Elena's Pov:
The soft light filtering into the room wakes me. For a moment, I forget where I am. The ceiling looks different, the sheets feel different, and then—it all comes rushing back.
The marriage. The gunshots.
I shake my head and get out of bed with a sigh. A wince escapes my lips once my bare feet hit the cold marble floor.
The silence in the house is thick and heavy, and I wonder if Adrian is home.
I head for the restroom to brush my teeth and rinse my face. Halfway through, my stomach grumbles. I didn't have much to eat yesterday, and now, I'm starving.
When I'm done, I head downstairs. I can hear the soft clinking of utensils from the kitchen as I walk down the stairs.
Adrian?
When I step in, a small wave of disappointment hits me. I don't know what I was expecting, but it's certainly not a 50-year-old gray-haired lady in an ironed uniform.
So he's not here. Did he come back at all?
It seems like the old lady notices me.
"Ohh. Good morning, Mrs. Moretti. I didn't notice you were standing there."
Mrs Moretti. I don't think I'll ever get used to the name.
I manage a small nod. "Good morning."
"I'm Lucia. The housekeeper," she adds softly. "Mr. Moretti left very early this morning, but he asked me to cook you something to eat."
"He left already?"
"Yes. He said it was urgent business."
Of course. Urgent business.
"Please sit. I'll serve you breakfast in a minute," she urges.
"Thank you." I send her a warm smile, and take a seat at the counter.
A few minutes later, breakfast is served. The smell alone makes my stomach rumble. The first spoon earns a soft moan from my throat. It's one of the best things I've tasted in a long while.
"The food is delicious," I admit. "It reminds me of my mom's cooking." Something tugs at my chest as the words leave my lips.
Mrs. Lucia beams happily. "Oh dear, thank you. I'm glad it's to your liking."
Her smile is warm and motherly. She moves quietly around the kitchen, cleaning and tidying. And for her age, she's quite agile.
I want to ask her things. Things about Adrian. But I don't know if I should. She might not want to answer questions about her boss.
But as they say, curiosity kills the cat.
"How long have you worked here, Mrs. Lucia?"
"Oh, please. Just call me Lucia," she chuckles. "And... I've worked here since Adrian was a baby. I'd say 30 years."
"Wow. That's a really long time," I say, genuinely surprised.
"It is. But I love the work. I love taking care of people I care about."
" Like Adrian?"
"Yes. Adrian is like a son to me. I took care of him since he was a baby. And after his mom died, I treated him as my own."
"His mom is dead?" I ask with raised brows. I didn't expect that.
Lucia nods, a faint sadness touching her eyes. "She was sick for years before she passed. It was hard, but it made him the strong man he is today."
My chest tightens. I can only imagine how he must have felt because I know what it feels like to lose someone.
Lucia drops her towel and turns to face me.
"Dear. I know that Adrian can be rude sometimes, but I promise you. It's just a front. He's a really good person. And I'm sure if he married you, then it means he cares about you."
I can't help the scoff that escapes my lips. "I'm not so sure about that, Lucia."
"Just give him time. I know he'll come around," she smiles at me.
I smile back but I don't say anything. Better not to give myself any false hope.
She picks up her towel and gets back to work while I go ahead to finish my food.
After breakfast, I went upstairs to shower. I had settled for shorts and a tank top. It's a little bit warm in the house and I didn't want to get all sweaty later.
I also noticed that my phone was nowhere to be found. I don't remember where I left it. It could be that I left it at home—dad's house. Or I misplaced it somewhere. But anyhow, I find myself in the middle of the hallway. This house is big. There's nothing to do, and I'm bored. So why don't I just have a look around?
I wander around the house. Different paintings are plastered on the walls. Paintings that probably cost fortunes.
I come across a library with shelves that almost touch the ceiling. It's filled with books. They're arranged in different sections according to their genres. There are self-help books, Shakespeare, literature, romance, everything.
I swipe a finger on one of the books. There's not even a speck of dust. Has he read all of these books? I didn't exactly peg him as a reader.
That's new.
I continue wandering along. I find a workout area, a pool, a snooker room, guest rooms, among many other rooms.There was a door I did try to open when I found myself upstairs again. But it was locked. I considered it would be his office and he probably doesn't want me in there so I didn't push.
Now, I'm standing in front of his bedroom door. My hand is on the door knob as I contemplate whether it's a good idea to go in there or not.
