CHAPTER 2

I woke up to the sunlight streaming through the open window. The moment I opened my eyes, I was briefly blinded by the sudden brightness. But as my vision adjusted, I found myself confused for a second, wondering where I was, the unfamiliar ceiling above me made me sit upright. Shit! everything came rushing back to me.

The news about our families bankruptcy.

The confrontation in my father's office.

The contract. The marriage.

And the man who was feared by everyone, Vincent Alessandro Moretti, who's now my contract husband. I closed my eyes at the thought of it. I ran a fingers through my hair, this is so frustrating. Tsk.

I looked around the enormous bedroom.

Everything was elegant—too elegant.

The bed alone was bigger than the one in my room at home. Floor-to-ceiling windows, overlooked perfectly trimmed gardens, while dark curtains framed the morning light.

There was no sound. The silence makes my ear hurt.

No familiar voices.

No mother calling me for breakfast.

Nothing.

Just complete silence.

I pushed the blanket aside and walked toward the window. The Moretti estate was already awake. Men in black suits were stationed around the property. Two black SUVs were parked near the main entrance. A few men stood near the gates, speaking into radios. I frowned. What kind of house needed this much security?

Then I realized whose house this was.

Moretti's... The city’s most feared Mafia boss—the man everyone whispered about. Maybe the gossips are true, cause if it's not, I can't tell why this estate needs so much security and high walls. I stepped away from the window.

"Great." I mumble.

One night. I had spent exactly one night in the Moretti estate. Good thing I'm still alive until this hours. I sigh. I was thinking about home when a knock sounded on my door.

Before I could answer, the door opened.

A woman in her fifties entered.

"Good morning, Mrs. Moretti." I almost winced.

"Please don't call me that." She looked at me surprised.

"But that is what Mr. Moretti instructed us to call you." She calmly replied.

"Of course he did." I rolled my eyes. She smiled politely.

"My name is Teresa. I manage the household." She introduced herself. I just nodded and smiled back.

"Nice to meet you, Teresa." I said.

"nice to meet you too, Mrs. Moretti. Anyways, I came here to inform you that Breakfast is ready."

"I'm not hungry." I immediately told her.

I felt her hesitation.

"Mr. Moretti said you are to eat breakfast with him." I turned around.

"He said what?"

"Breakfast. Together." She said.

I stared at her.

"Tell Mr. Moretti I'll eat later." I answered lifelessly. Teresa looked nervous..

"But Mrs. Moretti..."

"Please, Just Elara." I cut her off. She smiled faintly.

"Elara, Mr. Moretti doesn't like being kept waiting." I folded my arms.

"And I don't like being ordered around." I made myself sound like a mean woman.

Teresa's smile disappeared. I saw her frightened a little. I sighed.

"Fine. I'll be down in five minutes."

She nodded fast and left. I closed the door.

"Welcome to married life, Elara." I whispered to myself.

---

The dining room was enormous. A long table could easily accommodate twenty people. Yet only two chairs were occupied.

Mine.

And Vincent's.

He sat at the head of the table, reading something on his tablet. He's wearing black long shirt. Black trousers. Sleeves rolled up to his forearms.

He looked irritatingly composed.

As if he hadn't turned my entire world upside down the night before. Tskkk.

I pulled out the chair and sat down

"Morning." I greeted, He didn't look up.

"You're late." I glanced at the clock.

"By three minutes."

"Four."

I rolled my eyes.

"Sorry. Next time, I'll run." He finally looked at me.

"Don't be sarcastic."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"And you're controlling." A faint smile appeared on his lips.

"At least we're learning about each other."

He said in a baritone voice. I rolled my eyes. "Whatever you want to believe."

A maid placed breakfast in front of me.

I looked at the food. Then at Vincent.

"Do you always have this many people watching you eat?"

"They're staff."

"Some of them are armed."

"They're security."

"Same thing." He returned his attention to the tablet.

I picked up my fork. For several minutes, we ate in silence. It was uncomfortable.

Not because of the silence itself.

Because I could feel him watching me whenever I wasn't looking.

Finally, I put down my fork. "Why me?" I blurted out.

His eyes lifted. "How many times do you need to ask that?"

"Until you gave me a real answer."

"I already did."

"No. You gave me a sentence." He leaned back.

"What answer are you looking for?"

"Simple. The truth." His expression became unreadable.

"You wouldn't like it, Elara "

"Try me." A long pause. Then he said,

"You'll know when the time comes." I stared at him.

"See? You're just giving me a sentence!"

"It's the only one you're getting." I pushed my plate away.

"Fine." I stood.

"Where are you going?"

"My room."

"Sit." I stopped.

There it was again. That tone. An order.

