The rules were printed on cream paper and handed to me like commandments.
Luca didn't read them aloud. He didn't need to. He watched me instead, leaning against the edge of the desk, arms folded, dark eyes sharp as I scanned each line.
You do not leave the estate without permission.
2. You do not speak to guests unless spoken to.
3. You do not ask questions about business.
4. You do not enter Luca Moretti's private quarters.
5. In public, you are devoted. In private, you are obedient.
I laughed softly.
It startled him.
"You forgot one," I said, looking up. "I don't breathe unless you allow it."
His jaw flexed.
"Mocking me won't save you," he said.
"I'm not trying to be saved," I replied. "I'm trying to stay sane."
He straightened. "You'll follow the rules."
"Or what?" I challenged.
He stepped closer, too close. I could smell his cologne now. Clean. Expensive. Controlled.
"Or you'll learn why I made them."
My spine stiffened, but I didn't look away.
"You want a doll," I said. "Someone quiet. Pretty. Grateful."
"No," Luca said sharply. "I want survival."
I scoffed. "Then why lock me up?"
"Because you're reckless," he snapped. "You slap men who can have you killed. You provoke people who don't hesitate."
"Sounds like a you problem," I said.
For a split second, I thought he might lose control.
Instead, he exhaled slowly, like he was counting down from ten.
"You will have a room," he said. "You'll eat when you want. You'll read, walk the grounds, live comfortably."
"And love you?" I asked bitterly.
His eyes darkened.
"Never," he said. "That would be dangerous."
He turned to leave.
"Luca," I called.
He stopped but didn't turn around.
"You said you wouldn't touch me," I said. "Is that because you don't want me, or because you're afraid you will?"
Silence.
Then, very quietly: "Don't test that."
The door shut behind him.
The room they gave me was bigger than our entire apartment back home.
White sheets. Floor-to-ceiling windows. A balcony overlooking gardens so manicured they looked unreal. Luxury meant to soften the cage.
I didn't sleep.
Not until dawn crept in and exhaustion won.
I met his world the next evening.
A dinner party.
Men in tailored suits. Women dripping in diamonds. Laughter sharp and hollow. The air smelled like power and blood money.
Luca stood at the head of the room, untouchable as a king.
When he extended his arm to me, I hesitated.
His fingers brushed my wrist, light. Barely there.
But his voice was low. Controlled.
"Smile," he murmured. "They're watching."
I leaned in just enough for only him to hear.
"I hope they choke on it."
His lips twitched.
In public, he was flawless.
Hand on my lower back. Protective. Possessive. His gaze dared anyone to question my place beside him.
In private, he barely looked at me.
Until a man named Marco DeLuca did.
Marco's eyes lingered too long. His smile was wrong.
"Beautiful wife," Marco said, lifting my hand to kiss it. "You're lucky, Luca."
I felt Luca tense.
"She's not for you to admire," Luca replied coolly.
Marco chuckled. "Relax. I was just.."
Luca stepped closer to him.
The room fell quiet.
"You were just forgetting your place," Luca said softly. "Let me remind you."
Marco paled.
Later that night, Luca cornered me in the hallway.
"You enjoyed that," he accused.
"Enjoyed what?" I asked.
"Being looked at," he said. "Being wanted."
I crossed my arms. "You don't get to cage me and then get jealous."
"I'm not jealous," he said instantly.
I smiled.
That did it.
He stepped forward, backing me against the wall. His hand braced beside my head, not touching me, but close enough that I felt trapped.
"You think this is a game," he said. "You don't understand what wanting costs."
"Then stop wanting," I whispered.
His breath hitched.
For one dangerous moment, his control cracked.
Then he pulled away like I burned him.
"Get some sleep," he said coldly. "Tomorrow, you learn what being a Moretti wife really means."
As he walked away, my heart pounded, not with fear.
But with the terrifying realization that the man who owned me, was losing control.