Whispers of betrayal

The morning sun came through the curtains, lighting up the room like it wanted to show everything. The sheets were all messy. Her hair was too. The air felt still, like it hadn’t moved all night. The dress hung near the door, soft and white in the sunlight. It was pretty. Maybe too pretty. Like something from a movie. But it didn’t really feel like hers. Maeve sat on the edge of the bed, staring at herself in the mirror. Her reflection didn’t look like someone about to get married. More like someone watching a stranger wear her face. She barely knew the guy. Couldn’t even remember his voice well. And now she was supposed to say yes to him? Time went by too fast. The ceremony was coming, and she couldn’t stop it. Her stomach was all twisted. She got dressed slowly. Her hands were cold even though the room was warm. Every move felt like something she couldn’t take back. When she got to the church, everything felt unreal. The colored light from the stained-glass windows spread across the floor. It should have been beautiful. Maybe it was. But she didn’t really see it. Then she saw him—Luca Santoro. Standing at the altar like he had better things to do. His tux fit him perfectly, serious and expensive. But his face… nothing. No smile. No interest. Like she was just something to check off a list. She walked slowly, calm on the outside. Head held high. But inside she felt like she was floating through it, like none of it belonged to her. When she got to him, he held out his hand. It was firm but nothing special. Just like a handshake with a ring on the finger. “You look beautiful,” he said quietly, his Italian accent soft. The words felt flat, like they weren’t meant for her. “Thank you,” she said with a small polite smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She didn’t feel anything. Not really. The ceremony went fast. Too fast. “Do you, Maeve Sinclair, take Luca Santoro to be your lawfully wedded husband?” Silence. Her breath caught. She couldn’t move or speak. The walls felt like they were closing in. Then she felt a small touch—Luca’s thumb brushing her hand. It was tiny, but she knew what it meant. There was no way out. “I do.” She said it. It felt weird in her mouth, like it wasn’t really hers. Luca’s lips moved like he might smile, but he didn’t. His eyes met hers for a second. Then he looked away. Just like that, they were married. The reception was loud and busy. People laughed, glasses clinked, music played. Maeve barely noticed. She stood to the side, staring at her glass. She hadn’t taken a sip. And Luca was gone. Somewhere. Doing something. Not here. She didn’t know why she was looking for him. Maybe to ask why. Or maybe just to say something real to someone who should matter. “Is it that bad?” A voice behind her. Deep. A little amused. She turned quickly, surprised. A man stood there, close but not too close. Confidence like nothing could bother him. He was… something. Dark messy hair, sharp jaw, eyes that looked like they could see right through people. His suit was perfect but he wore it like he didn’t care. “Excuse me?” she said, a bit sharper than she meant. He nodded toward her glass. “You’ve been holding that for a while. Not drinking it. So I’m guessing either it tastes bad or you’re trying not to lose it in front of all these people.” She blinked, then laughed quietly, not planning to. “Neither.” “Hmm, okay.” He stepped closer, eyes moving over her face—not in a creepy way, but like he was trying to figure her out. “I’m Adrian,” he said, holding out his hand. “Just another guest in this big drama.” “Maeve,” she said slowly, shaking his hand. His grip was warm. He didn’t let go right away. “Well, Maeve,” he said, his voice dropping a little, “you don’t look like someone who likes glitter and small talk. You look like you’d rather be anywhere else.” She didn’t know what to say. “It’s… a lot,” she said. He tilted his head. The smirk faded. “You’re trying to convince yourself this is normal, right?” She opened her mouth but didn’t say anything. It was too close to the truth. Then—another voice. “Maeve.” Her whole body froze. Luca. Standing there, eyes sharp like knives. Not yelling. But not happy. Adrian smiled again, lazy this time, lifting his glass in a small toast. “Luca,” he said easily, “your bride’s good company. I was just talking to her.” Luca didn’t blink. “She doesn’t need your company.” That was it. Cold. Dismissive. He stepped beside her, hand firm on her back. Not rough. But clear. She followed without a word. But before she left, she looked back. Adrian was still there. Watching. Amused. But hard to read. The drive to Luca’s place was dead quiet. The house was big. Beautiful. But cold in a way that made her skin itch. Inside, everything was clean and quiet. No warmth. At the stairs, a woman waited. Young, striking, with dark eyes that seemed to see too much. Maria. She smiled politely. But Maeve felt a strange feeling in her stomach. “Maria will take care of you,” Luca said. That was all. Maeve looked at him. “Wait—are you leaving?” “I have work.” No sorry. No nothing. He turned and walked away. Maria didn’t move. Just kept her calm. But something flickered in her eyes. “Would you like to see your room?” she asked softly. Maeve nodded and followed her upstairs like someone going to a room that wasn’t hers. The bedroom was nice. Too nice. Too perfect. Maria moved quietly, fixing small things like she had done a thousand times. “The first night is always the hardest,” she said quietly. Maeve frowned. “You’ve worked here long?” “Three years.” Then she paused. “You’ll learn how things work.” Something in her voice made Maeve’s skin crawl. Later that night, Maeve stood by the window. Outside was dark. The house was too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes you feel like something is wrong. Then she realized— Luca was gone. Not just out of sight. Really gone. And she didn’t know where.