked it out himself, you looked nice. His fingers found the zipper and pulled down slowly, watching the slivers of skin appear with every small tug down.

As far as women go, Miguel wasn't really that interested in sleeping around, every woman he shared himself with became a target or an opportunity pry into his head- he didn't want anyone messing with his internal affairs. Sometimes he'd cave and fuck one of the women serving him drinks at private poker nights, they always made eyes at him, begging him with fluttering eyelashes and wet lips to fuck them senseless. He was a man after all, sometimes it was enjoyable, sometimes it wasn't, he just needed to get off.

You on the other hand, you were unreadable in a way that he didn’t know how to approach.Though sometimes he did find you talking to him like an acquaintance vaguely irritating he would definitely be a hypocrite for calling you out.

It felt like you were holding your breath when he was finished, you settled baxk into your senses, he gazed over the patch of skin peeking out of your dress. He stopped his gawking when you turned around and gave him a weak smile like you would a friend or a neighbour. "Thank you. Goodnight Miguel.” You walked passed him and went to your designated room. Miguel did the same

You never really thought of yourself as an incurable romantic, but this was truly dull and you contemporary marriage like this. Even if it was to one of the most dangerous men in the city.

-

You awoke to a cacophony of sizzling and rustling noises coming from outside your room, your dreary eyes lulled by sleep couldn't fight against the delicious smell wafting from outside. Before you could fully register that breakfast was being made, the first thing you noticed was the heavy feeling of dread resting on your chest, you raked a tired hand over your face and rubbed your eyes awake. Opening them up fully, you saw the white fabric on the floor. In another life, the husband you actually loved would be laying next to you, whispering sweet nothings. Your wedding dress and veil were strewn about as if it was an article of clothing a teenage girl would carelessly discard while figuring out what to wear for a date with Tommy or Billy or Jason or whoever. But this wasn't high school drama, this was the type of life you were conditioned into.

Blood, war, and money.

You weren't complaining, the protection it offered you was immense. Miguel was a corrupt man dealing with equally corrupt politicians and people of interest, he had to adapt in his work but a part of you didn't believe he was the poisonous person everyone always made him out to be. Maybe it was because you hadn't seen him in his raw, primal ways, beating people bloody. That's what made you weary.

You shifted up and headed over to the walk-in wardrobe. This was the part that really stunted you, Miguel wanted you to wear what he specifically liked, everything was picked out by him and you still didn't know how to feel about it, but it made you grimace. You stepped in and glanced at the hangers, they were all ordered out by color and style. You noticed that he seemed to like satin and silk, and he was very particular about color, he liked black, silver, grey and even a baby blushed pink in certain articles. Your fingers grazed over the silk of the nightwear dresses, and the fabric of the gala dresses- you didn't like the idea of having to play pretend in front of too many people. You idled towards the drawers and wondered what he preferred when it came to underwear. You raised a cynical eyebrow and your lips pursed in curiosity as you let your finger pull it open.

Your mouth unhinged in a surprise you expected, but not in the way you thought of. He definitely had a thing for lingerie. God, there was a pair of everything, lacy, strappy, padded, unpadded, sheer garters, sparkly garters, knee highs, thigh highs. He was very particular indeed. It was tailored to your perfect cup size. Fucking hell. He liked Brazilian underwear but he seemed have an affinity for a thong too. You sighed and closed the drawer, you didn't want to read into it. Your eyes wandered to the muted pink silk robe hanging next to the drawer. Hm. That'll do for breakfast.

Miguel looked up from his newspaper to see you padding barefoot to the table where a spread was laid out. His maid, although young, ditzy and so obviously desperate to fuck him, was a very talented cook but the coffee she made always tasted like dirt. “Thank you.” He said to her plainly, he couldn't even look at her due to him being distracted by your presence. Your face creased into a light frown as you stared at the eye candy handing Miguel his coffee before she left as Miguel waved his hand. Of course the women who worked around him had to be insanely beautiful.

“Good morning.” Miguel grumbled before taking a sip. You were wearing the silk robe he liked. Good. Good girl.

You didn't say anything back, acting aloof and nonchalant seemed to be the only way of conserving whatever sanity you had left. The back of your throat had back drool when you stared at the delicious spread in front of you. You didn't know what you wanted to eat first. You grabbed a few pickings of everything, topped off with a mimosa. You ate in polite silence, minding your business, uninterested in anything he had to say at this point. Miguel settled down his newspaper and glared at you, you weren't particularly bothered by his presence, and that made him...unsettled. It went on like this for a solid few minutes.

