Under One Roof

Home But Not Home

Aria’s POV

The car crawled up the long driveway, careful and slow, like it did not want to break anything not that it could.

I pressed my forehead against the window, eyes tracing the mansion ahead. Stone. Glass. Marble. Too big. Too cold. Too much.

Cars crowded the parking spaces like they were just things a few bucks might buy.

But judging by the garage, the cheapest one probably cost hundreds of thousands. Even the front gate looked wider than my dad’s entire apartment.

The fountains glinted under the sun, probably thinking they were impressive. Honestly… they were impressive. The best I had ever seen.

Gardens sculpted to perfection. Untouchable.

This was supposed to be home.

But it did not feel like home.

Mom reached over and gave my hand a light squeeze. “It’s… different, huh?” Her voice carried that cocktail of excitement, nerves, and hope the kind that blinds you to reality.

“Yeah. Very different,” I said, forcing a smile.

What else could I say? Hate it? Complain? Say I never agreed to this?

Not when she and my dad stood in court arguing over who did not want me. Neither really fought for me until some social worker stepped in and guilted her into it.

So here I am. A tag-along in her dream life. Dare I complain? Not unless I want the street to be my new address.

It all happened too fast. A divorce. A new man. A house with more windows than memories. I barely remember saying yes to the move, but here we are. Delivered like a package to her perfect new fantasy.

The mansion did not look like a home. It looked like power. Money. Control.

The front doors opened before our car even stopped. A man stepped out, tall, broad, in a suit sharp enough to cut air. His shoes shined like they had never touched dust, and his eyes missed nothing.

Mom lit up like a chandelier the second she saw him.

“Darling,” she breathed, slipping into his arms like she belonged there.

He kissed her cheek, smiling. “Welcome home.”

God. Even his voice sounded rich.

Then he looked at me.

“And you must be Aria,” he said calmly, offering a polite smile. “I have heard a lot about you. Nice to have you here.”

“Yes, sir,” I nodded. “Nice to meet you.”

He gave another polite smile, turned toward my mom, and muttered something I did not catch. She burst out laughing before turning toward the door, and I followed a step behind.

Their hands locked together tightly. To anyone watching, it would have looked like love.

But I knew my mother better than anyone. Love? Not in her dictionary. She did not love men. She loved money. The reason she and my dad split? Money, plain and simple. Most of the fights with my dad, ninety-nine percent of it was money.

That grip was not affection. It was strategy.

That hold was insurance.

That smile? Laughing at an ATM.

She was just securing the bag.

And I was the baggage that came with it.

The massive doors closed behind us with a heavy click. For a moment, it felt like my heart closed with them.

Standing in the huge marble hallway, I realized something. I had no idea what kind of life was waiting for me in this house. Maybe those doors had just closed on everything I used to know. And maybe they had just locked me into something I could not escape from.