Chapter Eight:Inside his world
1056 Words
Chapter Eight
Inside His World
Gianna’s POV
The car stopped. No one spoke for a few seconds. I stared at the back of the driver’s seat, then at the dark glass. Outside it was only shapes and shadows. The usual city noise was gone—no horns, no distant traffic, nothing that felt familiar.
Zayden opened his door and stepped out. Lorenzo was already waiting. I stayed put a moment longer, then followed. The air hit colder here, sharper, the kind that made every small sound stand out. My shoes crunched on gravel as I stepped away from the car and looked up.
The house didn’t announce itself. Dark stone, wide windows that reflected nothing useful, lights kept low. Two men at the gate had already closed it behind us without a word. Another stood near the front steps, eyes forward, never once glancing my way. The guards didn’t look at me, but I could feel it anyway—the way nothing in this place moved without permission.
I paused. My feet didn’t want to keep going right away.
This wasn’t a home. It was something else. Watched. Ordered. Like every corner already knew I was here and had decided I didn’t matter.
Zayden didn’t wait for me to finish taking it in. He just said, “Come inside,” and walked toward the doors. I followed because standing outside alone felt worse.
Inside, the floors were so smooth my steps barely made a sound, like the house didn’t want to be heard at all. The air smelled like nothing—clean, expensive, empty. A few people moved through the halls, but no one spoke unless they had to. They stepped aside the second they saw him, eyes dropping, already knowing their place.
Lorenzo stayed close. He glanced at me once, nodded like he already knew my name, then turned to Zayden and said something low. Zayden answered with two words I didn’t catch. That was it. No questions. No introductions. Just quiet understanding between them.
I hated how easy it looked.
We stopped in a wide hallway. I finally found my voice.
“How long am I staying?”
Zayden looked at me. “Until it’s safer not to.”
“Am I allowed to leave?”
He stayed where he was, like he knew better than to come closer. “No one’s locking the doors. You can walk out whenever you want. It just won’t be safe.”
That answer sat heavier than a straight no. I didn’t push it.
He led me up a staircase. One of the men opened a door at the end of a hall and stepped back. Zayden nodded toward it.
“This is yours.”
The room was already ready. Bed made. Lights low. Clothes hanging in the closet that weren’t mine but looked like they might fit. My stomach dropped when I noticed them—already measured, already waiting, like someone had decided my size without asking. The bathroom smelled like new soap. Everything placed with a care that felt calculated.
I stood in the middle of it and didn’t move for a long moment.
He’d expected me. Or someone had. This didn’t look like it had been thrown together tonight. It looked like it had been waiting.
Zayden didn’t linger. “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”
Then he left. The door stayed open. I didn’t close it right away.
I walked around once. Touched the edge of the dresser. The curtain. The chair by the window. Nothing felt familiar. My old room had books stacked wrong and a sweater always on the floor. Here, even the air felt careful.
I sat on the edge of the bed, stood again almost immediately, then dropped back down like I didn’t know what to do with myself.
I thought about my father’s study. The way he’d looked when he told me to start packing. Rocco’s face when he said he wished the contract had burned. And somewhere under all of that, the faint memory of jasmine and a hand in my hair.
I didn’t know where I fit anymore. Not here. And not… there either.
The window looked out over dark grounds. Trees. A wall in the distance. I could see lights farther away, but nothing clear. The glass was thick. I rested my fingers against it and wondered how far I’d have to walk before anyone stopped me.
I didn’t try the door yet.
Time passed. I wasn’t sure how much. The place swallowed sound. Even the distant footsteps I thought I heard never quite reached the room.
Then Zayden was there again. No knock. Just the soft shift of weight in the doorway. He didn’t come all the way in.
“You should eat something.”
“I’m fine.”
He just looked at me like he’d already made up his mind. “You’re here because the people who took your mother are still looking. If they think you’re starting to remember things, they won’t wait. This place is harder for them to reach.”
I turned from the window. “What if you’re wrong?”
He didn’t look away. “Then you leave. When it’s safe.”
“What if I don’t want any of this?”
“Then you still leave when it’s safe.” His voice stayed even. “I’m not asking you to want it. I’m asking you to stay alive long enough to decide.”
I sat down on the bed again. The mattress didn’t make a sound. I stared at my hands.
He didn’t push for more. After a while he said, “There’s food downstairs if you change your mind. Or not. Your choice.”
Then he left. This time the door stayed half-open behind him.
I stayed where I was. The air in the room felt different from home—heavier, like it belonged to someone else. I lay back eventually. Didn’t pull the covers up. Just stared at the ceiling and listened to a house that didn’t know my name yet.
Outside, somewhere far off, a car moved along the road. Then nothing.
I didn’t sleep. I just stayed still and let the unfamiliar weight of the place settle over me.
I was in his world now.
And I didn’t even get up to leave.
- Writer
