Bound by Vows and Secrets

Chapter 3: Living with a Ghost

The Almonte-Dela Vega mansion sat in an eerie stillness that evening, bathed in a soft golden light from the chandeliers. The entire place could have been a museum, with its marble floors and framed paintings that looked too perfect to touch. It was the home Alessandra had shared with Lorenzo for two years—but somehow, it never felt like home.

In truth, it felt more like living with a ghost.

A beautiful, frustrating ghost named Lorenzo Almonte.

Alessandra leaned back against the chaise lounge in the grand living room, her hand wrapped around a delicate glass of wine. The clock ticked softly, each sound a reminder of how she and Lorenzo existed like two strangers orbiting the same luxurious prison.

Tonight was no different.

From across the room, she heard the familiar sound of the heavy oak door creaking open. Instinctively, she glanced up. There he was—immaculate as ever, in a crisp white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms, and slacks that fit him a little too perfectly. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and a hint of tiredness clouded his eyes. Probably from the endless meetings he buried himself in.

Lorenzo barely spared her a glance.

As always.

He dropped his briefcase onto the side table with a soft thud and walked past her toward the stairs without a word.

Alessandra rolled her eyes. "Good evening to you too, husband," she muttered under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear.

Lorenzo paused mid-step, his broad shoulders stiffening. For a second, she thought he would turn and actually engage her. Instead, he merely said in a dry voice, "Evening, Alessandra," without so much as a glance, then continued his way upstairs.

She sighed, swirling the wine in her glass.

Two years.

Two goddamn years of this cold, unbearable distance.

Wasn’t marriage supposed to be different?

She chuckled bitterly to herself. Who was she kidding? Their marriage was built on a contract, not love. An agreement signed with pens instead of hearts. A deal orchestrated by her beloved grandmother, Doña Isabela, who had been desperate to secure Alessandra’s future before it was too late.

"Protection," her Lola had called it.

"Prison," Alessandra whispered to herself now.

The Past — Three Years Ago

Alessandra’s heels clacked against the marble floor of their family hotel, the Dela Vega Royale. She was still fresh out of university, armed with degrees in business management and hotel administration. Ready to conquer the world—or so she thought.

That day, she had been summoned by her Lola to the penthouse office.

And that’s when her life changed forever.

Sitting behind her massive desk, Doña Isabela had looked every inch the intimidating businesswoman she was, her silver hair pinned in a perfect bun, a string of pearls around her neck.

"My dear Alessandra," she said warmly but firmly, "there's something you must do—for your own future."

And before she knew it, Alessandra had been sitting across from Lorenzo Almonte in a cold meeting room, while a lawyer rattled off the terms of their arranged marriage like it was a business merger.

The Present

Alessandra shook the memories away.

Across the room, Mira Santos, her loyal personal assistant and maid, entered quietly carrying a tray of snacks. She gave Alessandra a sympathetic smile before placing the tray on the coffee table.

"Ma'am," Mira said gently, "would you like anything else?"

Alessandra shook her head. "Thanks, Mira. You can rest now."

Mira hesitated for a moment, looking as if she wanted to say something more, but eventually nodded and disappeared into the servants' quarters.

Alessandra leaned her head back against the velvet cushions, closing her eyes.

She was lonely.

She was tired.

And most of all, she was sick of pretending everything was fine.

**

Meanwhile, upstairs in his private office, Lorenzo sat behind his desk, running a hand through his hair in frustration. The folder on his desk contained updates about Veridian Capital Holdings—the company he built with blood, sweat, and no small amount of luck.

The company that should have been his salvation.

His freedom.

Instead, it had become another chain around his neck.

He thought of Alessandra downstairs.

Of the way she looked at him—cold, distant, beautiful beyond words.

He sighed.

He still remembered the promise he made to Gabriel Dela Vega, her late brother.

"Take care of her, Lorenzo."

"She’s my everything."

But how could he take care of her when she looked at him like he was the enemy?

When he couldn’t even bring himself to break through the walls she had built so carefully around her heart?

He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes.

It wasn’t supposed to be this hard.

**

The next morning, Alessandra was in the kitchen, pouring herself a cup of coffee when Lorenzo entered, freshly showered and devastatingly handsome in his casual shirt and slacks.

She ignored the way her heart skipped a beat.

It was just physical attraction. Nothing more.

"Good morning," Lorenzo said stiffly, reaching for the second coffee pot.

Alessandra raised an eyebrow. "You’re unusually polite today."

He gave a small, humorless smile. "Don’t get used to it."

She rolled her eyes and turned away.

Silence stretched between them, heavy and awkward.

Finally, Lorenzo cleared his throat. "I’ll be out for most of the day. Meetings."

