CHAPTER 09

𝐏𝐎𝐕 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐀

I woke up before the alarm went off.

Actually, for yet another night, I hadn’t slept properly.

The room was still dark, the curtains closed like always, but something felt different. It took me a few seconds to understand what it was. It wasn’t the silence—that had always been there. Likewise, it was the feeling that the space had shrunk overnight.

I stayed lying there, staring at the ceiling, waiting for my body to react.

It didn’t.

My first instinct was to grab my phone.

I reached toward the nightstand.

It wasn’t there.

I sat up abruptly, my heart racing. I looked around the room, realizing something was wrong. Not only that, but I got out of bed and checked the vanity, the armchair, and the purse I’d thrown on the floor the night before.

Nothing.

I frowned, confused.

I didn’t use the device much. Furthermore, I didn’t have friends to chat with—I'd never had that privilege. But I liked listening to music or scrolling through the social media accounts I’d created under a false identity.

Someone had taken it while I slept… but I had barely slept. I woke up constantly. My thoughts wouldn’t stop. Nightmares.

The door opened without warning.

"Good morning, Miss Helena," said the housekeeper as she entered the room. "Breakfast will be served in fifteen minutes."

"Am I no longer grounded?" I asked, hoping the answer would be yes.

"No," she replied, causing me to exhale slowly. "You need to go downstairs today."

I nodded, still trying to understand what was going on.

"My cell phone..." I began.

She looked away for a brief second.

"It's been confiscated," she said. "Your father's orders."

I bit my tongue to keep from cursing. It wasn't her fault.

It was my father's fault.

"Can I have a moment? I need to change..." I asked, needing some privacy.

"Of course."

She left the room and, strangely, left the door open. Another odd gesture. She wasn't careless. That was intentional.

I closed the door and walked toward the large mirror in the closet. I felt strange—observed, even though no one was there. The reflection staring back at me looked the same as always, but something was wrong. My eyes were dull. Empty of reaction.

I had noticed this change since the day I didn't receive a "happy birthday," but rather:

"You're a bargain."

I hadn't even married that old man yet, and I already felt dead inside.

I chose a simple, light pink dress. Nothing that would attract attention. I put it on and tied my hair in a low bun.

I went to the bathroom and hurried through my morning routine.

When I went downstairs for breakfast, something immediately felt off.

My parents weren’t alone. A man I didn’t know was sitting at the table with them—in the seat I usually took.

Dark suit. Rigid posture. Eyes far too alert for a simple breakfast.

Before I could say anything, my father looked up at me.

“Helena,” he said, setting the newspaper down. “As of today, Mr. Marco will be responsible for accompanying you.”

Not even a good morning, I thought. But I stayed quiet.

“Accompanying?” I asked. “Accompanying me where?”

“Everywhere you go,” he replied. “It’s a matter of protocol.”

I simply nodded.

I sat beside my mother and started eating.

The coffee tasted the same as always, but it felt like it wouldn’t go down. Every movement I made was observed. Every gesture, calculated.

When I finished, I stood automatically, ready to go upstairs.

“Where are you going?” my father asked.

“To my room,” I answered, stating the obvious.

“And what are you going to do there?”

That surprised me. He’d never cared before.

“Dad, I don’t understand…”

“I’d prefer you stay here. In the living room. In places where we can see you.”

I sat down again.

The day passed strangely slowly. There were no shouts, no direct orders. Just small corrections. Little reminders.

"No, not like that."

"You can't."

"Wait for permission."

When I tried to go into the garden, Marco stepped forward before I even reached the door.

"You're not authorized," he said, overly polite.

"Since when do I need permission to walk in my own garden?" I asked calmly.

He hesitated for a second.

"Since today."

I went back and sat down on the sofa.

I was going crazy.

My mother walked through the living room on her way to the kitchen. I quickly got up to follow her. Marco moved to come after me, and I stared at him with the sternest look I could muster.

"No," I said firmly. "I'm just going to the kitchen to talk to my mother. I need a moment between mother and daughter. I'm not going to run away."

"Five minutes," he said.

I nodded and went into the kitchen, where my mother was pouring herself a glass of water.

“Mom,” I called.

She lifted her eyes slowly.

“What is it, Helena?”

“You knew…” I began, but stopped. The question felt useless.

She closed the refrigerator.

“Your father knows what he’s doing.”

“And what about me?” I asked. “What do I do?”

She looked at me longer this time. Her eyes were heavy with something that never became words.

“You do what you’ve always done,” she replied. “You endure.”

That’s when I understood there was no point in insisting.

I sighed and left the kitchen without saying anything else.

I sat on the couch and felt something new grow in my chest. It wasn’t despair. It was a quiet rage. Contained. Trapped.

I couldn’t speak.

I couldn’t leave.

Likewise, I couldn’t choose.

But I could think.

And thinking, at that moment, was the only thing they still hadn’t managed to take from me.

I lay back on the couch, staring at the massive chandelier in the entryway.

A few minutes passed when I heard voices approaching.

I recognized my father’s voice and that of his right-hand man, Ramirez.

They didn’t realize I was there.

“She’s reacting more than expected,” my father said in a controlled tone. “I thought she would accept it.”

There was a brief silence.

“She doesn’t seem like someone who accepts without questioning,” Ramirez replied. “She never has.”

My heart started racing. They were talking about me.

“Yes, that’s where I misjudged her,” my father continued. “She was always quiet. Reserved. I mistook that for submission.”

I swallowed hard.

“Did the Dom ask for all these measures?” Ramirez asked.

My entire body went tense.

“No,” my father replied without hesitation. “Vittorio wants the marriage. The image. The deal was finalized. He didn’t ask for internal surveillance.”

My stomach churned.

"So that's your decision."

"It's a precaution," he corrected. "Helena is... unstable."

Unstable.

"She hasn't tried anything," Ramirez pointed out.

"Not yet," my father replied. "But she reacted during dinner. She kept her eyes on the Dom's. Lots of questions. That creates risk."

"Are you afraid she'll run away?"

My father took a deep breath.

"I'm afraid of stupidity. An attempt to bargain, a scandal, an emotional decision." A pause. "She doesn't understand what's at stake."

"Or she does," Ramirez said, "and that's what bothers you."

The silence was heavy.

"She won't run away," my father continued. "She doesn't know anyone. She has nowhere to go. But she needs to feel that she can't. That there's no margin."

"That's why the phone, the schedules, the constant supervision. The rules."

"Exactly," he confirmed. "I can't risk her believing she still has options."

My chest tightened painfully.

"The Dom can't know she's resisting," Ramirez warned.

"He won't," my father replied. "Vittorio bought a bride, not a problem. That's exactly what I'll deliver."

A bride.

My hands were shaking.

Now I knew.

The rules weren't protection.

They weren't the Dom's demands.

They weren't part of the official agreement.

They were afraid, just like everyone else.

Afraid of me.

Afraid I wouldn't accept it.

Afraid I would fight back.

Afraid I would remember that I was still alive.