All Chapters of Under His Roof, Her Game : Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

89 Chapters

The day lavender died

ELARA They say the worst moments don’t come with warning signs.They arrive like whispers—soft, gentle, disguised as normal. A familiar hallway. A father’s steady voice. The warm press of a hand between your shoulder blades, guiding you forward like he always has.Until you realize you’re not walking toward safety.You’re being led off a cliff.That morning started like any other. A pale sun filtered in through the windows, casting thin shadows on the floors. The air smelled faintly of lavender, but it was sharp, almost like it was hiding something rotten underneath. I noticed it the moment I stepped into the hallway—something was off.Too quiet.No humming from the kitchen. No sound of heels clicking from my stepmother’s endless pacing. Just silence, and the ghost of her perfume clinging to the curtains.Then I saw my father.He stood by the window in the foyer, dressed in a pressed grey suit and shiny leather shoes, looking out like he was watching the end of the world and pretendi

Serving time

ELARAI balanced the silver tray in both hands as carefully as I could, afraid it would tremble and betray me. The stemmed glasses clinked softly with each step I took. The laughter echoing from the lounge was loud, shrill, and carried that sharp edge of cruelty I had learned to recognize.I stopped at the double doors and inhaled once, twice. Then I pushed them open.They didn’t notice me at first. Mateo’s low, rumbling voice carried over the soft hum of music, and then her laugh followed—high and sharp, like a bird’s cry. My heart hammered against my ribs, but I kept my eyes down, careful not to draw attention.“Ah, the little wife,” the woman said when I stepped into view.I didn’t need to look at her to know what she looked like. They all looked the same: tall, glamorous, dripping with confidence I would never have. She lounged across the sofa, her legs stretched out across Mateo’s lap as if she owned the place, a wine-red dress clinging to her curves.Mateo sat there like a king

What wives are for

ELARAThe music from the ballroom spilled out into the garden like laughter you weren’t invited to join. I sat alone on the cold stone bench, the hem of my little blue dress brushing against my ankles, my fingers twisting the ribbon tied at my waist. My shoes pinched, my feet hurt, and my chest felt tight from holding back tears.I was ten, but I felt invisible.The adults inside didn’t notice I’d slipped away. My parents were too busy smiling for cameras, shaking hands with people whose names I couldn’t remember. They had warned me to “behave,” which really meant: stay out of the way.I buried my face in my hands and tried to quiet the sob that threatened to escape.“Are you lost?”The voice was deep, older, and made me freeze. I looked up and saw a boy—though he was probably more of a young man—standing at the edge of the garden path. He looked maybe nineteen or twenty, tall and broad-shouldered in a fitted black suit. His hair was black and swept back from his forehead, his jaw sha

Silk-lined lies

ELARAThe scream jolted me awake.I sat up in bed, clutching the sheets to my chest, my heart thudding in my ears. For a second, I thought I’d dreamed it, but then I heard voices—loud, angry, echoing up the grand staircase. Boots pounded against the marble floor, doors slammed, and someone shouted, “Get her out of here!”I slid out of bed, my bare feet cold against the polished floor. I moved toward the door, my hands trembling as I reached for the handle. The noise was louder now—men barking orders, the clatter of something heavy being dragged across the floor.I cracked the door open and peeked into the hall.What I saw made my stomach turn to ice.Two of Mateo’s men were hauling a black body bag down the corridor, its shape unmistakably human. One man’s gloved hand gripped the zipper as it slid closed with a sickening sound.“Oh God,” I whispered, pressing a hand to my mouth.The men didn’t see me, but I stepped back instinctively, hiding in the shadow of the doorway as they carrie

Made to watch

ELARAIt’s been four days since Lucy died, and somehow, the house feels even colder now than it did the night she stopped breathing.The air is heavy, like it carries weight I can’t see. The staff avoid my eyes. The corridors echo with silence. Even the flowers in the vases look like they’re wilting faster. Grief doesn’t make time slow—it makes it unbearable.But it’s not just grief that suffocates me.It’s Mateo.It’s always Mateo.I lie in bed long after morning has crept in through the sheer curtains, the sunlight weak and pale on the floorboards. I don’t move. I can’t. My hands are folded tightly over my stomach like I’m bracing for something. I stare at the ceiling until the lines between the panels blur.Then I hear it.Laughter.A woman’s.Light. Effortless. Obnoxiously loud.It travels up from the lower level like smoke from a burning room—impossible to ignore, impossible to breathe through.My throat goes dry. My mouth feels like sandpaper. I try to swallow, but even that hur

