Chapter 3: A cage of velvet

Seraphina's POV 

I was biting on my nails throughout the ride out of the mansion, daring not to throw a glance to the man seated so smugly from across my seat.

Pretending not to notice when he'd opened the door like a gentleman, who in reality was probably flaunting off one of his latest cars like the prince he is.

Pretending not to quickly notice when he discarded the seats around us and simply chose to slide in the seat next to mine, his biceps flexing out involuntarily through his three-piece suit as he run a finger or two through his jet-black hair, drawing my attention to how ruggedly handsome he actually looked, compared to his stupid wits and snarky comments.

If only he was mute, then maybe…I'd agreed to this contract in a heartbeat.

Overlooked the whole enemy thing.

Not like I had a choice in this anyways.

A bitter smile twitches at the corner of my lips when that comes into mind. I can't believe he actually let me go without batting a lash.

Father must really hate me to come this far in using me as the bridge for some peace treaty that probably might not work out.

In the beginning, the business has never been this ruthless. 

He was never like this. 

He suddenly became cold and detached when mother disappeared out of the blue; no traces, no deaths, no bodies…. just vanished like she never existed in the first place.

Well, I couldn't blame him entirely. 

I mean, I was basically a walking fragment of her, punishing him daily by having him to deal with the fact that his daughter had similar features to his missing wife.

My existence must've been a really painful one for him to deal with, so I don't expect him to take it easy on me…or my talents.

I must've glazed out deep in thoughts just staring at Lazaro because he's slowly tilting his head in curiosity and my eyes moved down to his lips, seeing that stupid insufferable smirk that'd usually made women weak on command back on his face.

I blinked back the thoughts and say a quiet curse under my breath before turning my face to the tinted window besides me, suddenly finding the colorful skylight in the city far more interesting than my situation.

Lazaro De Luca can savor the vulnerable look on my face all he wanted and think my silence meant I was surrendering to him. It was all going to be for a short period of time as one thing is sure.

I might've surrendered to my father a long time ago—the King to the Alvaréz empire and the reason I'm still being noted as the princess to the family name—but I'd never surrender to the De Lucas.

Lazaro leaned back in his leathery seat, his elbow now resting on the divider between us, his eyes moving lazily across me like he's just noticed the little freckles stained across the bridge of my nose.

“You know, Seraphina…I expected a little gratitude,” he drawled as I turn to cock an eyebrow at him. “Most women would kill to have my last name. Yet, here you are, having that dream with a snap of your finger.”

I shook my head at the pride in his tone. “Then you should’ve married one of them. Saved me the trouble of being stuck with you.”

His chuckle echoed through the car like a soft rumble, one that made me clench my thighs in defense. “Well, that's too late now, isn't it? You’re mine now, princesa. Mine.”

“You know, this is the part where you ask if I’m comfortable…or try to be decent for once.” I murmured, sipping the long forgotten glass of champagne laying on the glass table in front of me.

“And why would I do that?” Lazaro drawled beside me, unbothered. “You’re not a guest. You’re a part of the De Lucas now, so comfort is never an issue.”

I scoff and roll my eyes, “Then you might as well just shipped me in this comfort of yours with your bodyguard or something.”

A smile curls up at the corner of his lips, but it doesn't reaches his eyes. His eyes are cold and glazed with an emotion I couldn't quite wrap my head around. It was a different reaction—completely different from the arrogant man that'd been talking for half an hour now.

And just as he reached into the bar drawer and poured himself some whiskey, I leaned back into my seat and closed my eyes with a sigh, choosing to savor the last hours of an awkwardly peaceful moment over a talk with my brooding husband.

I try not to gag at the title and grit through my teeth, “Just so you know, I'm not yours—or anybody's.”

“We're here.” He simply announces, ignoring the annoyance in my tone.

My eyes snap open, widening as the De Luca estate came into view—like a haunting fortress carved from a height of intimidation and walls of stone. Tall, metallic wrought iron gates that automatically slid open before we even got close to them—almost like they already knew who was approaching.

However, the moment the tires slowed to a halt against the gravel ground, I made a run for it.

Well, I wouldn't exactly call it a run.

“Ma’am—” one of the guards turned with his eyes wide with alert, his hand already going halfway to his weapon in his pockets. The other guards followed suit and started shuffling for their weapons, some choosing to run after me, but Lazaro's groan suddenly made everyone but me stop in their tracks.

“Let her be,” Lazaro’s voice cuts in from behind, filled with tiredness but still firm enough to pass a command without arguments. “She’s home now.”

Home?

More like a prison.

My heels clicked sharply across the drive as I bolted for the mansion, the hems of my skirt hiked up enough to reveal just my knee level.

My eyes are fixated on the mansion looming just ahead—an ivory beauty with a Victorian style to it, adorned with breathtaking gardens and fountains by the corners.

However, I don't stop to take in the beauty as I realize that so many eyes are now on me—perhaps the staffs or members to the business. 

It only increases my pace.