“What?” You asked him, not even giving him the decency of looking him in the eye. Miguel was silent for a moment, contemplating your presence before he opened his mouth.

“We're leaving the city tonight.” He said oh so casually in that deep, low voice of his.

"And why is that?”You sighed tiredly, a slightly amused smirk twitched at your lips at this out-of-the-blue statement.

Miguel clicked his tongue and cooed at you, “Because cariño, my Consigliere has informed me that our marriage is not boding well with the other 5 Families, they think it's a covert attack in some sort of way, a questioning of power or sorts. And also..” He cut himself off for a reason unknown to him. “He also thinks it's a prudent idea to have a honeymoon, to hone everything in and make this...real.” He murmured as he rolled up his shirt sleeve.

Your eyes pricked up at the word 'real.' Wasn't this real? The papers were real. The ring was real. But the actual connection…? You glowered at him, your eyes narrowed.

“Do you think this is real?”

Miguel didn't know how to answer that. “Isn't real relative?”

“No.” You replied thickly like you didn't even need to think about it.

“Look. I don't want to discuss this.”

“So you can't compromise.” You shot back.

“No, I won't.” He pushed his chair back aggressively and sat his coffee down hard, he looked irritated by all of this. He didn't like that you thought you had the power to interrogate him.

Miguel walked past you as he went to exit the room but then for some reason he halted in his tracks. Compromise. Miguel is not known for compromising. The people around him know that for a fact, but he doesn't want this marriage to be another agenda that he has to put up with. He didn't want to hate you.

He sighed.

“Choose where we go. Tell my brother and he'll tell my pilot.” Miguel said coldly, his tone clipped and gruff even when he was trying to build a bridge of some sort.

Miguel told his men to take shots at you, haphazardly, making sure they all missed for the sole purpose of scaring you to make you behave and see how valuable his protection was . You weren’t scared, you were pissed and filled with rage. You blew up one of his lackey’s cars, he watched it burn in front of him, if he had gotten into the wrong black beauty of a Lamborghini, he’d be a pile of ashes.

You both poked and prodded, messed and obsessed with every step you made. It was like a Greek tragedy. You outsmarted him some days. He outsmarted you some days.

But after all of it, you were still married, still husband and wife. When he fell for you, he fell hard. You were the daughter of of one of the most renowned gangster in the country, Miguel had to pay his dues to earn his respect- and in the end it payed off. Your father blessed your marriage and that night was a dream above all dreams. The honeymoon was beautiful too, every night was filled with passionate and messy sex and every day he spent with you he fell more and more in love.

But Lord did you test his patience, it was something that you were born to do. He was angry and channelled his rage through many illegal mediums.

Yet you always let him back in.

-

You’ve been doing what you’ve been doing for the past few weeks.

Waiting up for Miguel.

Waiting for him to come home.

He said he had something to take care of and hasn’t shown his face since. And here you were, waiting for him like a Park Avenue trophy wife. Your wine was making you more anxious than tipsy as you glared at the clock, the fireplace in front of you not warming your body from this strange fear of a man you hate and love. It was nearing 1am.

Then you heard it, the door opening and closing and the rustling of expensive shoes hitting the marble of the foyer, then a jarring clank of keys hitting the holder.

Your breath got lost in your throat, eyes widening when you saw Miguel’s figure. His white shirt was bloodied and his fists were bruised and raw. It’s not his blood, but he did have a cut on his eyebrow. You scoffed as you stood up from your seat.

But that didn’t stop you from both charging at each other, wanting to see each other up close.

“I hate you.” You said with a scowl but what was it all for when you both embraced each other seconds after.

“I believe you.” He said coldly but he knew you meant it. Your head rested on his shoulder and he could smell the shampoo you used earlier tonight. A sweet orchard, green apple. Yet your sweet scent didn’t transfer to yout personality. You didn’t like to sit still and play house.

You were an antagonizing bitch.

He was a heartless bastard.

Yet here you were.

Hating each other, yet seeking each other’s company.

“I hate you.” You repeated much firmly this time and Miguel gripped onto your cheeks and pulled your face up so he could glare at you.

“I said I believe you…I haven’t believed anyone in a long time.” He muttered, but his tone was harsh. Unamused eyes searched yours for an answer but instead he found contempt and sadness.

“You left for weeks….I hated you every second of it.” You spat out but your words couldn’t be brutal when you were this sad.

