Chapter 2 : What The Papers Says

The moment the door shut, the silence returned—but this time it felt heavier.

Like it had weight.

Like it was watching me.

I stood there for a few seconds, frozen, staring at the door he had just walked through. My chest rose and fell too quickly, my heartbeat loud in my ears. I didn’t even realize my hands were shaking until I clenched them into fists.

“No,” I whispered to myself. “No, no, no…”

This couldn’t be real.

I turned sharply and rushed to the door, grabbing the handle. I twisted it hard. Once. Twice. Nothing. It didn’t even budge. My breathing quickened as I pulled harder, panic rising in my throat.

“Open this!” I shouted, banging on it. “Open the door!”

No answer.

I hit it again, harder this time. “Hey! I said open it!”

Silence.

My voice cracked slightly. “Please…”

The word slipped out before I could stop it, and I hated how weak it sounded.

I stepped back, staring at the door like it had betrayed me. My mind raced in circles—kidnapped, locked in, alone with a stranger who spoke like I was already his property.

I turned away sharply, pacing the room.

Think. Think, Ariella.

There has to be a way out.

My eyes scanned everything again, this time more desperate. The window was my first target. I rushed to it, pushing aside the heavy curtain.

Bright sunlight hit my face instantly, making me squint.

What I saw made my stomach drop.

A vast estate stretched endlessly beyond the glass—lush green lawns, tall gates far in the distance, security guards stationed at multiple points like silent statues. Cameras were mounted everywhere I looked.

Everywhere.

My breath caught.

This wasn’t just a house.

It was a fortress.

“No way…” I muttered under my breath.

I pressed my palm against the glass, my mind struggling to process it. Even if I managed to get out of this room, I wouldn’t be escaping easily. Not from a place like this.

My reflection stared back at me.

Ariella Stone.

Trapped.

I stepped away from the window, my throat tightening again. Anger started replacing panic slowly, burning in my chest.

Who does he think he is?

Three hundred and sixty-five days.

The number echoed in my head like a threat.

“I will not stay here,” I said firmly to myself. “I will not.”

I turned back toward the door again, scanning it more carefully. Heavy, reinforced. No visible lock on my side. Which meant it was controlled externally.

Of course it was.

I exhaled sharply and looked around again. There had to be something—anything.

My eyes landed on a small table near the bed. On it was a tray I hadn’t noticed before. Water. Food. And a folded piece of paper.

My heart skipped slightly.

I walked over cautiously, like it might bite me, and picked up the paper.

Only one line was written on it.

“Eat. You’ll need your strength.”

No name. No signature.

But I already knew who it was from.

My fingers tightened around the paper.

“You think I’m going to listen to you?” I muttered, crumpling it slightly.

I dropped it back onto the table and turned away.

I wasn’t hungry.

Not in a place like this.

Instead, I started searching the room more aggressively—drawers, corners, under furniture. Anything that could help me. Anything sharp. Anything useful.

But everything was carefully arranged.

Too perfect.

Too intentional.

It was like the room had been prepared for me.

Like he expected me to try something.

My frustration grew.

“Damn it!” I kicked the edge of the bed in anger.

Pain shot through my foot instantly.

“Ah—!” I winced, grabbing it.

Great. Now I’m injured too.

I sank onto the bed, breathing heavily, trying to calm my racing thoughts. My mind kept flashing back to his face.

Those eyes.

The way he looked at me—not like a stranger, but like something familiar.

“You look exactly like her.”

I shook my head quickly.

“No,” I whispered. “I’m not anyone’s replacement.”

But even as I said it, doubt crept in.

Who was Isabella?

Why did I look like her?

And why did it matter so much to him?

I leaned back slightly, staring at the ceiling again.

For the first time since waking up, fear started to shift into something else.

Curiosity.

Because there was something about him… something unsettlingly controlled. He didn’t behave like a typical kidnapper. There was no chaos in him. No panic. No hesitation.

Everything he did felt calculated.

Like I wasn’t taken by impulse…

but by design.

A soft knock on the door made me jolt upright.

My body stiffened immediately.

“I said I’m not eating!” I called out instinctively.

Silence followed.

Then the door opened slightly.

My breath caught.

But it wasn’t him.

A man stepped in instead—tall, formal, expression unreadable. He looked slightly younger than the first man, but just as controlled. His eyes briefly met mine before he spoke.

“Miss Stone,” he said politely.

I narrowed my eyes. “Who are you?”

“I’m Marco Vieri,” he replied. “I work for Mr. De Santis.”

Of course he does.

I crossed my arms. “Tell your boss I’m not staying here.”

Marco didn’t react immediately. Instead, he looked at me calmly, almost like he was studying a situation he had seen before.

“He already knows your response,” he said.

“Then why are you here?”

He hesitated for a second before answering.

“To make sure you don’t hurt yourself trying to leave.”

I scoffed. “Oh, so now I’m a prisoner and I need supervision?”

“That is not how he would phrase it,” Marco said evenly.

“I don’t care how he phrases it!” I snapped. “I want out!”

Marco’s expression remained unchanged.

“You will not be leaving this room without permission,” he said calmly.

My anger flared instantly.

“Are you serious right now?”

“Yes.”

The simplicity of his answer made my blood boil.

I stepped forward. “Tell him I’m not his property.”

For the first time, something flickered in Marco’s eyes.

Not emotion exactly.

But awareness.

“I will pass on your message,” he said.

Then he paused.

“And Miss Stone…”

I frowned. “What?”

His voice lowered slightly.

“Be careful how you speak to him.”

I laughed bitterly. “Or what?”

Marco didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he simply looked at me for a moment longer.

Then—

“You remind him of someone he buried,” he said quietly.

My expression shifted slightly.

Before I could respond, he turned and left.

The door closed again.

Locking me in.

I stood there for a long moment, my thoughts spinning.

Someone he buried.

Not just loved.

Not just lost.

Buried.

My chest tightened again, but this time it wasn’t just fear.

It was something heavier.

Because I realized something slowly, unwillingly.

I wasn’t here randomly.

I wasn’t taken just because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I was here because I looked like someone dead.

And Luca De Santis…

wasn’t letting me go anytime soon.