The villa was a fortress—beautiful, silent, and impossible to escape.
Guards in sleek suits stood at every turn. The windows were shatterproof. Even the gardens were surrounded by motion sensors and cameras hidden among the roses.
Aria walked through it all like a ghost.
Dressed in white silk, she looked like a doll someone had placed inside a glass house. But beneath the soft fabric, her heart was iron. Every step she took, every glance she cast around the corners, was one more piece in a puzzle she was silently trying to solve.
Escape.
Freedom.
Revenge.
She wouldn’t be caged forever. She just had to wait. Observe. Plan.
And survive Luca Moretti.
He found her in the library.
Of course there was a library. Towering shelves, ancient leather-bound books, and a spiral staircase that led to a second floor of dark secrets.
She was curled in one of the velvet chairs, pretending to read, but mostly listening—waiting—for his inevitable intrusion.
“You like it in here,” Luca’s voice came from behind her, smooth as honey and twice as dangerous.
She didn’t flinch. “It’s the only room that feels... untouched.”
He stepped forward, hands in his pockets, eyes scanning the spines of the books behind her. “My father used to spend hours here. Teaching me Latin. Strategy. How to identify poison plants.”
“Sweet childhood memories,” she muttered.
His eyes landed on her. “Why haven’t you tried to run?”
“Because I’d rather slit your throat in your sleep.”
He smiled. “You’d be disappointed to find I don’t sleep much.”
She stood. “Why don’t you just lock me in a tower and chain me to the wall?”
“Don’t tempt me.”
Their eyes locked, tension crackling like lightning between them.
“Don’t you ever get tired of playing god?” she whispered.
“I’m not god, Aria,” he said. “I’m the devil men pray to when they want something done.”
She hated how her skin prickled when he said her name like that—low, deliberate, claiming.
He took her to lunch in the sunroom.
Guards lingered discreetly nearby, but Luca pretended they didn’t exist. The table was set with fine china, imported wine, and dishes prepared by a chef who clearly thought captivity should be five-star.
Aria picked at the food, refusing to eat more than a few bites.
“You’re starving yourself,” he observed.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’ll get sick.”
“Then I’ll die.”
He leaned back in his chair, wine swirling in his glass. “You think that’s how this ends? You slowly wasting away in protest?”
“I’d rather die on my own terms than live under yours.”
He set the glass down with a sharp clink.
“I don’t want to break you, Aria,” he said quietly. “But I will.”
Her throat tightened. “Why me, Luca? Of all the people in this war... why me?”
He stared at her for a long moment.
“Because you’re the only thing your brother loved,” he said. “And because you don’t look at me with fear. You look at me with fire.”
She stood abruptly, pushing the chair back.
“I don’t belong to you.”
“You do now.”
“I’m not yours to tame.”
“Then I’ll enjoy trying.”
Later that evening, a maid brought her to the east wing.
“This is the master suite,” she said with a polite bow.
Aria’s pulse quickened.
“No,” she said firmly. “I’m not sleeping in his bed.”
But the woman was already gone.
The doors creaked open.
Inside was a space twice the size of her previous room, all obsidian marble and dark wood, the bed massive and made with black sheets.
And sitting on the edge, waiting, was Luca.
Shirtless.
A towel slung around his neck, hair still damp from a shower.
He looked up as she entered, calm and expectant.
“This isn’t happening,” she said.
“You agreed to the rules.”
“I never agreed to sleep with you.”
“I never asked you to.” He stood, closing the distance. “You’ll sleep in my bed. That’s all.”
“Why? To mark your territory?”
“To protect it.”
She scoffed. “From what? The ghosts of your victims?”
“From the men who would slit your throat to hurt me.”
That stopped her cold.
He stepped closer, voice low.
“You’re a symbol now. A threat to some. A weakness to others. If they think I don’t keep you close, they’ll try to take you.”
“And what will you do when they try?”
“Kill them.”
His hands brushed her bare arms, barely a touch—but enough to make her shiver.
“I don’t want you,” she said through clenched teeth.
“Good,” he replied. “Wanting leads to mistakes.”
That night, Aria lay stiff beside him.
He didn’t touch her. Didn’t speak.
Just breathed—slow, steady, like a beast in hibernation.
She stared at the ceiling, every nerve on fire.
She could feel his heat. His presence. His power.
And still... sleep came. Eventually.
Because no matter how much she hated him—
His silence was the only thing keeping the rest of the world out.
She woke to shouting.
Gunfire.
A door slammed open.
“Get down!” one of the guards barked.
Luca was already up, grabbing his pistol from the nightstand.
“What the hell is happening?” Aria cried.
He grabbed her wrist. “Stay behind me.”
Another blast echoed through the corridor—closer this time.
Luca shoved her into the closet. “Don’t come out. No matter what.”
He slammed the door shut before she could argue.
Locked.
She pounded her fists on it, but it was no use.
Then came the sound of fighting. Screams. A gurgle.
And silence.
Dead silence.
Aria’s breath came in short gasps. She pressed her ear to the door.
Then... a voice.
Unfamiliar. Male. Cruel.
“She’s not in the room.”
Another voice. Laughing. “You think the king let her out of his sight?”
Footsteps approached.
Aria held her breath.
Then something shifted outside—bodies moving.
Gunfire again.
Someone shouted her name.
“Aria!”
Luca.
Then came the sound of a body hitting the floor.
The door flung open.
Luca stood there, blood splattered across his chest, pistol in hand, jaw tight.
“Are you hurt?” he demanded.
She shook her head, trembling.
He reached for her—and she didn’t pull away.
For the first time, his hands didn’t feel like chains.
They felt like armor.