Walls that Watch

Beside me, Alessandro remained as stone-faced as ever, his eyes fixed ahead like I was nothing more than a ghost beside him. Not that I was surprised—kindness wasn’t something I’d come to expect from my so-called husband.

“Mrs. Amato,” he said coolly, not even glancing my way, “we're here. You can step out now—unless you want me to drag you out myself.”

His voice was sharp, cutting. Like a blade wrapped in velvet.

I clenched my fists at my sides, my nails digging into my palm as I fought the urge to snap back. Instead, I inhaled slowly, steadying the chaos in my chest before I stepped out.

And there it was.

My new… home.

Or, as Alessandro would so proudly call it, my new house.

It towered before me, a mansion so pristine and polished it looked almost unreal. Like something out of a luxury magazine. But where others might see opulence, I saw a fortress.

Cold. Isolated. Imprisoning.

The massive, wrought-iron gate behind us sealed with a quiet finality. I turned to look one last time, but the outside world had already disappeared.

This was it.

Welcome to your new life, Antonia. Let the nightmare begin.

As we entered the estate, the grandeur of it all unfolded before me: polished black marble floors, towering crystal chandeliers, designer chairs arranged like museum pieces, and a shimmering indoor pond in the center of the foyer with a gentle waterfall that whispered through the silence.

It was a picture of wealth, of calculated beauty.

But not of love.

Everything here was perfect. Except it wasn’t.

The perfection was hollow. There were no memories etched into these walls. No laughter. No soul. Just silence… and tension.

Still, a spark of stubbornness lit in me. I will change this. I’ll paint this cold place with joy—even if I have to drag it out of stone.

“Now listen, mi amor,” Alessandro said suddenly, voice like steel wrapped in silk.

I blinked, startled. Mi amor? For a fleeting second, warmth flickered behind those words, igniting something soft inside me.

But then he kept speaking.

“I hope you weren’t expecting roses and serenades,” he said bitterly. “Because you won’t get them. Not from me.”

The spark died instantly.

He motioned down the hallway, his posture stiff, commanding. “Your room is to the left. Mine is to the right. Under no circumstance are you to enter my space. And I will never enter yours.”

Each sentence felt like a wall going up between us.

“You’re not allowed to present yourself publicly as my wife unless it's a family gathering, a formal event, or when I need a plus one,” he continued. “Outside of that—you are invisible.”

His words stung more than I cared to admit.

“You will not leave this house without my permission. Everything you need is within these walls. If not, Aldo will get it for you.”

He paused, his tone dropping into something darker, almost threatening.

“If any of these rules are broken… there will be consequences.”

I stood there, frozen in place, stunned by the cruelty wrapped in his calm demeanor.

He didn’t wait for a response. He didn’t care for one.

“That’s all,” he finished. “Good night.”

And just like that, he turned and disappeared down the corridor, leaving behind nothing but silence and an ache in my chest.

I stared at his retreating back, something burning in my eyes, and then—

BAM!

I slammed my bedroom door behind me, the sound thunderous against the quiet mansion walls. My hands trembled as I backed away, my knees buckling beneath me until I collapsed onto the cold floor.

Tears streamed freely down my cheeks. I buried my face in my hands and sobbed, the weight of it all crashing into me.

What have I done? What have I walked into?

But through the haze of grief and frustration, something caught my eye.

The room.

It was painted in lilac—my favorite color. Soft, elegant. Calming.

I blinked in disbelief.

My wardrobe… stocked with designer clothes and perfume. Not just any perfume—but my scent. The one I wore every birthday since I was sixteen.

I turned slowly, drawn toward the window. Outside, a lush, eco-friendly garden bloomed in carefully cultivated beauty—just like the one I used to describe in my journal.

I moved to the bathroom, my breath catching. The marble shimmered under the warm lights, and the air smelled of lavender and vanilla—my two favorite scents.

I stood still, shivering from something other than cold.

How did he know?

I sank onto the bed, soft and inviting, and for the first time that day, I allowed myself to breathe. Maybe… just maybe…

Maybe he wasn’t entirely heartless.

A smile—small, unsure—tugged at my lips. At least I have this.

Drawn by the scent, I walked to the bathroom again. The bath was already filled. Warm. Bubbling. Almost… comforting.

I slid into the tub, the water embracing me like a second skin, chasing away the ache in my bones.

But just as I began to relax, a painful thought pierced the calm—

Dad.

My chest tightened. How is he doing? Is he getting the medicine he needs? The care?

Tears returned, silent and slow. He hadn’t even walked me down the aisle.

That had been his dream. Not mine. His.

And I stole that moment from him without even meaning to.

“I’m so sorry, Daddy…” I whispered into the air, the words lost in steam and sorrow.

I clenched my fists, determination sparking through the pain.

I have to see him. I don’t care what Alessandro says.

But just as that vow rooted itself in my mind—

CRASH!!!

The sound erupted from beyond the bathroom door.

I jolted upright, water sloshing violently around me.

A thud. Then another.

Footsteps. Heavy. Purposeful.

My heart jumped into my throat.

Someone was in my room.

And they weren’t trying to be quiet.