Under Watchful Eyes
Ava woke before dawn, not because she had rested, but because her body had learned that sleep in this house was a luxury she could no longer afford. The room was dim, the curtains barely stirred by the faint breeze seeping through the narrow opening in the window. For a moment, she lay still, listening. The estate breathed around her—low, distant footsteps, the soft hum of machinery somewhere deep within the walls, the muted clatter of preparation far below. Life moved in this place whether she was ready for it or not.
She sat up slowly, her muscles stiff and her head heavy. The bed was too large, the space around her too empty. Everything here was designed to remind her of its scale—how vast the estate was, how insignificant she was within it. Even the silence felt intentional, curated to keep her aware of her position.
By the time she dressed, the sky outside had lightened to a pale gray. She chose her clothes with the same careful deliberation as the previous days—neutral tones, conservative lines, nothing that could be interpreted as defiance or vanity. She tied her hair back, neat and restrained, and took one last look at herself in the mirror. The woman staring back looked composed, controlled. Only her eyes betrayed her because it was too alert, too cautious.
As she stepped into the corridor, she felt it again. That sensation of being watched.
It wasn't a sound or a movement. It was instinct. The quiet certainty that she was never truly alone here, even when the halls appeared empty. Ava kept her pace steady, refusing to let her fear show. She had already learned that this house rewarded composure and punished weakness.
The dining room doors were open when she arrived. Alessandro was already seated.
Of course he was.
He sat at the head of the table, as immovable as a fixture of the room itself. His suit was dark, perfectly pressed, his cuffs immaculate. He didn't look up immediately when she entered, but she knew—she knew—that he was aware of her presence. The power he wielded didn't require constant acknowledgment. It existed regardless.
"Sit," he said at last.
She obeyed, lowering herself into the chair opposite him. The distance between them felt deliberate, measured. A gulf of polished wood and unspoken authority.
Breakfast was served without ceremony. Ava ate slowly, carefully, every bite measured. Alessandro spoke little, but when he did, it was with intent.
"You will begin learning how this house operates," he said, setting his cutlery down with quiet precision. "Not as a guest. As a responsibility."
Her fingers tightened around her fork. "What does that mean?"
He finally looked directly at her then. His gaze was steady, penetrating, unreadable. "It means you observe. You listen. You do not interfere. And you do not act unless instructed."
Ava nodded, though unease curled in her stomach. Responsibility did not sound like protection. It sounded like expectation.
After breakfast, she was escorted—not by Alessandro this time, but by one of his men. He was silent, efficient, and watchful. The message was clear: Alessandro did not need to supervise every step personally to maintain control.
She was shown the inner workings of the estate—the administrative wing, the secured corridors, the staff rotations. None of it was explained in detail, but Ava understood the purpose. This was not orientation. This was exposure. A warning disguised as education.
Everywhere she went, eyes followed her. Staff members lowered their gazes respectfully, but she could feel the scrutiny beneath their politeness. She was an outsider. A variable. Something to be assessed.
By afternoon, exhaustion weighed heavily on her, but she was not dismissed. Instead, she was led to a sitting room overlooking the rear gardens. The doors closed behind her with a soft, final click.
Alessandro was already there.
He stood by the window, his back to her, hands clasped behind him. The sunlight filtered in, casting sharp lines across his broad frame. He did not turn when she entered.
"You are observant," he said. "But cautious."
Ava hesitated before responding. "I don't think caution is a flaw here."
A pause.
"No," he agreed quietly. "It is not."
She waited, unsure whether she was meant to speak further. The silence stretched, thick and deliberate. When he finally turned to face her, his expression was as controlled as ever, but something in his eyes had shifted—not softened, but sharpened.
"You will attend dinners. Meetings where your presence is required," he said. "You will say nothing unless spoken to. You will remember everything you hear."
Her breath caught. "Why?"
"Because you are my wife," he said flatly. "And that makes you visible."
The word settled heavily between them. Wife. It felt unreal, transactional, stripped of intimacy and meaning. A title without warmth.
"I won't protect you from everything," he continued. "Fear keeps people careful. Careful people survive."
Ava met his gaze, her pulse racing, fear threading through her resolve. "And if I make a mistake?"
His eyes darkened, just slightly. "Then you will learn."
The conversation ended there. He dismissed her with a nod, turning back to the window as if she were no longer present. Ava left the room with her heart pounding, the weight of his words pressing into her chest.
That night, alone once more, Ava sat at the edge of her bed, hands clasped tightly together. Her mind replayed the day in fragments—glances, silences, warnings wrapped in civility. Alessandro had not raised his voice. He had not threatened her outright. He didn't need to.
Control here was quiet. Absolute. Relentless.
She lay back slowly, staring at the ceiling as the estate settled into its nocturnal hush. Tomorrow would bring more rules, more expectations, more tests. She understood that now. This was not simply a contract marriage. It was initiation.
And Alessandro Romano was watching.
Not with affection.
Not with kindness.
But with the measured patience of a man deciding how much she could endure.