A Choice of Our Own

The Estate

The De Luca estate was not a house.

It was a statement.

I stood at the gates, staring up at the massive iron doors as they slowly groaned open. Behind them stretched a long private road lined with perfectly trimmed trees, stone sculptures, and fountains that looked like they'd never once known dust.

"Rich people are insane," I muttered under my breath.

Marco, seated in the driver's seat, said nothing. Of course he didn't.

The car moved forward. The gates closed behind us with a heavy, groaning sound that felt final. Like a door locking. Like a life sealing shut.

I leaned back in my seat, suddenly unsure whether I'd made the right decision. Then I reminded myself why I was here, luca,luca's face,luca's breathing.

That was enough. It had to be enough.

The mansion came into view slowly. First, the fountainmassive, marble, spraying water into the air like it had something to prove. Then, the marble steps. Then the building itself.

White stone. Tall pillars. Wide glass windows reflect the sky like a mirror.

I actually laughed. A short, empty sound.

"This is not a house," I said again.

"It is," Marco replied calmly, "the De Luca residence."

"Same thing. Just more expensive trauma."

Marco didn't respond. But I thought I saw his mouth twitch. Maybe.

The front doors opened before we even reached them. A line of staff stood waiting inside. Too many people. Too perfectly arranged. All dressed in black and white uniforms. All staring at me.

I froze.

"This is unnecessary," I whispered.

Marco stepped aside. "Protocol."

"Protocol for what? I'm not the Queen of England."

No one answered. Of course.

I stepped inside. The air was cool. Perfumed. Silent.

A woman in her fifties stepped forward immediately. Perfect hair. Perfect posture. Perfect expression.

"Miss Russo," she said politely. "I am Sofia, head housekeeper."

I nodded slowly. "Hi."

A pause. Sofia blinked once, like she wasn't sure how to process my tone. Then, she continued smoothly. "Mr. De Luca instructed that you be shown to your quarters."

"My quarters," I repeated.

"Yes."

I exhaled. "This is a hotel."

"It is your residence."

"For one year."

Sofia didn't respond to that. Because of course she wouldn't. She turned. "This way, please."

I followed.

Behind me, I could feel the staff watching. Whispering without speaking. Judging without moving.

Great. Just great.

---

The hallway felt endless. Paintings lined the walls. Ancient art. Modern art. Things that probably cost more than my entire life. We finally stopped in front of a set of double doors. Sofia opened them.

"This will be your suite."

I stepped inside. And stopped.

It was bigger than my entire apartment back in Milan. There was a bedroom. A living area. A balcony overlooking gardens that looked fake because they were too perfect. A bathroom with glass walls.

I slowly turned. "This is not a room."

Sofia nodded politely. "It is the guest suite reserved for Mr. De Luca's spouse."

I raised an eyebrow. "Spouse."

"Yes."

I laughed again. "Right."

Sofia hesitated. "Dinner is at eight. Formal attire is expected."

"I don't have formal attire."

Sofia nodded once. "Clothing has been prepared."

"Of course it has."

Sofia left. The doors closed. Silence returned.

I stood in the centre of the room, slowly spinning in place.

"This is insane," I whispered.

Then I sat on the bed. And immediately sank into it. Soft,too soft. It was designed to make people forget reality.

I lay back. Closed my eyes. Just for a second.

A knock woke me.

I sat up quickly. "Come in."

The door opened. A young maid entered carefully. "Miss Russo?"

"Yes?"

"The master requests your presence in the dining hall."

I blinked. "The master?"

The maid looked confused. "Mr. De Luca."

I sighed. "Of course he does."

I stood, smoothed my clothes, and followed.

The dining hall was even worse.

A long table stretched across the room. Too long. Too empty. At the far end sat Damiano. Alone. As always.

He didn't look up immediately. He was reading something on a tablet. I stopped a few steps away.

"You called?"

Only then did he look at me. Slowly. Calmly. "Yes."

"...for dinner?"

"Yes."

I folded my arms. "You couldn't just send food to my room like a normal billionaire?"

"I could."

"Then why didn't you?"

A pause. Damiano set the tablet down. His eyes met mine. "Because this is not a hotel."

I exhaled. "It feels like one."

"It isn't."

I walked closer. Sat at the opposite end of the table. Immediately regretted how far away he still was.

"This is ridiculous," I said.

"What is?"

"This whole situation. The house. The staff. The... 'master' thing."

One corner of Damiano's mouth lifted slightly. "Tradition."

"Rich people tradition is just expensive weirdness."

That earned a faint pause. Then—

"You will attend an event tomorrow."

I groaned. "Already?"

"Yes."

"What kind of event?"

"Business dinner."

"With who?"

"Investors."

I leaned back. "Let me guess. I sit there and smile like I love you."

"Correct."

"And I don't speak?"

"Preferably not."

I stared at him. "You're enjoying this."

Damiano looked at me for a moment. Then calmly said: "No."

It was a lie. I could tell. And for some reason, that bothered me more than it should have.