MARRIED TO MY ENEMY SON

The Beginning

Amara’s POV

The morning sun barely reached the corners of the guest room. Everything felt too quiet, too clean, too unfamiliar. I lay in the massive bed staring at the ceiling, waiting for something anything that would make this place feel real.

A knock came at the door.

"Come in," I said, sitting up quickly.

A maid stepped inside, holding a neatly folded outfit. "Mr. De Luca asked that you be ready by ten. He’s taking you to the office."

"The office?" I frowned. "Why?"

"I don’t ask questions, ma’am," she said, placing the clothes on the armchair. "He said to dress appropriately. He’ll meet you in the car."

By ten, I was dressed in a cream blouse and a fitted navy skirt, my curls pinned back neatly. I looked polished. Presentable. Like a wife, I supposed.

Lorenzo was already waiting in the back seat of a black SUV. As I slid in beside him, he didn’t greet me.

No good morning. No smile. Just silence.

The drive to De Luca Enterprises was short, but the silence made it stretch.

"Why are you taking me to your office?" I finally asked.

He glanced at me. "Because people will ask questions. And I want them to see you."

I folded my hands. "You mean parade me around like proof."

"You’re my wife. It’s expected."

The car pulled into an underground garage, and we were ushered inside by security. I didn’t miss the curious stares from the reception staff, the whispers behind their hands.

His office was as cold as he was glass, steel, leather. No warmth. No photos. Just dominance.

"Sit," he said, gesturing to the chair across from his desk.

I sat, folding my hands tightly in my lap.

"You’ll spend a few hours here each week. Attend events with me. Smile when I say. Walk when I say. Nod when I say."

"So, I’m a mannequin?"

"No. A symbol. There’s a difference."

I let the insult roll over me. "What exactly are you gaining from all this?"

"Control. Order."

"And when the three years are over? What then?"

He leaned back in his chair. "We dissolve quietly. You get your freedom. Your brother gets his future. We both get what we want."

His calmness made me feel sick. I was a deal, not a person. A means to a calculated end.

Later that afternoon, we toured the building, his hand resting possessively on my back in front of investors and employees. I played along, smiling when I had to. But inside, I was hollow.

At one point, we passed a portrait in the hallway a black and white photo of his father, Roman De Luca.

Lorenzo noticed my stare. "He built all this."

I nodded. "And your mother?"

"She maintained the illusion of perfection while he did it."

"Sounds familiar."

His jaw tightened. I saw something flicker in his eyes, something wounded, before he turned away.

When we got back to the estate, I didn’t wait for him. I went straight to my room and shut the door.

Later, Jayden called. I curled up on the bed with the phone pressed to my ear.

"Amara! You sound tired."

"Just a long day, little man. How was school?"

"Easy. But I miss you. When are you coming to visit?"

"Soon. I promise."

"I like it here, though. The people are nice."

"I’m glad. You’re safe, right?"

"Yeah. Safer than before."

His voice was innocent. He didn’t know the cost of that safety.

After the call, I stayed curled up, staring at the wall. I didn’t hear Lorenzo enter until his voice cut through the silence.

"You’re not here to sulk in your room every night."

I sat up slowly. "I wasn’t aware you cared how I spent my time."

"I care about appearances. If anyone sees this marriage cracking too soon, it won’t end well."

"For who?"

"For either of us."

I stood. "Why do I get the feeling you’ve done this before?"

He walked over, gaze hard. "Because I’ve seen what betrayal looks like up close. And I don’t trust people who smile too easily."

"Then why marry one?"

"Because I don’t need to trust you. I just need to control the narrative."

I stared at him. "You’re really convinced this won’t fall apart?"

"No," he said simply. "I’m prepared for when it does."

He left again.

And this time, I didn’t feel like crying.

I felt like fighting.

Days passed like a blur of cold dinners and forced smiles. The contract was a cage, and Lorenzo was the jailer who didn’t even bother to hide his disdain. But in the midst of this suffocating nightmare, a familiar name broke through the noise Damian Moretti.

It started with a message on my phone late one evening.

Amara, it’s been too long. Meet me tomorrow? Damian

My heart skipped. Damian had been my friend since childhood, the one person who had never judged me, even when my father’s scandals ruined us all. I hesitated, unsure if I could trust anyone anymore.

But loneliness gnawed at me.

The next afternoon, I found myself standing in front of a sleek café downtown, nerves twisting inside me. Damian was already there, tall and effortlessly charming, with a smile that could soften the hardest days.

He stood as I approached, eyes warm but wary.

“You look tired,” he said quietly.

“Isn’t that obvious?” I managed a weak smile.

He motioned to a corner table. “Let’s sit.”

As we talked, memories spilled out summer afternoons by the lake, late night talks about dreams and escape. Damian listened without interruption, the kind of understanding I hadn’t felt in weeks.

“I hate what your father did,” Damian said finally. “But you’re not him.”

“I’m not sure I believe that yet.”

He reached across the table, brushing a stray curl behind my ear. The gesture was innocent but electrifying.

“You don’t have to pretend with me.”

For the first time since signing that contract, I felt something close to hope.

But beneath Damian’s kindness was a shadow I couldn’t ignore. His family had been destroyed, and I was caught in the middle.

“Lorenzo isn’t just any man,” I said cautiously. “He’s… dangerous.”

Damian’s jaw tightened. “I know. Moretti and De Luca have a history. A bad one.”

“What kind?”

He hesitated. “It’s complicated. But I promise, I’m not like him.”

I wanted to believe him. Needed to.

As we parted that evening, Damian slipped something into my hand a small, worn key.

“Keep this,” he said. “It might come in handy.”

I looked up, confused.

“Trust me,” he smiled.

Walking away, I realized the line between friend and something more was blurring, and my heart was caught in the crossfire