Chapter Four: Carol's POV

The road was quiet and the sky was getting dark. Trees passed by on both sides of the car as Antonio drove. I didn’t say a word. I didn’t know what to say.

My body still felt weak. My heart hurt. But more than anything, I was scared. I didn’t know where he was taking me. This wasn’t the way to the house we once lived in.

He had told me earlier, “I’m taking you to our real home.”

But I didn’t know we had another home.

He drove for a long time. Almost an hour, maybe more. We didn’t pass many houses. It felt like we were going into the middle of nowhere.

Finally, we turned onto a long driveway. The gate opened by itself. And then I saw it.

Not a house but a mansion.

It was big, white, and quiet. It looked cold. Empty. The windows were tall. The walls looked like they had never been touched.

My chest tightened.

“What is this place?” I asked in a small voice.

“Our real home,” Antonio said, still looking ahead.

“You never told me about this,” I said.

He didn’t answer.

He parked in front of the house. A man in a black suit opened the door for us without speaking. Antonio came around to my side, opened my door, and pulled me out by my arm.

“Antonio—” I tried to speak, but he was already leading me toward the house.

The inside was even more quiet. Marble floors. A big staircase. Paintings on the walls. A chandelier that sparkled.

It felt more like a museum than a house. Cold. Strange. Lifeless.

He took me upstairs. The hallway was long. He opened a door at the end. Inside was a large bedroom. A king-size bed. Thick curtains. A couch near the window. A mirror. A dresser.

“This is where you’ll stay,” he said.

“Am I your prisoner?” I asked.

He turned and looked at me hard. “Don’t say that.”

“Then let me go,” I whispered.

“No.” His voice was calm but strong. “You belong to me, Carol.”

I didn’t reply. My heart beat fast.

He walked out and locked the door behind him.

I was alone.

I ran to the door and pulled at it. It didn’t open.

I looked at the window. There were bars.

I sat on the bed and stared at the floor. My chest ached. I felt sick.

The room was clean. It smelled like flowers. But everything felt fake.

I got up and walked around. The closet was full of clothes. Not mine. Dresses, skirts, even underwear. All my size.

Did he prepare this for me?

I opened the drawers of the dresser. One of them had pictures. I picked one up. It was a photo of Antonio—much younger. He stood beside a woman I didn’t know. She was pretty, with long hair. She was holding a baby.

The back of the photo had a date. Nineteen years ago.

I frowned. Antonio never told me about a baby. Or another woman. I looked through the rest of the drawer. There were more pictures of the same woman and the same child. But no names.

I didn’t understand.

Then I heard a sound. A soft knock. The door opened, and a maid stepped in. She was older, maybe in her fifties. Her eyes were kind, but her face was tight.

She held a tray. “Dinner, miss,” she said.

She placed the food on the table and turned to leave.

“Wait,” I said quickly and she paused.

“Can I ask you something?”

She nodded.

“How long have you worked here?”

She looked at the door, then back at me. “Long enough.”

“This place... it’s his, right?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t I know about it?”

She didn’t answer. She just gave me a soft smile.

“Be careful, miss,” she said quietly. “Things are not what they seem.”

Then she left and locked the door again. I stood there, confused and cold. I didn’t eat. I couldn’t. My stomach hurt too much.

An hour passed. Maybe more, before Antonio stepped into the room.

His face was calm. He looked at me, then back at the untouched food.

“You didn’t eat,” he said.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You need to stay strong.”

I didn’t reply.

He walked closer, slowly. “You still don’t get it, do you?” he said.

“Get what?”

“You were never supposed to be more than a fling,” he said. “A pretty face. Someone I could use.”

My heart dropped.

“But then,” he said with a lower voice, “you made me feel things. You smiled like you meant it. You made me think I needed you.”

I took a step back. “Antonio…”

He reached out, touched my chin. “Then you started working too much. You forgot how to love me.”

“You cheated on me,” I whispered. “You broke everything.”

He dropped his hand. “You broke it first.”

I shook my head, tears stinging my eyes. “I loved you.”

He leaned close. “You were supposed to stay broken. I gave you everything, and you threw it away.”

I looked at him. “You’re not the man I married.”

His jaw clenched. Then, to my surprise, he stepped back and rubbed his face like he was tired.

“I shouldn’t have said all that,” he muttered.

I didn’t know what to say. He looked… tired. Hurt, even.

He glanced at me again. “Eat something.”

Then he left And locked the door.

I sat down on the bed. My heart felt heavy, I wanted to cry but I had no more tears.

Soon I began to hear voices from downstairs, one belonged to Antonio. It seemed like he was angry and crashing.

I ran to the door and pressed my ear against it.

The yelling increased, until the voice got closer to the room I was locked in.

I shifted backwards immediately and the door pushed open, only for me to see a face I never expected.

I froze and my eyes spread apart widely.

It was the guy from the bar. The one I had slept with. The one I gave myself to, He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, looking so calm.

“You…” I whispered, searching his face, like I could get answers from it. “What are you doing here?”

He looked around, then walked to the couch and sat down.

“Say something,” I said, stepping back.

“I’ve always been here,” he said. “This is my home.”

I stared. “What? You live here?”

“Yes.”

“What do you mean? Do you work for Antonio?”

He shook his head slowly. “No.”

“Then who are you?” I asked.

He looked at me and said the words that made everything stop.

“His son.”

I felt the floor disappear. My legs shook and I quickly grabbed the dresser for support.

“No... that can’t be true.”

“It is,” he said. “Antonio is my father.”

My mouth opened, but no words came out.

“You—at the bar—you knew who I was?” I asked, my voice cracking.

“Yes.”

“You still slept with me,” I said.

“I wanted you.”

I stared at him, my hands shaking. “You used me.”

“No,” he said calmly. “You came to me.”

“But you knew—”

“I didn’t force you,” he said. “You needed someone and I was there.”

I felt sick. I stepped away from him.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Luca.”

I swallowed hard.

“You watched your father hurt me,” I whispered. “And you said nothing.”

“I’ve helped him without meddling,” he said. “Stopped worse things. He doesn’t know.”

“Why are you here now?” I asked.

“Because I wanted to see you again.”

“And now what?” I said bitterly. “Are you here to keep me locked up too?”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then let me go,” I said.

He didn’t answer.

“You should leave,” I said.

He stood up, walked to the door, then he paused.

“You don’t have to trust me,” he said. “But I’m not him. And I never will be.”

He left after that, locking the door behind him, I stood in the middle of the room, my heart pounding.

There were so many lies and secrets. I was stuck between two men.