Sold To The Mafia Lord

Emilia didn’t mean to find the garden.She had only meant to escape the silence of the house, just for a moment. Her duties were done, and Rosa hadn’t given her more work, which was rare. So she wandered, quietly, always quietly, until she found the glass door at the end of the west corridor.It creaked when she pushed it open.The garden was surrounded by high walls. The air smelled faintly of rain and dust. The flowers were overgrown, untamed, and some were long dead.But it was beautiful in the way forgotten things are beautiful.Safe, even.Emilia sat on the stone bench in the corner and looked up at the cloudy sky. For a few precious minutes, the weight on her chest felt lighter. Her hands stopped trembling.She didn’t know why she started to sing.Just a little hum. A tune her mother used to hum when she thought no one was listening.Her voice was soft. A whisper.But it carried.Lucien was passing the hall when he heard it.He stopped.Turned.He never walked this way, never ha

The sound of shattering glass came just after midnight.Emilia shot upright in her bed, heart thudding.Another crash. This one is closer.She grabbed her robe and crept out of her room, bare feet soft against the marble floor. The house was dark, eerily so. Only the faint glow from the study door spilled into the hall.It was open.Inside, Lucien stood with his back to her. One hand gripped the edge of the desk. The other was bloodied, dripping slowly onto the floor. A broken glass lay in shards beside him.She forgot herself.“Sir…”He turned sharply. “I told you to stay in your room.”“You’re bleeding.”“It’s nothing.”“It’s not nothing.”She stepped in before he could argue, grabbing a cloth from the cabinet in the corner. “Sit.”He didn’t move.She raised her eyes to him. “Please.”For a moment, he stared at her like he might refuse. But then, without a word, he sank into the leather chair.Emilia knelt in front of him, gently taking his hand.The cut ran across his palm, deep en

The letter arrived the next morning. No name. No seal. Just a thin, cream-colored envelope slipped under Emilia’s door like a whisper.She stared at it for a long moment before picking it up.Inside was a single sentence, written in ink that looked too dark to be red.“Ask him what really happened to your father.”Her fingers trembled.She read it again. And again.Then she burned it in the fireplace.She didn’t tell Lucien. Not immediately. Not while her pulse thundered and her mind screamed questions she wasn’t ready to ask. Instead, she went about her day like nothing had changed, helping Rosa in the kitchen, reading in the garden, walking the long halls like she belonged in them.But the words haunted her.What really happened.That night, Lucien didn’t come to dinner. Again.He’d been more distant since the night in the greenhouse. She could feel it, how he vanished before she could catch his gaze, how his voice clipped short when she got too close.As if he was trying to undo so

The silence in the mansion was heavier than any scream.For days, Lucien hadn’t looked at her, not really. He spoke only when necessary, his voice clipped and devoid of warmth. The man who once watched her in the greenhouse with a storm in his eyes now moved past her like she was invisible.And maybe she was.A possession tucked in the corner of his grand estate. A thing to be seen, not heard. Not felt.Emilia walked the halls alone, her bare feet echoing softly across the marble. The opulence that once made her gape now felt like a prison. The chandeliers, the oil paintings, the velvet drapes, it was all a cruel joke. She had everything but freedom.And the man who owned it all wouldn’t even look at her.The staff, once cordial, now avoided her eyes. She could feel it, Lucien had ordered it. Whatever freedom she’d imagined she had was an illusion. A thread he’d cut the moment she stepped too close. She thought it was better, that she could endured it when she first arrived. She must h

Emilia had just stepped into the hallway when she saw her.Tall. Stunning. A predator in heels.She wore a long coat, barely fastened. Beneath it, flashes of red silk clung to her skin like fire. Lingerie. Her heels struck the marble like gunshots, confident and unapologetic.Lucien’s bedroom door opened. The woman walked in without knocking. Like she’d done it before. Like she was expected. Like she belonged.Emilia froze at the top of the stairs, her chest tightening, the floor shifting beneath her. The air thickened in her lungs, too heavy to breathe.She turned and fled to the kitchen, heart pounding. Rosa was there, chopping herbs like she was stabbing something.Emilia’s voice barely rose above a whisper. “Who is she?”Rosa looked up slowly, eyes gleaming with something cruel. Then she laughed. Cold. Mean.“Oh, her?” Rosa sneered. “That’s Isla. Lucien’s favorite. She comes when he needs to forget everything else.”Emilia’s stomach twisted. But she didn’t speak.Rosa tilted her hea