Hollow home

Raya's pov

"Mrs Marcello," The doctor called subtly as he stepped into the room.

My spine stiffened at the name, I couldn't bring myself to get used to that name no matter how many times it was used.

"Can I be discharged already?" I asked, my body itching to be freed from this hospital.

"Yes, the chauffeur is already waiting outside to drive you home," He explained, accompanied by a knock on the door.

Two men walked in, one dressed in uniform and the other dressed in an all-black suit.

"They're your chauffeur and your bodyguard,"

"I don't need a bodyguard, maybe a driver once in a while but a bodyguard no," I refused but the all-black man only stood still as though he was deaf to every single word I was saying.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Marcello, but I was sent to be your bodyguard by your husband, and under no condition must I leave your side," he finished, his voice deep and unwavering.

I let out an exasperated sigh, my fingers curling into the hospital blanket. "Of course he did," I muttered under my breath.

My husband...

The word still felt foreign on my tongue, just like the name Marcello attached to me. A name that carried more weight than I was prepared to bear.

I turned my gaze back to the bodyguard, my expression hard. "Well, you can go back and tell him that I don’t need a babysitter."

The man in black remained still, his face unreadable. "I’m afraid that’s not possible, Mrs. Marcello."

Of course, it wasn’t.

With a tight jaw, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up, ignoring the slight dizziness that followed. "Fine," I said, yanking off the hospital bracelet. "But stay out of my way."

He said nothing, only stepping aside as the doctor handled my discharge.

"If you need anything, Mrs Marcello, please know that we're at your every beck and call." The doctor said, bowing curtly as I walked outside of the hospital room with a scoff on my face.

They were not at my call, they were at Marcello's.

The chauffeur opened the door, waiting.

With one last glance at the sterile white room that had caged me in for far too long, I squared my shoulders and walked out—knowing that whatever waited for me beyond these doors wasn’t freedom, my whole life was under Marcello's watch, but before I let myself be doomed by him, I was going to make sure the two people who reduced me to this paid for every single thing they did to me.

"I need you to find all the information you can on two people—"

"Is it Mark and Kelly Williams?" The bodyguard asked.

"How did you —"

"Mr. Marcello gave strict instructions to investigate anyone who might have wronged you, and knowing that they are at the top of the list, everything you might need about them is readily available," the bodyguard finished, his expression still unreadable.

Of course, he did

A cold chuckle escaped my lips. "How considerate of him," I murmured, sliding into the car.

The bodyguard followed without hesitation, taking the seat beside me instead of in front of the driver.

His presence was suffocating, a reminder that even outside the hospital, I was still trapped.

I turned my gaze to him. "And? What did your precious Mr. Marcello find out?"

He met my eyes through the tinted reflection of the car window. "Enough to know they deserve whatever's coming to them."

My fingers tightened around the fabric of my dress. "Then I hope you're ready," I said, my voice laced with quiet vengeance. "Because this isn’t over until they’ve lost everything."

The car pulled away from the hospital, the city lights blurring as the chauffeur drove on.

I didn't know where we were driving to until the car pulled over to the grand estate that loomed ahead like something out of a dream—or a nightmare.

The mansion was breathtaking, its towering ivory walls bathed in the soft glow of golden lights.

A long driveway stretched ahead, lined with trimmed hedges and roses so perfect they looked fake. A marble fountain stood in the center of the courtyard, water cascading from the mouth of a sculpture.

The chauffeur stepped out to open my door, but I barely moved, my fingers gripping the seat. This wasn’t home. It was a beautifully designed cage to keep me exactly where Marcello—my husband wanted me.

With a steady breath, I finally stepped out, my heels clicking against the stone pathway. The massive mahogany doors opened before I even reached them, revealing a staff lined up in silent obedience.

Welcome home, Mrs. Marcello.

The words weren’t spoken, but I could feel them lingering in the air, heavy and suffocating.

I could feel my lungs closing in on itself, a blurry image of me in this same room.

"Stupid concussion," I muttered, shaking my head as I waved my hands to dismiss the lined staff.

"They're here to serve you everything you want, just mention and it'll be brought to you," The chauffeur explained but I was only interested in them leaving.

"Leave," I muttered but he only leaned closer, crowding my space.

"You heard her. Leave."

The voice was smooth, deep, and unmistakably authoritative.

I turned sharply to see him standing at the top of the grand staircase, dressed in a dark suit that only made him look more imposing. Marcello. My husband.

The staff wasted no time obeying, disappearing down the hallways like ghosts. Even the chauffeur bowed his head slightly before slipping away.

The silence that followed suit was suffocating, almost nerve-wracking

Marcelo descended the stairs slowly, his gaze locked onto mine, unreadable yet piercing. "You don’t have to keep pretending, cara mia," he said, his voice calm but edged with something I couldn’t quite place. "This is your home now. Whether you accept it or not."

Home. The word felt hollow.

I straightened my shoulders, unwilling to let him see even a flicker of weakness. "It’s a beautifully built prison, I’ll give you that," I said coolly.

Marcelo’s lips quirked, not quite a smirk, but something close.

"A prison?" He reached the final step, standing only a few feet away now. "Then I suppose that makes me your warden?"

"More like my captor."

He tilted his head slightly as if considering my words. "Perhaps. But even captives are treated like queens here."

I let out a short, humorless laugh. "You mean controlled."

Marcelo stepped closer, his presence commanding, his scent, dark and intoxicating—invading my space. "Protected," he corrected.

I scoffed, looking away. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

His fingers brushed my chin, gently but firmly tilting my face back toward him. "What helps me sleep, amore, is knowing that no one will ever hurt you again." His voice was lower now, a quiet promise wrapped in steel.

I hated how my heart stuttered for a second.

I swallowed, forcing my expression to remain cold. "And what if the person hurting me is you?"

Marcelo didn’t flinch. Instead, his thumb ghosted over my jaw in a way that sent an uninvited shiver