Screw it. I'm doing it anyway. I push the door open and enter. His room is bigger than mine, but it's emptier. There's less furniture and less color. Just like him.
I'd say it suits him. Gray walls, dark furniture, etc.
His bed is laid. Almost like he didn't even sleep in it. Everywhere in the room is organized, spotless. I look through his bathroom. It smells like him. Shaving cream, and wood. There are pieces of him everywhere, but never the man himself.
When I'm done snooping, I leave the room quietly to avoid being caught by Lucia.
By midday, I end up on the balcony, the sun shining high above the city. I don't think I've ever felt as lonely as I've felt these last few days.
I lean against the railing, the wind brushing against my hair, as I try to push out the dreadful memories from my head.
The sound of an engine cuts through the quiet.
He's back.
I pour myself a glass of water, nerves fluttering in my chest.
He left in the morning. No calls. No texts. Nothing. Even if I don't have a phone with me, if he had tried, he'd know.
The door opens. I keep my back to him, pretending to be engrossed in my glass of water. Footsteps sound in the room as he approaches.
I turn to look at him, not being able to help myself. His jacket is still on, top buttons of his shirt undone, sleeves rolled up.
For the first time, I see a trace of the sleeve tattoo on his left hand. Something warm stirs in my stomach at the sight.
As he draws nearer, the faint smell of smoke clings to him. Of course he smokes.
He stops in front of the counter, leaning against it. But his eyes remain unreadable.
"You've met Lucia," he says objectively.
Is that the first thing you say to your wife after not seeing her for a whole day?
"I have. She's wonderful too."
"Mmm," he nods slightly.
"Busy day?" I ask, and take a sip of my water.
He studies me for a moment too long. Like he's deciding whether to answer or not.
"Something like that," he finally says.
I gesture toward the counter. "Water or wine?"
"I can help myself." He rounds the counter, fills a glass, and brings it to his lips.
His movements are steady and unhurried. My eyes catch on the line of his throat as he swallows. The slight shift of his Adam's apple.
It's just a simple gesture, but something about it holds my attention for more than a heartbeat. I blink, and look away, feeling annoyed with myself.
"Uhm," I clear my throat. "I uh... I need a new phone. I can't find mine. I don't know if I misplaced it or I left it at home. I'm just letting you know so I can go out and get one tomorrow."
"I've already gotten you one. You'll get it tomorrow."
"What?" Surprise hits me.
"When did... how did you.."
"Does it matter?" His tone carries the faintest hint of irritation.
I swallow. "Well... thank you."
He nods once. "If that is all, I'll be upstairs." He drops his glass and turns to leave when—
"Adrian..."
What exactly is it with me and calling his name?!
His feet come to a stop.
I'm probably treading on thin ice but I have to know. It's been weighing on my mind and I need an answer.
"I insist."
He turns and looks at me with raised brows like I just said the most stupid thing.
"On what?" His voice drips low.
"I want to know what deal you made with my father," I blurt out.
His gaze narrows at me, putting both hands in his pockets.
"I need to know," I pressure him.
"You don't need to know. And we are over this topic." He turns to leave again.
"I'm your wife!" I rush out before I can stop myself. Somehow, it's the only thing that came to mind.
"If you married me, I have a right to know why you did it, don't you think?" It sounds more like a plea.
With his hands still in his pockets, he starts walking towards me. With each step he takes towards me, I take a step backward, until my back hits the counter. He steals all the air in the space and suddenly, everywhere feels hot.
"It seems you don't understand your situation, Elena. Let's set a few things straight, shall we?"
My breath catches. My stomach knots.
"Your father offered you up to me. I don't owe you anything. You're my property. I own you." His eyes pierce into mine.
"You are my wife, and you'll stay in this house until I say otherwise.
You don't ask about my business. Ever.
Your role in this home is to serve as my wife. Act the part to the public. What you do inside is none of my business as long as it doesn't interfere with any of my business.
I'll offer you protection, safety, financial support. But that is all. Anything more is out of my hands".
"Don't forget that this whole thing between us is contracted, and you hold the shorter end of the stick. So next time, I want you to think properly before asking me anything."
Before I can say anything, he straightens, turns, and walks away, leaving me frozen in place. I swallow hard, forcing back the tears that threaten to spill. I didn't think it could get any worse, but this?
No. I won't be able to handle it.
Lucia's words ring in my head. I should have known. I scoff loudly.
So much for caring.