Chapter One
The last rays of the sun poured over the Valente vineyard, bathing the crumbling estate in gold. Aria stood on the balcony, fingers curling around the iron railing as the wind tangled her dark hair. Her father’s voice echoed below, haggard and desperate, arguing with strangers in tailored suits. Her gut told her something was wrong, but she couldn’t imagine how wrong things were about to go.
As twilight fell, her father burst through the front door, slamming it behind him. His face was pale, his eyes wild with something that looked like guilt and fear twisted into one. Aria met him at the base of the stairs.
“Papa, who were those men?” she asked.
He didn’t look at her. “Go to your room, Aria.”
She stepped in front of him. “No. Tell me. I heard yelling....”
“I said go!” he shouted, startling her.
She flinched, tears springing to her eyes. “What’s happening? Are we in trouble?”
He paused, his chest rising and falling with short, shallow breaths. He looked older than she remembered, shoulders bent under an invisible weight.
“There’s no other way,” he murmured. They own everything now. The vineyard, the accounts... they could take the land, Aria. Everything.”
Her voice cracked. “What did you do?”
“I did what I had to.”
“Papa, what did you do?”
The knock at the door stopped their argument. The housekeeper opened it, and Luca De Rossi stepped into the foyer like a shadow solidifying. Dressed in black from collar to shoes, his presence sucked the air from the room.
Aria’s breath hitched. She hadn’t seen him in years, but she knew that face. Knew the line of his jaw, the cold calculation in his gaze now hardened from the softness it once had. Her childhood friend. Her first love. Her worst nightmare.
He looked at her father first. “Is it done?”
Her father nodded silently and handed him a single piece of paper. A signature scrawled across it.
“No,” Aria whispered.
Luca turned to her, eyes void of warmth. “You belong to me now.”
She stepped back. “You’re joking.”
Luca extended his hand. “Come, Aria.”
She slapped him across the face. The sound cracked in the silence.
“You’re a monster!” she screamed.
“No,” he said calmly, without even blinking. “I’m what the world made me. And your father? He gave you to me.”
“No! Papa, Papa, please....”
Her father refused to meet her gaze. “I had no choice, Aria. They would’ve taken everything. He offered a way out.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she grabbed her father’s sleeve. “I’m not something you give away! I’m your daughter!”
He wrenched his arm from her grasp and turned his back. “Go with him. It’s done.”
“No! I won’t, please, please don’t do this. I’ll find another way. I’ll work, I’ll....”
Luca didn’t wait. He nodded to his men.
Strong arms seized her by the elbows. She kicked and screamed, her nails digging into the floorboards as they dragged her from the house.
“Papa!” she cried. “Please don’t let them take me!”
But he stood in the doorway, unmoved.
The car that drove her away was sleek and silent. She sobbed the entire ride, her fists pounding the windows, her voice breaking as she screamed for help that would never come. Luca sat across from her, completely unmoved, like a statue carved in ice.
“Why are you doing this?” she finally asked, hoarse.
He looked at her, his expression unreadable. “Because I can.”
She didn’t speak again. There was nothing left to say.
When they arrived, she was led into his estate outside Florence, a fortress of cold luxury and impersonal grandeur. Servants bowed. She ignored them all.
Every step she took echoed through the marble halls. The house was too still, too quiet, as if it held its breath.
That night, he brought her a dress. It was soft silver silk, delicate and expensive.
“Wear this,” he said, placing it on the bed. “Dinner is in twenty minutes.”
“I’m not eating with you.”
He turned at the door. “You’ll do what you’re told, Aria. Until the debt is paid, you are mine.”
“I’ll never be yours.”
He gave a tight smile. “You already are.”
Dinner was a cold affair. The table was long, meant for dozens. He sat at the head. She sat halfway down. He poured her wine but offered no words, no explanations, no apologies.
She didn’t eat.
Afterward, he escorted her to a guest room and locked it from the outside.
“You’re not in a cage,” he said. “You’re in a house. Try to remember the difference.”
“A gilded prison is still a prison.”
He didn’t argue. He didn’t even look back.
Once he was gone, she sank to the floor and screamed into her hands. Screamed until her throat hurt and her fingers cramped. For her father’s betrayal. For the boy she lost. For the man who wore his face.
She didn’t sleep.
She paced. She tore the sheets from the bed. She threw the lamp against the wall. The next morning, the room was cleaned without a word.
The days that followed were a blur. She was kept inside, watched constantly. She wandered the halls like a ghost. She tried to escape once. The guards caught her before she touched the gate.
That night, she found Luca in the music room. He was playing the piano, something slow and sorrowful.
“You can’t keep me here,” she said.
“I’m not keeping you,” he replied without looking up. “I’m protecting you.”
“From what? From life? From myself?”
He played a few more notes, then stopped. “From everything I can’t take back.”
“I hate you,” she spat.
He looked at her. For a moment, his eyes weren’t cold. Just tired.
“Good,” he said. “Hate keeps you alive.”
And then he turned back to the piano.
She fled before the tears returned.