The illusion of perfection

ELARA ***Flashback***The Moretti mansion always looked like a dream from the outside.The gates stood tall, guarded by black iron twisted into elegant designs of roses and vines. The driveway curved like a ribbon of stone, lined with cypress trees cut into perfect shapes. On summer mornings, the gardeners trimmed the hedges so carefully that not a single leaf dared stick out of line. Guests who arrived always gasped when they saw the white marble steps, polished until they glistened in the sunlight, and the grand double doors with golden handles that sparkled like treasure.I used to stand on those steps as a little girl and wonder if people who walked past thought I was a princess. Sometimes, I even pretended I was one—locked away in a palace, waiting for a fairy godmother to appear. From a distance, everything seemed perfect.But once you stepped inside, the air changed.The halls were wide and shining, filled with chandeliers and oil painting

The betrayal

ELARAI was nine years old the night my world tilted and never went back to being steady.The Moretti mansion had always felt too big for me—like a giant mouth that swallowed me whole. Its marble halls were polished so bright they looked like mirrors, its chandeliers sparkled like frozen icicles, and the endless rooms whispered with secrets. But that night, the mansion was quiet. Too quiet.Normally, the corridors hummed with life—maids moving about, the clatter of dishes from the kitchen, or my father’s voice echoing sharply down the phone lines as he conducted business. But tonight there was only silence. A silence so thick it seemed alive. The only sound was the faint tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway, each second like a drumbeat in my ears.I should have been asleep. Giulia always insisted on early bedtimes. “A girl who lingers awake at night will grow up with shadows under her eyes,” she would say, pressing her cold lips against my forehead. But sleep had refused to co

The mask of the moretti family

ELARAI used to think the Moretti mansion had two versions of itself.The one everyone saw: bright hallways, polished floors, gold-framed paintings, a dining room big enough to hold twenty people. The kind of place that made guests whisper, “How lucky she is… look at the life she has.”And then the version only I knew.The quiet one.The heavy one.The one filled with shadows that stretched too long and voices that dropped too sharp when the doors closed.By nine years old, I had already learned the difference.Tonight was one of those political dinner nights—one of Father’s big ones. The kind where he invited powerful men, shook hands too tightly, and smiled that stiff, perfect smile that never reached his eyes.I hated those nights.But I was always included.“Elara,” Father called from the bottom of the stairs, his voice echoing through the marble halls, “come down, tesoro. People are waiting.”People. Not him. Never him.I walked down slowly, my shoes pinching my toes, my dress to

Observing the house

ELARAThe Navarro mansion is too big.That’s the first thing I realized after Mateo brought me here — no, not brought… dragged — as his wife. I remember standing inside the grand foyer with my small suitcase and feeling like the house might swallow me whole.Even now, I still feel that way.Every hallway is long. Every wall echoes. Every door is too heavy, like it was built to keep secrets inside. And I walk around quietly, the way I used to when I was a child in the Moretti mansion, pretending that if I moved softly enough, the monsters wouldn’t notice me.I don’t explore.I just… drift.Like a ghost.I walk because sitting still makes me feel trapped, and the rooms are too silent, and Mateo’s presence—whether he’s here or not—sits on my skin like cold fingers.So I walk.But walking means seeing, and seeing means remembering, even if I don’t want to. I can’t help it. My eyes pick up small things. Patterns. People. Sounds.Not because I’m trying to.Because I’m scared.And when you’r

Goodbye, Valeria

ELARAI heard the shouting before I even opened my bedroom door.At first, I thought I imagined it. Sometimes the walls in this mansion carry old echoes, like memories that refuse to die. But then I heard a loud thud—something falling, or someone slamming a door—and that sound was definitely real.My hands froze on the doorknob.Another voice rose…the high, sharp, angry voice of Mateo’s fourth or maybe fifth mistress. Valeria. She was always loud—laughing too loudly, complaining too loudly, living too loudly. Everything about her felt big, like she needed the whole room to look at her.Tonight, though, she didn’t sound dramatic. She sounded furious.“You don’t get to disrespect me in your own house and expect me to stay!” she screamed.Mateo’s voice was lower, rough, like he was trying to keep himself from exploding. “Lower your voice.”“Make me.”I winced. The air felt tight, like I was breathing through cloth.I pressed my ear to the door without meaning to. I shouldn’t listen. I kn

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