Heer
The next morning, I woke up to silence.
No birds. No sounds of the street. Just the ticking of an antique clock on the wall. I lay in a bed that didn't belong to me, in a house that felt more like a fortress than a home. My heart was still heavy from last night. From the vows. From the cold look in Carlos's eyes.
I touched the ring on my finger.
Still there.
Still real.
This wasn't a nightmare. It was my life now.
A knock at the door startled me. I sat up quickly, pulling the blanket around me like a shield.
The door opened slightly, and a young woman stepped in with a silver tray.
"Good morning, Signora," she said politely in a soft accent. "I brought breakfast."
Signora. Wife.
My throat tightened at the word.
"Thank you," I whispered, not meeting her eyes.
She placed the tray on the table by the window, then bowed slightly. "Mr. Moretti left instructions. You are to stay inside the east wing. If you need anything, call me. My name is Livia."
I nodded, forcing a smile. "Thank you, Livia."
She gave me a small, kind smile before leaving.
I didn't touch the food. I wasn't hungry. My appetite had disappeared the day I signed my freedom away.
I spent the morning walking around my new prison. The room was luxurious. Every corner screamed money. But nothing felt warm. There were no family photos, no books, no music. Just expensive emptiness.
I opened the window and looked out. High walls surrounded the estate. Guards walked the grounds. A black car left through the gates.
I knew who was in it.
Carlos.
My husband. My stranger.
Carlos
The sun hadn't even risen when I left the house.
Business first. Always.
The Russians were causing trouble at the docks. One of our shipments had gone missing. Matteo was already waiting at the pier when I arrived.
"We found the traitor," he said quietly.
"Take care of him," I replied, lighting a cigarette. "No witnesses."
He nodded and left. I stared out at the sea, waves crashing like the thoughts in my mind.
Why couldn't I stop thinking about her?
She was just a girl. Just a contract.
But I kept seeing her face in my mind—the way she looked lost in my house. The way her voice cracked when she said those vows.
I hated this.
I didn't want to care.
Heer
That evening, I finally stepped out of my room.
I needed to breathe.
The hallway was long and quiet, lined with dark wooden panels and oil paintings of serious-faced men I didn't recognize. I walked slowly, feeling like I was trespassing in someone else's life.
I didn't know where I was going, but my feet took me toward the sound of a soft piano. It was coming from one of the large drawing rooms. I pushed the door slightly open and froze.
It was Carlos.
Sitting at a grand piano, alone. Playing.
The man who barely spoke… was playing the saddest, most beautiful melody I'd ever heard. It wasn't perfect—his fingers were a little stiff—but it was raw. Real. Full of pain.
I should've walked away.
But something kept me rooted to the spot.
After a while, he stopped and just sat there, staring at the keys. Like he was remembering someone who never came back.
I stepped back quietly, not wanting him to know I'd seen him like that.
But the floor creaked.
He turned sharply. Our eyes met.
Neither of us spoke.
We just looked at each other—me, the silent wife; him, the guarded king of this dark world.
He stood up slowly.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice low.
I swallowed. "I was just… walking."
He took a step closer. "This wing is off-limits to you."
His tone wasn't angry. Just tired. Distant.
"I didn't know," I said softly. "I'm sorry."
He looked at me for a long moment. "You should go."
I nodded, turning to leave.
But just as I reached the door, he said, "Did you like it?"
I turned. "The music?"
He nodded.
I gave a small, honest smile. "It was sad… but beautiful."
For the first time, I saw something flicker in his eyes.
Not cold.
Not anger.
Just… something human.
Carlos
She heard me play.
No one had heard me play in years.
Not since Sofia.
Why did I care if she liked it?
Why did her soft voice saying "beautiful" make something in my chest ache?
This is dangerous. I reminded myself again—feelings are dangerous.
But I couldn't ignore it.
She wasn't like other people in my world. She didn't ask for anything. She didn't try to impress me. She didn't scream or cry or demand to be seen.
She just stood there… and saw me anyway.
And that scared me more than anything.
Heer
That night, I lay in bed, thinking about his music.
Thinking about how his fingers moved across the piano with the same cold control he used in every part of his life… except for that melody.
It told a story.
A sad one.
A broken one.
I didn't know Carlos's past. I didn't know why he was so distant, so silent, so guarded. But I knew one thing now.
He wasn't just cold.
He was wounded.
And maybe, just maybe, I wasn't the only prisoner in this house.