Chapter 2: His House, His Rule
1153 Words
The first thing I learned about Luca Montelli’s house is that it doesn’t feel like a home.
It feels like a statement.
Steel and glass rise out of the hillside like a warning, lights burning low and deliberate. There are no welcoming curves, no softness but just clean lines and control. The kind of place designed to remind you exactly who owns the air you’re breathing.
The car rolls through iron gates that close behind us with a final, echoing sound.
I don’t miss it.
Luca doesn’t speak during the drive. He doesn’t need to. His presence fills the back seat like a second body pressed too close, even though he hasn’t touched me once since we left the office. His attention is heavier than his hands would be.
When the car stops, he steps out first.
“Come,” he says, not looking at me.
Please do not modify it. Don't follow me.
Just come.
I do.
Inside, the house is quiet in a way that feels watched. The staff moved silently, eyes lowered, every step practiced. I feel their curiosity anyway, which is sharp, contained. They know what I am.
Not a guest.
Not yet a wife.
Something in between.
Luca leads me up a wide staircase without slowing, forcing me to match his pace. I’m suddenly aware of everything and my breathing, the sound of my shoes, the way my pulse keeps jumping when he glances back just long enough to check I’m still there.
We stop at a door at the end of a long corridor.
“This is your room,” he says.
I blinked. “My room?”
“Yes.”
“And yours?”
He opens the door and gestures inside. “Across the hall.”
Across the hall.
Close enough to feel. Far enough to deny.
I step into the room. It’s large, elegant, and impersonal. Neutral colors. A bed that looks untouched. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city lights below.
It’s beautiful.
It still feels like a cage.
“You’ll unpack tomorrow,” Luca says behind me. “For now, you’ll sleep.”
I turn to face him. “You said you wouldn’t-”
“I said I wouldn’t touch you unless you wanted me to,” he cuts in calmly. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t own the space around you.”
The words send a shiver down my spine.
“You don’t get to control everything,” I say.
His gaze drops slowly to my throat.
“I already do,” he replies. “You just haven’t felt it yet.”
Silence stretches between us, thick and electric.
“Your brother,” I say, needing an anchor. “You promised-”
“He’s in the guest house,” Luca says. “Asleep. Unharmed. He leaves the country tomorrow.”
Relief crashes through me so hard my knees almost give.
“You’ll see him in the morning,” Luca adds. “Tonight, you stay here.”
“And if I don’t?”
One corner of his mouth lifts and not a smile.
“You will,” he says.
He turns to leave.
“Wait,” I say.
He stops, but doesn’t turn around.
“This marriage,” I say carefully. “What exactly do you expect from me?”
Luca looks over his shoulder.
“Loyalty,” he says. “Discretion. Obedience in public.”
“And in private?”
His eyes darken.
“In private,” he says softly, “we’ll see how honest you are.”
The door closes behind him with a quiet finality.
I don’t sleep.
I lie on the bed fully clothed, staring at the ceiling, listening to a house that breathes around me. Every sound feels amplified. Every shadow feels deliberate.
At some point, I realize something worse than fear has taken root.
Awareness.
I know exactly where Luca is.
Across the hall.
Close enough that if I opened my door, I’d find him there contained, controlled, waiting. The knowledge settles low in my body, unfamiliar and unsettling.
I hate that part of me notices.
Morning comes without mercy.
A soft knock at my door, precise.
A woman enters with breakfast and clothes laid out neatly on a tray. Expensive. Carefully chosen.
“This is what Mr. Montelli requested,” she says, eyes down.
Requested.
I dress slowly, aware that every choice I make here is already curated. When I step into the corridor, Luca is waiting.
His gaze moves over me, just once, thoroughly. Not leering. Assessing.
Approval flickers there before he schools his expression.
“You’ll eat with me,” he says.
It’s not a question.
Breakfast is quiet and suffocating. Luca reads messages on his phone while I push food around my plate.
“You don’t like eggs?” he asks without looking up.
“I’m not hungry.”
His eyes lift, sharp. “You will eat.”
The command is soft.
It still lands like a blow.
I force myself to take a bite.
“Good,” he says. “You’ll learn.”
Anger flares in my chest. “I’m not a child.”
“No,” Luca agrees. “You’re mine.”
The word sends heat crawling under my skin.
I stand abruptly. “Don’t say that.”
He rises slowly, the movement deliberate, predatory. He steps into my space until I have to tilt my head to meet his gaze.
“Get used to it,” he says quietly. “Everyone else already has.”
“You think a ring makes me your possession?”
“I think the moment you said yes,” he replies, “you crossed a line you don’t get to redraw.”
His hand comes up and is not touching me, but hovering near my waist. Close enough that I feel the warmth of him.
“Run if you want,” he murmurs. “But you won’t go far.”
I swallow. “You’re enjoying this.”
His eyes darken. “I’m enduring it.”
“Liar.”
Something flashes in his expression were interesting, sharp and dangerous.
“Careful,” he says. “Provocation is still consent to consequence.”
I hold his gaze, heart pounding.
“I won’t break,” I say.
A pause.
Then Luca leans closer, his voice dropping low enough that it feels like a secret pressed against my skin.
“Neither will I,” he says. “That’s the problem.”
He steps back, composure snapping into place like armor.
“You’ll meet my lawyer this afternoon,” he adds. “And tomorrow, the world will know you’re mine.”
He turns away, already finished with me.
But my body isn’t.
As I stand there, trembling with fury and something far more dangerous, one truth settles deep and undeniable:
Luca Montelli isn’t trying to seduce me.
He’s conditioning me.
And the worst part?
Somewhere between fear and defiance.
I’m already responding.
- Writer