Finally reaching the entrance, I took a deep breath, mentally preparing myself for the new life in front of me and gasped softly when the doors opened before I could touch it—an old woman, probably in her fifties, bowing slightly as she quickly recognizes me, “Welcome home, Mrs. De Lu—”

“Don’t,” I snap, blowing out my cheeks. “My name's Seraphina Alvaréz.”

“I'm sorry but he—”

“You know what? Nevermind.” I shook my head and stormed into the place, briefly looking around the hallway I'd just entered. The halls sparkled with gold and marbles, adding to the beauty of the golden chandeliers lighting up the path. The air itself smelled like loneliness, old money and a hint of something sweet. 

A contrast to what mine smelled like.

Mine felt likes straight-up death wrapped in bundles of money. 

I'd seen plenty of mansions like these; gold, power and money screaming all over the place, met a lot of their owners.

So, I don't stop to soak in the beauty of the place. It just makes my stomach twist with dread, knowing how the money came to be in the first place.

“Mrs Luca?” Someone appears in front of me, making me flinch with surprise, placing a hand on my chest.

Not this name again…

“Oh, I'm really sorry! I didn't mean to scare you!” The woman exclaims, rubbing her hands dry in a towel. “Mr. Luca instructed that I show you your room.”

“He did?” I force a smile. “Of course he did. Let him know that I can find my way just fine, thank you.”

I started to walk away with a huff then stopped and turned to the maid with a small smile, remembering something. “What floor again?”

*****

My assigned room was on the third floor—thank God it wasn't on the last. It was bigger than my childhood bedroom, designed with dark velvet colours and soft expensive beddings that made comfort a thing.

Filled with curiosity, I peek at the huge drapings that stretched from floor to ceiling and draw them back, gasping at the ridiculously transparent glass behind them. They were so clean that if curtains weren't there, I'd probably miss out the fact that it's a window. 

I guess Lazaro wasn't joking when he said comfort wasn't an issue.  

I walked to the edge, staring down at the grounds below me.

Three stories down. A really clean fall that could make my life less miserable.

If only I could just—

“Scoping out escape routes already?” Lazaro's voice fills the room, making me yelp in surprise and fall back on my butt, “Lazaro!” What's with this people and invasion of privacy? I could be naked and they would still stroll into the room like it was nothing! His tone was casual and nonchalant, but his hurried footsteps to my groaning figure were saying otherwise. “Did you like your room so much that you were starting to think of…suicide, princesa?”

“No, I wasn't.” I quickly answered, refusing to meet his eyes as father's warning flashed at the back of my mind.

Silence falls between us; thick with tension and anger, yet I refuse to take back my words.

I barely had time to come up with something else when suddenly, his masculine cologne wafts through my nostrils, making me aware of how really close he now stood behind me. 

Shoot, I'm in trouble, ain't I?

“Yes, you are.” He grits through his teeth, my eyes widening when I realize that I'd spoken my thoughts out loud. 

Quickly, I turned—tried to—but he was faster. His body closed in on me, his hand already pinned on the wall beside my head, trapping me just where he wanted me.

“Maybe the butler didn't take you on the rules, but let me do her the favours,” he gritted, voice low and rough with warning, his face barely inches away from claiming mine. I stare back at him, face flushed and red with embarrassment. “This house has two rules when it comes to respect, Seraphina.”

I swallowed, my palms pressed stiffly in support against the walls. “Let me guess…no lying?”

His eyes, a dark shade of hazel, scanned my face like he was impressed with how quick I was catching on. “Correct. And rule two—no running or funny businesses.”

“From you?” I said, barely over a whisper, watching as he narrowed his eyes into a glare.

He leaned in, his other hand swiping a lock of hair off my cheek as his lips brushed gently against my earlobes, sending a pool of shivers down my spine. “From me. This mansion. From what you agreed to, princessa.”

I groaned inwardly as my body betrayed my mind; my heart pounding against my ribcage while my teeth tucked neatly between my lips as I tried to steady my trembling breath.

“Are you going to lock me in here?” I ask, the challenge obvious in my voice, laced with a hint of fear as I bore holes through his back that was now facing me.

Lazaro glances over his shoulder, his eyes cold and sharp with a reciprocated challenge. “Of course not, you’re free to move around as you please. But just know that every action you take will come with a price. It's up to you to choose what it will be.”

I take a step forward, testing the limits with pursed lips and a glare. “First of all, I wasn't actually going to jump—gosh, that'd be crazy of me! Have you forgotten that I'm also a ballerina? I've so much to lose. And second of all, I'll not be a pushover and be your slave or prisoner. I'm a human being.”

“No.” He says through a smile, walking towards the door. “You’re my wife.”

“I'm not—”

“Or you will be,” he added over his shoulder, adjusting the cuffs of his black button-down. “In two days.”

I don’t answer, my hands balling up into fists at my sides, refusing to accept my new reality.

The new prison I'd have to take as home.

“What if I do run away?” I spit out, watching out for a reaction besides his frozen figure.

He chuckles, but this time it's dark and holding a promise of something that I really shouldn't come across.

“Sweet dreams, Mrs. De Luca.”

I bit back a response as I watched the door shut behind him, too busy imagining the hundred ways I could poison him on our wedding day and get away with it.

I just need to find out what he's allergic to.

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