"Good for you," she replied nonchalantly.

He hesitated. "There’s a charity gala next week. We’re expected to attend."

Alessandra almost choked on her coffee. "We?"

"Yes," he said dryly. "Unfortunately, the world still believes we’re a happy married couple."

She stared at him. "And whose fault is that?"

His jaw tightened. "Does it matter?"

"No," she said bitterly. "Because we’re both damn good liars."

Their eyes locked for a moment—hot, tense, charged with something neither of them wanted to acknowledge.

Finally, Lorenzo turned away. "Wear something appropriate."

And with that, he grabbed his keys and left.

Alessandra stood there, heart pounding, anger and sadness warring inside her.

"Living with a ghost," she whispered to herself.

"That’s all he’ll ever be to me."

**

That afternoon, Alessandra found herself at her favorite luxury mall, accompanied by her two best friends, Samantha Velasco and Isabelle Ramírez.

"Girl, you need to breathe," Isabelle teased as Alessandra absently sifted through racks of designer dresses.

"I’m fine," Alessandra lied.

"Yeah, and I’m dating a prince," Samantha snorted. "Come on, Ale. You’ve been married for two years! Isn’t it about time you and Lorenzo… you know… acted like a real couple?"

Alessandra gave a hollow laugh. "There’s nothing real about our marriage, Sam."

Samantha exchanged a glance with Isabelle, who chewed her lip thoughtfully.

"You know," Isabelle said cautiously, "not every arranged marriage stays cold forever. Feelings can grow."

Alessandra snorted. "In fairytales, maybe."

But even as she said the words, a tiny, treacherous part of her wondered—

Could it be possible?

Could there be something real hiding underneath all the bitterness and broken promises?

Before she could dwell on it, her phone buzzed.

It was a text from Mira.

> "Ma’am, Dr. Nathaniel Ramírez asked if you’re free for coffee tomorrow."

Alessandra felt her cheeks warm. Nathaniel was Isabelle’s older brother—a handsome doctor who had made no secret of his interest in her.

She quickly typed back:

> "Tell him I’ll think about it."

Because maybe, just maybe, it was time to stop waiting for Lorenzo Almonte to notice her.

Maybe it was time to start living again.

Even if it meant walking away from the ghost she had married.

The Gala — A Night of Facades

It was the night of the charity gala. The event was one of the most anticipated in their social circle, a high-profile gathering of the rich and powerful. Alessandra stood in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom, trying on the deep red dress that had been selected for her by one of Lorenzo's designers. The gown hugged her curves perfectly, the silk shimmering against her pale skin, the deep V-neckline modest yet daring at the same time.

She looked... beautiful.

But beauty was just a mask.

And tonight, it would be no different.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.

"Are you ready?" Lorenzo's voice, cold and impersonal, drifted through the door.

Alessandra exhaled slowly.

"No, not yet," she called back, her hand brushing over the necklace that rested against her collarbone. It was a simple silver pendant, the only thing Lorenzo had ever given her that actually meant something.

She heard his footsteps retreat down the hall, and a few minutes later, he returned, dressed in a tailored black tuxedo that made him look every inch the perfect heir to the Almonte empire. His dark eyes briefly scanned her, assessing her with the detached look he always wore around her.

"Perfect," he said, his tone clipped. "Let's go."

Alessandra's chest tightened as she nodded silently. The evening ahead would be another round of pretending, another night of dancing in the shadows of their cold marriage.

---

The Gala — The Cold Reception

The ballroom at the grand hotel was everything Alessandra had expected—gleaming chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, guests mingling in expensive tuxedos and gowns, glasses of champagne flowing freely. She and Lorenzo entered the room together, their every move synchronized, their hands not quite touching but always hovering just close enough to create the illusion of unity.

Alessandra’s eyes swept the crowd, looking for familiar faces. Her gaze fell on some of the guests who were looking at her with curious expressions. As the daughter-in-law of the powerful Almonte family, she was a spectacle—her beauty and grace always demanded attention.

But the gaze she truly sought was the one she had longed for ever since they got married. Lorenzo’s gaze.

She caught his profile, his strong jaw set in stone as he scanned the room for business opportunities. His hand subtly brushed against hers, and for the briefest moment, Alessandra could have sworn she felt something—an unfamiliar warmth that shot through her skin.

But it was gone before she could grasp it. As always, Lorenzo was a fortress of ice.

"Come on," he said stiffly, turning toward the crowd. "We need to make our rounds."

As they made their way through the gala, Alessandra noticed people whispering behind their hands. She knew they were talking about her—the woman who had married into the Almonte family, the perfect match for Lorenzo’s cold, calculating demeanor. Alessandra smiled politely at anyone who approached, but inside, her thoughts were far from gracious.

