The House That Watched

The De Luca estate did not welcome me. It absorbed me.

The iron gates slid shut behind the car with a slow, deliberate sound that echoed far too loudly in my chest. I twisted slightly in my seat, watching the metal bars lock into place, sealing off the road, the city, and the fragile version of my life I had been clinging to. The estate stretched ahead like a private world untouched by time, with endless lawns trimmed into perfect obedience and stone paths that curved toward destinations I had not chosen.

I rested one hand over my stomach, fingers curling instinctively. The movement was small, but it grounded me. Whatever this place was meant to do to me, I was not alone inside my own body.

The car stopped in front of the main entrance. Lorenzo stepped out first, already composed, already distant, his expression as controlled as the estate itself. He didn’t offer a hand. He never did. I followed him out, my shoes sinking slightly into the gravel that probably cost more than my rent used to.

Inside, the air changed immediately. Cool. Regulated. Faintly scented with polish and something sharp that made my nose sting. Marble floors reflected the chandelier light so cleanly that it felt like walking across glass. Every sound my steps, my breath felt amplified.

This was not a home.It was a declaration.

A woman stood waiting near the entrance, her posture stiff and precise. She was tall and severe, her black suit pressed into perfect lines. Her grey hair was pulled back so tightly it made her expression seem permanent.

“Mrs. Gable,” Lorenzo said. “She will be staying in the west wing.”

Mrs. Gable’s eyes landed on me. They were sharp and assessing, stripping me down to something measurable.

“Yes, Mr. De Luca,” she replied. “Please follow me.”

No greeting. No warmth. Just instruction.

We walked through corridors that felt endless. Doors lined the walls, identical and closed, each one promising privacy I would never have. The house was quiet, but it was not empty. I could feel people behind those walls moving, listening, existing just out of sight. The silence wasn’t absence. It was restraint.

“This will be your room,” Mrs. Gable said, opening one of the doors.

The room was beautiful in a way that felt deliberate and distant. A massive bed dressed in neutral linens. Tall windows overlooking manicured gardens. A sitting area that looked untouched, as though comfort had been staged but never used.

“It’s large,” I said quietly.

“It is sufficient,” she replied.

I turned toward her. “Are there rules I should know about, or will I learn them as I break them?”

Her mouth tightened. “You are not to leave the estate without authorization. Meals will be provided. Medical staff will attend to you daily. Any requests go through me.”

“And if I want to walk outside?” I asked.

“There is a garden,” she said after a pause. “Supervised.”

I nodded. “Of course.”

She left without another word. The door closed softly behind her, the sound precise and final. I waited for the click of a lock and felt it settle somewhere deep in my chest.

I stood alone in the center of the room, suddenly aware of how small I felt in all that space. The silence pressed in, heavy and deliberate. I crossed to the window and looked out at the flawless grounds. Everything was trimmed, ordered, controlled.

Just like me.

I placed both hands on my stomach and breathed slowly. “We’ll be okay,” I whispered. “I promise.”

A knock came later, sharp and confident.

The door opened before I could answer.

She entered as if the space already belonged to her. Tall and elegant, dark hair styled perfectly, silk clinging to her frame with quiet authority. Her eyes swept over me, cool and unimpressed.

“So,” she said. “You’re her.”

“And you are?” I asked calmly.

“Sofia Moretti,” she replied. “Lorenzo’s fiancée.”

The word struck harder than I expected. Present tense.

“I wasn’t aware that was still the case,” I said.

Her smile sharpened. “Temporary circumstances don’t erase long-term plans.”

I straightened. “What do you want?”

She stepped closer, her perfume heavy and deliberate. “I wanted to see what kind of woman would place herself between Lorenzo and his future.”

“I didn’t place myself anywhere,” I replied. “I was brought here.”

She laughed softly. “How convenient.”

I met her gaze without blinking. “If you came to intimidate me, you’re wasting your time.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You should remember your position.”

“I know my position,” I said. “And it isn’t beneath you.”

Her smile vanished. “Enjoy your stay,” she said coldly. “It won’t last.”

When she left, the room felt colder, emptier, like it had swallowed something important and refused to give it back.

Night arrived slowly. The lights dimmed, but the house never truly slept. I lay awake listening to distant footsteps, doors opening and closing, voices murmuring just out of reach. Every sound reminded me that I was not alone, and that none of it was accidental.

A presence filled the doorway sometime later.

Lorenzo stood there, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

“You’re settled,” he said.

“No,” I replied. “I’m contained.”

His jaw tightened. “This is for your safety.”

“This is for your control,” I said quietly.

He stepped closer. “You should be grateful.”

“For what?” I asked. “For isolation? Surveillance? Fear?”

His gaze dropped to my stomach. “You’re carrying my child.”

“I’m carrying a life,” I said. “That doesn’t make me yours.”

Silence stretched between us, thick and tense.

“Rest,” he said finally. “Tomorrow, we begin appearances.”

“And if I refuse?”

His eyes hardened. “You won’t.”

He turned and left.

The door closed behind him.

I exhaled slowly, my hands trembling now that I was alone. I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of the house press down on me like a second skin.

Whatever this place was meant to do to scare me, break me, erase me it would not succeed.

I had already survived worse.

And I was not done fighting.