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Chapter 2: The House Of Glass
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2025-04-10 12:06:45(AMARA'S POV)
The morning after my forced wedding, the sunlight felt fake. Like it was shining on the wrong people, on the wrong story. I opened my eyes to silence and unfamiliar air. Cold. Sterile. Not a single picture on the wall. Not even a crack in the marble floor. It was too perfect. Too polished. Like the kind of house that didn't want to be lived in. Just stared at. Just controlled. I sat up slowly, my head heavy from pretending. Pretending I wasn’t terrified. Pretending that the vows didn’t feel like chains around my throat. Pretending that Matteo Valerio hadn’t looked at me like he’d seen a ghost he wanted to bury twice. I checked the door. Locked. Of course. A maid knocked fifteen minutes later. Said nothing, just handed me a change of clothes and a tray of food like I was an exhibit behind glass. I almost asked her name. Almost. But then I remembered where I was. I was not here to make friends. I showered. Changed. Didn’t touch the food. I didn’t trust anything in this house, not the walls, not the silence, and especially not the man who put a ring on my finger like it was a shackle. The dress they gave me was white again. Of course it was. I stepped into the hallway and found two guards waiting. No words. Just a nod for me to follow. I walked like I belonged there. Chin high, even if my stomach was a knot. The estate was massive, stone and gold and secrets. Every hallway felt like a maze. Every painting felt like it was watching me. They brought me to a room with floor-to-ceiling glass windows. A long table in the center. Matteo sat at the head, in a black button-down like nothing touched him. Not even the weight of what we’d done yesterday. He didn’t look at me. Just sipped his coffee. "Sit." I sat. He didn’t speak for a long time. Just flipped through a folder while the tension clawed its way up my spine. "You slept." It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. An observation. Like he was checking boxes on a report. "Barely," I said. He looked up, finally. His eyes were dark. Flat. Not dead, but close. "Good. We leave in twenty minutes." I blinked. "Leave? Where?" "The city. I have business. You have a role to play." Of course I did. I clenched my fists in my lap. "What if I say no?" He leaned forward slightly. "Then I make you." I hated how calm he was. Like he’d already played this scene a thousand times in his head and knew exactly how it would end. "You think control is the same thing as loyalty," I said. "No," he answered. "I think loyalty is something I’ll break you into." The way he said it sent a chill down my spine. Not a threat. A promise. Twenty minutes later, I was in another car. Different city. Same silence. Matteo didn’t speak once. Not until we pulled up to a high-rise overlooking the skyline. He handed me a small clutch with my new ID, a burner phone, and a card. "Your name is now Amara Cruz-Valerio. You smile when I tell you to. You speak when spoken to. You don’t make friends, and you don’t ask questions." "What happens if I do?" He glanced at me. "Then I remind you who owns you." The way he said it. It wasn’t even cruel. Just… true. Like the sun rises. Like bullets kill. We entered a boardroom. Ten men waited. All sharp suits and sharper eyes. Matteo introduced me as his wife. Some of them didn’t even pretend to smile. One did. Too wide. Too slow. He was older. Greying. The kind of man who saw things before they happened. He looked at me like he knew what I was hiding. When the meeting ended, he approached me. "You look like your mother." I froze. He smiled wider. "Tell Matteo I said hello. And remind him that ghosts don’t stay buried." Then he left. I stood there, trying not to shake. My mother had died when I was ten. Or so I thought. I got back in the car with Matteo. Said nothing. He didn’t ask. But he watched me closer this time. That night, I stood at the window of our bedroom. Same white dress. Same locked door. I thought about the man from the meeting. About the way Matteo tensed when he saw him. And I realized something I hadn’t let myself accept until now. This wasn’t just a marriage. It was a puzzle. And every piece led somewhere I wasn’t supposed to go. Yet here I was. Already halfway in. And drowning slowly. END OF CHAPTER 2
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