I slowly turned around.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I haven't dismissed you yet." I laughed softly.

"Dismissed me?" I walked back toward the table. My brows are knitted together.

"Mr. Moretti, I thought I was your wife, not your employee?" I said, it sounded sarcastic.

His gaze sharpened. "You signed a contract." He made me remembered.

"That you forced me to do..." He said nothing. He wasn't shocked about my words, but I could see he's losing his patience over me. Yet I don't care.

I leaned slightly toward him.

"You don't own me. " His jaw tightened.

For the first time, I saw something crack through that calm expression. Anger. Finally!

But then it disappeared. His face becomes calm again.

"You're right." He looked straight into my eyes. "You're my wife."

He paused.

"Not my property." The words caught me off guard. He picked up his coffee.

"But don't mistake that for freedom." My stomach tightened.

"What does that mean?"

"You'll understand." I always hated those words.

"You keep saying that."

"Because you keep asking questions before you're ready for the answers." I stared at him.

"What exactly are you hiding?" His eyes met mine.

"Nothing that concerns you."

"Everything in this house concerns me."

"Not everything." I narrowed my eyes as he stood.

"Finish your breakfast."

"Where are you going?"

"Work."

"Mafia business?" He stopped.

Slowly, he looked back at me. His gazed gave chills down my spine. Did he just looked at me as if it's gonna be my last day on Earth? Damn.

"Careful, Elara." There was no smile now.

"Some subjects aren't meant to be discussed at the breakfast table." I held his gaze.

"Fine." Then he walked away.

I watched him leave. "Watta jerk." I whispered to thin air. Then from somewhere behind me, I heard a quiet cough. I turned. Teresa was standing near the doorway, trying not to smile.

I raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Nothing, Mrs. Moretti."

"Just Elara."

"Elara." She smiled.

Then she lowered her voice.

"First time someone has spoken to Mr. Moretti like that." I looked toward the doorway.

"Really?" She nodded.

"Most people are afraid of him." I looked back at her.

"Should I be?" Teresa's smile disappeared.

"I really think you should, Elara"

That answer was immediate, it actually caught me off guard.

---

Later that morning, I explored the estate.

Or tried to. There were too many restricted areas. Every hallway seemed to have a security guard. Every door had a lock. Then I eventually found a library.

It was beautiful. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves covered the walls.

I walked between them, running my fingers over the spines. At the back of the room, I noticed something strange.

A locked glass cabinet.

Inside were photographs.

Old photographs.

One caught my attention.

A younger Vincent stood beside an older man. His father, perhaps. But there was something else.

A woman. And a little boy. I leaned closer.

I didn't know why, but seeing Vincent's younger face made him seem almost human. Then I noticed the dates.

The photograph was taken years ago.

There were several photographs. The same woman.

The same boy. But in the later pictures...

They were gone. Only Vincent and the older man remained. I frowned.

"What happened to them?" I whispered to myself.

"Curious?" A familiar voice made me freeze in my place. I turned around. Vincent stood at the doorway. My heart jumped.

"I didn't hear you."

"Yeah, I noticed." He walked inside.

His eyes went directly to the cabinet.

Then back to me.

"You shouldn't be here."

"I was looking around."

"Why?"

"Because I'm living here?" His expression remained cold.

"That doesn't give you access to everything." I glanced at the photographs.

"Who are they?" I didn't pay attention to what he says. Instead I asked him what I'm curious about.

His face changed. Barely.

But I saw it.

Pain. Then anger.

"Leave." I stared at him.

"I only asked—"

"Leave, Elara." His voice was sharper this time.

I stepped back. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then I looked at him carefully.

"Why is it hard for you to answer such a simple question? Are you afraid of something?"

His eyes hardened.

"I'm not afraid."

"Then why do you look worried?" He moved closer.

"Because there are things in this world you will never understand."

"Then make me understand!"

He stopped in front of me. "You wouldn't survive knowing everything about me." I swallowed.

"Maybe I don't need to know everything."

I glanced at the photographs.

"Maybe I just need to know who you were before you became Vincent Moretti."

His expression went completely still.

Then he whispered,

"That man is dead."

He walked past me.

I turned. "Vincent."

He stopped. "Who were they?" He didn't turn around.

"My family." My chest tightened.

Before I could ask another question, he walked out.

I remained standing in the middle of the library. Finally, I saw something except strength and power beneath the ruthless Vincent Moretti.

Wound. A sight of weakness.

Maybe he had buried it so deeply that even asking about it seemed dangerous. And suddenly, I understood something. Vincent Moretti wasn't simply hiding secrets from me. He was protecting them.

The question was...

From whom?

And why did I have the feeling that somehow—

I was connected to all of it?