I learned early in my marriage that silence could bruise worse than hands.
De Luca's penthouse never slept, it breathed low voices through marble halls, the hum of elevators, the distant city pressing its face against the glass. That night, I couldn't sleep either, because Matteo hadn't come to bed.
I pulled on a silk robe and followed the sound of voices drifting from the study.
I wasn't trying to spy, I told myself that as I slowed near the corner, with bare feet cold against stone. I only wanted to know if he was alive.
Whether he remembered I existed.
Then I heard my name.
"…she doesn't need to know," Luca said, his voice smooth, careless. "Isabella's good for appearances, that's all she ever was."
My breath choked me.
Another voice murmured, lower, but older. Father Angelo. "You shouldn't speak so loosely."
Luca laughed under his breath. "Please, Matteo's smart, he knows what marriage is. He married her because she was clean, untouched by our world. A pretty shield."
I pressed my hand to the wall, steadying myself.
"A shield," Luca continued, "is replaceable."
The word echoed in my head, sharp and final.
There was a pause, papers rustled, while glass clinked.
"And if she leaves?" Father Angelo asked.
Luca didn't hesitate. "Then Matteo will finally be free."
I waited for Matteo's voice, in great expectation of denial, for anger, for anything.
Nothing came.
The silence was loud enough to drown me.
I stepped back before they could turn the corner. My heart hammered as I slipped down the hallway, each step heavier than the last. By the time I reached the bedroom, my hands were shaking.
Replaceable, free, shield,or whatever!
I closed the door and leaned against it, sliding down until I sat on the floor. The room smelled like Matteo, leather, smoke, something dark and expensive. I used to find comfort in it.
Now it made my stomach twist.
I stayed there until my legs went numb, when I finally stood up, my reflection in the mirror looked smaller. Like someone had taken a piece of me without asking.
When Matteo came in later, I was already in bed, turned away.
He moved quietly, like he always did, the mattress dipped, his presence filled the space without touching me.
"Isa," he said softly.
I didn't answer.
His hand hovered near my shoulder, I felt it, even the pause. Then he pulled away.
The light clicked off.
I stared into the dark, counting my breaths, wondering how long I'd been living inside a lie.
The next morning, I watched him from across the breakfast table.
Matteo De Luca, my husband, billionaire king of a world I never asked to belong to.
He looked like a perfect one, in tailored suit, a calm expression with cold gray eyes scanning his phone like nothing could touch him.
"Did you sleep?" he asked, not looking up.
"Yes," I lied.
He nodded once. "We have dinner tonight with the Morettis."
"I'm not going."
That got his attention. He looked up, brows drawing together. "You always go."
"I don't want to tonight."
Silence stretched between us as he studied my face like he was trying to read something written too small.
"Is something wrong?" he asked.
I almost laughed.
I would rather I screamed.
Instead, I said, "Do you regret marrying me?"
The question landed hard, because I saw it in his eyes, a flicker of something sharp and buried.
"No," he said too fast.
I pushed. "Then why does everyone else think I'm temporary?"
His jaw sagged. "Who said that?"
"It doesn't matter."
"It does," he snapped, then checked himself. Lowered his voice. "Tell me."
I thought of Luca's voice, smooth, but certain, that of Matteo's, silence.
"Someone who knows you well," I said.
He leaned back, fingers steepled and the wall went up but I hated how familiar it was.
"You shouldn't listen to gossip," he said.
"So I should listen to you?" I asked. "Because you don't tell me anything."
"I'll tell you what you need."
"That's not your choice," I said, my voice shaking. "You don't get to decide how much of my own life I'm allowed to see."
His eyes darkened. "This life is dangerous."
"Then why am I in it at all?" I asked. "If I'm just a shield?"
The word slipped out before I could stop it.
Matteo froze.
For one second,just one, I saw panic.
Then it vanished.
"Who told you that?" he asked quietly.
I stood. "Answer the question."
He didn't.
That was the answer.
I walked out before he could stop me or before I could beg him to say I was wrong.
I spent the afternoon with my sister Elena, pretending everything was fine.
She watched me over her coffee, eyes sharp. "You're pale."
"I'm tired."
"You're lying."
I shrugged. "It's nothing."
She leaned closer. "Is he hurting you?"
"No," I said quickly. "Matteo would never."
She didn't look convinced. "He doesn't have to touch you to hurt you, Isa."
The words settled heavily in my chest.
That evening, I returned to the penthouse with a decision already forming, quietly, solid, but terrifying.
I found Matteo in the study again., alone this time.
"We need to talk," I said.
He looked up. "I agree."
I crossed my arms. "I heard Luca last night."
His expression hardened. "You shouldn't have been listening."
"I live here," I shot back. "I breathe the same air."
"What did he say?" Matteo asked.
I searched his face one last time, hoping, wishing…
"That I was replaceable," I said, "that you married me for convenience and that you'd certainly be free if I left."
His silence stretched.
Too long.
"Say it's not true," I whispered.
He stood slowly. "Isabella—"
"Say it," I demanded.
His mouth opened and closed.
"I protected you," he said finally. "Everything I did was to keep you safe."
"That wasn't the question."
"I didn't lie," he said. "I just didn't tell you everything."
The room felt like it was tilting.
"So it's true," I said. "I was useful."
"That's not—"
"I was never loved," I finished.
His face cracked then, just a little.
"You don't understand," he said.
"I understand perfectly," I replied. "I gave you my whole life, but you gave me a role."
I turned to leave.
"Isabella," he called, voice rough. "Don't do this."
I stopped at the door but didn't look back.
"I won't be your shield anymore."
I walked out with my heart breaking clean down th
e middle.
Bethend me, something shattered.
I didn't turn around to see what it was.
End of Chapter Three.