Chapter 8

SERA

I was still staring at the meal brought in last night when the door suddenly clicked. I looked up, expecting someone to walk in, but nobody did. I raised my brows and slowly stood up then. I walked towards the door and reached for the handle, and sure enough, it was open. I stood there for a moment, hand still on the handle, half-expecting someone to appear from nowhere and slam it shut again but nobody did. The hallway was quiet and empty, the kind that contradicts peace.

I stepped out slowly then and walked straight, unsure of where I was going, praying for a possible escape.

The house was beautiful, but in a cold way. High ceilings, floors that reflected light like water, furniture that looked like it had never been touched by someone who actually lived here. Everything was expensive and cold, and I moved through it like I was scared my footsteps would make him appear.

I passed by the kitchen and slowly walked in, suddenly feeling hungry even though I had refused to touch the meal brought in last night, not when it became so obvious what kind of world my own father had just pushed me into. The tears threatened to fall but I blinked them away, crying wouldn't save me from him now, would it?

“Can I help you ma'am?”

I spun around immediately and a woman stood behind me with a professional smile. A staff member, I noted because of her outfit.

“I–I am looking for water,” I stuttered but she smiled.

“I think what you need is breakfast, ma,” she said calmly and I nodded, suddenly feeling comfortable.

“Well, breakfast is ready,” she said simply, and turned without waiting to see if I'd follow.

I followed her and suddenly gasped when we got to the dining room, it looked like a banquet hall. The table was so long with high-backed chairs, the kind of dining room one would imagine but never believe it would be real. I looked at the setting and turned to the woman, it was just one setting.

“The rest of the house has eaten,” she said, reading my mind. I simply nodded and sat down alone with the sound of my breathing and the smell of food that I had suddenly lost the appetite for.

I picked up the fork and slowly started to eat, because it was better than sitting alone in that room with thoughts that had refused to go away. The blood, the way he held the knife and the saw, and his unbothered looks.

“You're holding that fork like it personally offended you.” A smooth voice said and I turned sharply, scared for the second time already.

Christy stood at the corner of the hall. She looked better now than yesterday, cleaned up now, a neat bandage visible at her temple, a smile on her face that looked completely out of place in this house. She crossed the room without invitation and dropped into the chair directly across from me like we had been having breakfast together for years.

“Christy,” she said, extending her hand. “I know you know the name but a proper introduction works. So Christy De Luca. You?”

My eyes widened immediately. “De Luca?” I asked in horror, she couldn't be his sibling.

“Yes, the less terrifying one,” she said with a pitiful smile and I simply nodded.

“You're so different from him,” I whispered and she chuckled.

“Not really,” she said, before looking at me warmly. “You're going to be fine. You are stronger than you think, you are so coping with him wouldn't be a problem.”

I looked at her for a moment before turning to my food, she was trying to make me feel better but I wasn't sure it was working, wasn't sure it would ever work.

She continued talking then, easily, and naturally, like she'd known me her whole life and it made me feel a little comfortable, until I heard her next sentence.

"Damian wants to see you. After breakfast."

The looseness in my chest closed back up immediately and I gently dropped the fork.

“Okay,” I said with a forced smile. She looked at me for some seconds before gently caressing my hands.

“Breathe, Sera. He doesn't bite.”

Of course, he does more than biting.

************************************************

I stood outside his study after the housekeeper left longer than I should have before knocking.

"Come in.”

My heart froze as I gently pushed the door open. He was seated on a dark and unyielding armchair, just like everything about him. There were papers in front of him, a pen in hand, and his expression normal. I stood near the door and waited and the silence stretched so long I started wondering if he had forgotten I was there.

“Sit,” he finally said, without looking up.

I didn't move, surprising myself, and that was when he suddenly looked up, his expression flat, but his eyes so cold I didn't know when I got seated.

"The arrangement has rules," he finally said. "You will attend events with me when I require it, you will behave accordingly in public, you will not ask questions about my business, my meetings, or the people in this house. You will not leave this estate without permission and without an escort, you will perform your duties as a wife, and lastly,” He paused and studied me. "You will not repeat last night.”

I swallowed and shifted uncomfortably, this was it? My whole life, everything I had worked for was to become his personal pet? He reached across the desk and slid a phone towards me. Sleek, new, already set up with contacts I didn't recognise. I looked at it and understood immediately what it was, a tracking device disguised as a gift.

"Is that everything?" I asked quietly.

"Yes."

I looked at the phone once more and then made the mistake of looking at him.

"What do I get out of this?" I whispered and the silence stretched for three whole seconds. He looked at me the way you look at a pet that had just done something mildly unexpected — not impressed, not angry.

"You get to stay alive," he finally said quietly. "Most people in your position don't get that much." He looked back down at his papers then. "You're dismissed.”

I stood up and walked out without a word, my throat almost blocked with tears trying to force itself out. I am now in the hands of a devil who just wants to use me as a pet. A pet he could lock in and treat however he wanted.

I walked into my room, ready to let the tears fall but paused at the sight. My things had arrived from the Moretti house while I was gone. Two bags and a box, placed neatly at the foot of the bed like they were nothing, my entire previous life fit into luggage that a single person could carry without difficulty. The tears fell then and I slowly sat down on the floor and went through them. Clothes, a few books, small things I had collected over years of being overlooked — small things that had mattered because nothing else did.

I found the photograph near the bottom of the second bag. My mother's face, young and unguarded, the only image I had ever owned of her. I held it for a moment before turning it over out of habit, and my hands stopped.

There was a note tucked behind it, small, folded once, the writing made of old ink. I had never seen the note since I had the picture. I unfolded it slowly, and the photograph fell from my hands immediately after I read the words.

Find me before they find you.