Miguel’s grip on your face softened, the pads of his fingertips tracing on the outline of your chin. “Now that I’m back…do you still hate me?” He was asking with genuine concern for some reason.

“Yes.” You whispered but your legs started to tremble as the word rolled off of your tongue. Miguel frowned indignantly and huffed out, taking his turn to pivot the conversation to him just ordering you around again.

“I don’t want you leaving the penthouse. I don’t want you outside while I deal with these bastards-“

Your choked breath cut him off. “Is that all you’re thinking about right now? I can’t fucking believe you.” You scoffed, his gall was truly outstanding, of course he had to do this right now. You weren’t purposefully trying to fan the flames to Miguel’s anger but he wanted to treat it like you were, he was already annoyed for ruining one of his best shirts with the blood of subspecies and now he has to deal with you bitching and moaning…and not in the way he liked. “You know what Miguel-“ He directly stopped your words by gripping onto your waist and neck and sitting you on the dining table. You struggled against his hold but it all proved to be fruitless.

“You’re gawking at me like an idiot right now.” You insulted but he was way too far gone now, the crimson of his eyes migrated to a deep ring of burgundy- he was already pissed and you just had to play with him the wrong way.

“You’re beautiful that’s why.” He said endearingly, like he was cooing at you but his serious expression really contrasted that.

“You’re flattering me because you wanna fuck?”

“You asked me if you staying here is all I’m thinking about right now and in fact, it’s not.” Miguel placed a palm on your chest and pushed you flat onto the table, hard. Your eyes were half lidded weapons, scrutinising his every move- and dare he think, he loves it, because he always proves you wrong.

You were his wife, his bitch, his cumdump. You both may hate each other but you always needed each other in this way.

No one else could make you cum otherwise, no one else memorised your body like he did. How couldn’t he? He loved you…once.

You like to think these outbursts are impactful and grand displays of independence but no, you’re Miguel’s lover and you’re gonna act like it.

Hmm. You always looked so pretty in this silk robe, but the fact that your nipples were peaking already under the thin fabric told him all he needed to know.

“I was thinking of you today when I was killing my competition’s men, while I got blood on my hands.” Miguel’s calloused palms splayed onto your smooth legs, feeling up and down teasingly, riding up your robe. You arched against the table already.

Shit, you didn’t mean to.

“The others said that my mind was wandering. I could see their mouths open and close but I couldn’t hear a single word come out..” He said huskily, you gasped when he ripped open your robe, revealing your naked and beautiful figure under him. The only thing that could ever get him off. He dipped his head between your legs to were your thin barely there panties were, he ran his nose over the fabric and inhaled softly. “I could smell you.”

You blinked up at him in confusion, you didn’t know what to feel. You were mad but so aroused…and in the weeks he’s been gone you hadn’t been able to pleasure yourself at all. He looked vicious and mean, your husband was ruthless and sometimes….sometimes it was so fucking arousing, you couldn’t help but squirm and struggle underneath him.

“You wanna know what I did? You wanna know who the man you married is really like when he’s not at home?” His head raised up to your ear to mumble hotly, you jolted and struggled when his hand suddenly went to your already sticky folds.

You weren’t sure if you even had a choice, so you stayed silent, your expression akin to that of vacant displeasure….but oh, were you lying. Your face was about to break.

“I shot them in the kneecaps and beat them until they were barely breathing, but would you believe the way they died was by suffocation?” He chuckled lowly, his fingers teasing your already sloppy entrance.

“F-fuck…are you talking about?” You tried to fight back the moans collecting in the back of your throat but you couldn’t help it.

“They drowned in a puddle of their own blood and I put them there.” Miguel rasped firmly in your ear, his tone and body language becoming very intimidating and…scary. “The bastard’s blood got on my fucking shoes.”

Your husband only wanted to protect what was his. His fingers plunged inside of you, feeling up and down, circling around. You whined out.

“One of them I knew, he went to my fucking highschool hermosa. I called him my friend. But the worst thing occured to me, I imagined him on top of you, my wife, the woman that loathes me so. I saw him tasting you in my head and that’s what made me kill him. You. Just because you sit up here in this untouchable palace doesn’t mesn you’re any cleaner than I am. You’re just as depraved as I am.”

His eyes were beating with a scorching red, his lips were curled into a visicious snarl and at this moment, you knew he was right and that made you want him that much more.

You were his lover.

He wanted you to act like it.

Even if that meant being exactly like he was.

Heartless.

-