What am I doing here? she wondered, clutching her glass a little too tightly.

She spotted a familiar face from across the room—Mira, standing near the buffet table, her eyes bright with excitement. Alessandra excused herself from Lorenzo's side and made her way toward her friend, eager for a distraction.

"Ma'am," Mira greeted her with a slight bow. "I hope everything is to your liking?"

Alessandra smiled. "It's... fine. Just another night, right?"

Mira chuckled softly. "At least you're looking stunning tonight."

Alessandra chuckled but kept her thoughts guarded. "Thank you, Mira. You're always too kind."

As they chatted, Alessandra noticed someone approaching—the last person she wanted to see. It was Nathaniel Ramírez, Isabelle's older brother, dressed in a sharp suit that accentuated his lean frame. His gaze lingered on Alessandra a moment too long, his lips curling into a smile that sent a ripple of discomfort through her.

"Alessandra," he greeted her smoothly, his voice like honey. "You look absolutely enchanting tonight."

She forced a smile, her pulse quickening at his attention. "Thank you, Nathaniel."

He leaned in a little too close, his breath warm against her ear. "I’ve been hoping to get a chance to talk to you. Alone. Maybe after the gala?"

Alessandra’s heart fluttered uncomfortably, and she instinctively glanced back at Lorenzo. But he was busy with a group of businessmen, his back turned to her.

"Perhaps another time," she replied, her voice tinged with hesitation. "It's... complicated."

Nathaniel smirked, sensing her discomfort but not backing down. "I understand," he said smoothly. "But I’ll be here when you’re ready to take a break from the ghost you’re living with."

The word "ghost" struck Alessandra like a blow to the chest. She looked up at Nathaniel, her emotions swirling in confusion. Was that a jab at Lorenzo? A reminder of how she was trapped in her loveless marriage?

Before she could respond, a hand settled on her shoulder. It was Lorenzo. His presence seemed to freeze the air around them.

"Is there a problem here?" he asked, his voice cool and guarded.

Alessandra blinked, caught between the two men. "No, nothing at all," she quickly said, her voice shaky.

Nathaniel’s eyes gleamed with a playful challenge. "No problem at all, Almonte. Just checking in with your wife."

Lorenzo’s jaw tightened imperceptibly, and his gaze flickered between Alessandra and Nathaniel. He didn’t say anything, but the tension between the two men was palpable.

After a long, silent moment, Nathaniel excused himself with a half-smile. "I’ll let you two enjoy your night."

As he walked away, Alessandra felt the weight of Lorenzo’s gaze settle on her.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" he asked, his voice laced with something darker. Jealousy, maybe?

"I’m fine," Alessandra said quickly, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Just... tired."

Lorenzo studied her for a long moment before his expression softened. For a fraction of a second, his walls seemed to crack.

"Let’s get through the night, Alessandra," he said, his voice quiet but laced with a hint of regret. "I don’t want to add to your burden."

Alessandra nodded, though her heart was a storm of emotions. She couldn’t tell if this was a fleeting moment of tenderness or if he was just putting on another performance for the eyes of the world.

But she wanted more.

She wanted something real.

---

The Evening Ends — A Moment of Truth?

The night dragged on, but Alessandra could feel the tension mounting. As the event started to wind down, she excused herself from the crowd, slipping outside to the terrace for some air. The cool breeze blew gently, a welcome relief from the stifling atmosphere inside.

She closed her eyes, letting the quiet envelop her. For a moment, she felt... free. The weight of her marriage, the expectations, everything that held her captive—felt lighter, as though the night had given her a chance to breathe.

But then, she heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps. She didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

Lorenzo.

He stepped onto the terrace, his silhouette framed by the soft glow from the ballroom. He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there, his back to the railing, staring out into the night.

"I never wanted this," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Alessandra’s heart skipped. She wasn’t sure what he meant by that. His eyes met hers, and for a brief moment, she saw something raw in them—regret, guilt, perhaps even pain.

"You don’t want this?" Alessandra whispered. "Then why didn’t you stop it? Why didn’t you fight for me?"

Lorenzo’s gaze darkened, and he stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. "I’m... not good at this. At us."

Alessandra swallowed hard, her emotions a whirlwind. "Then why are we still doing this, Lorenzo? Why keep pretending?"

The tension between them crackled, and for a fleeting moment, it felt like the walls between them might crumble. But before either of them could speak again, the sound of a car pulling up interrupted them.

Alessandra turned, her heart sinking. She knew what that sound meant. The night had ended. The ghosts would remain.