Chapter 2: The Hollow Mansion

Isabella paid the cab driver with shaky hands, watching the gates swing open like they were swallowing her whole. The Bianchi estate loomed ahead, all grand and intimidating—miles of green lawn, that stupid helipad where Lorenzo parked his toys, and the house itself, a monster of glass and stone that screamed "look how rich I am." She trudged up the driveway, her red dress feeling like a walk of shame flag. Last night's buzz was gone, replaced by a knot in her stomach that wouldn't quit. How did he find her number? And why did it make her feel excited instead of scared?

She snuck in through the side door, hoping to dodge everyone. The kitchen smelled like fresh bread and coffee, Maria bustling around like always. The maid was in her fifties, sharp-eyed but kind in a quiet way. "Signora Isabella," Maria said, not looking up from chopping veggies. "You're home early. Mr. Lorenzo was asking about you."

Isabella's heart skipped. "He was?" She tried to sound casual, but her voice cracked a bit. Maria just nodded, handing her a mug of coffee without a word. The woman had been with the family for years, saw all the crap but never spilled. Isabella took the cup, the warmth a small comfort. "Thanks, Maria. Is he in the office?"

"Si. On a call. Big deal, he said." Maria glanced at her neck, where the concealer was probably fading. Isabella tugged her collar up, her cheeks burning. Did she notice the hickey? God, if Maria knew, it could get back to Lorenzo. That nagging fear of getting caught, right there in her own home.

She headed down the hall, passing the art room—Lorenzo's showoff spot. Paintings worth millions hung there, stuff he bought at auctions to brag about. Picasso, some modern crap she didn't get. To her, it was just cold walls, no life. The whole house felt like that—hollow, like her marriage. Three years ago, she'd walked in here thinking it was a lifeline. Dad's debts had him on the edge, vineyard about to go under. Lorenzo offered to fix it, but the price was her. "Be my wife," he'd said, like it was a business merger. No romance, just papers signed.

Now? It was a trap. She paused outside his office door, hearing his voice boom through. "Listen, if we don't close this by lunch, heads roll. That's two billion riding on it, get it done!" Video call, his executives probably sweating on the other end. She knocked light, pushing the door open.

Lorenzo looked up, face hard. Thirty, sharp jaw, expensive suit hugging his frame. Handsome, sure, but his eyes were always cold. "Isabella. Finally." He muted the call, leaning back. "Where were you? Out all night like some stray?"

"I needed air," she said, keeping it short. Her legs felt weak standing there, guilt mixing with anger. He didn't care where she was—just that she wasn't playing her part.

"Air?" He laughed, mean. "You look like hell. We have the gala tonight—family, partners. You think you can just vanish and come back wrecked? Act like a wife, or remember why you're here." Belittling her like always, making her feel small. That sting of being treated like trash, clashing with the spark from last night. Why did she put up with it? The vineyard, dad— that's why. Family debts hung over her like a cloud.

"I know why," she whispered, voice tight. "To be your arm candy."

He waved her off, unmuting the call. "Later. Clean up." Back to his deal, like she was nothing. She backed out, tears hot in her eyes she went upstairs to the bedroom—huge, but empty. Bed made perfect, no wrinkles from love or anything real. She stripped, shower running hot. Scrubbed again, but the stranger's scent clung in her mind. That heat, the way he'd made her come alive. Lorenzo? He barely looked at her.

Dried off, she grabbed her phone. Sofia had texted: "Spill, girl. You okay?" Her friend from before all this mess, working at that little coffee shop downtown. Real, no bullshit. Isabella called, sinking onto the bed.

"Sof? Hey."

"Isabella! Thought you ghosted. What's up? You sound rough."

She let it out a little—not the full hookup, but close. "Lorenzo's being his usual asshole. Belittled me again, like I'm nothing. And the house... it's so empty. Three years, and it's still a prison because of dad's debts."

Sofia sighed. "Babe, that's crap. You were so full of life before. That vineyard thing—it's not your fault. But staying trapped? You gotta find a way out."

"I know, but what? If I leave, everything falls apart." The emotional void hit hard, talking it out. That pull between staying safe for family and wanting real life, the weight of debts justifying her cage. Sofia got it, always did.

They chatted more, Sofia cracking jokes to lighten it. "Remember our old nights out? No billionaires bossing us."

Isabella laughed weak. "Yeah. Miss that."

Hanging up, she felt a bit better, but the fear crept back. The gala tonight—Lorenzo's family, business folks. Whispers about his step-brother, Dante, the mafia guy everyone feared. She'd never met him, but Lorenzo tensed at his name.

Downstairs, Lorenzo's voice called. "Isabella! We need to talk."

She froze. About what? The club? Her pulse raced as she headed down, the mansion feeling colder than ever.

Italian Phrases:

Si - Yes