Chiara
It’s been two weeks. Two whole weeks as Mrs. Vieri, and nothing had changed—except that I felt like I was living in a fancy prison.
The contract was simple: play the perfect wife in public, stay out of each other’s way in private. And we’d stuck to it. No arguments, no awkward dinners, no nothing. Domenico and I were nothing more than housemates.
I hadn’t even seen Domenico’s face since that morning in the bedroom when I agreed to be a part of this.
He always left before dawn and came back after midnight.
At first, it was a relief. I didn’t have to tolerate him or see his smug, arrogant smirks and demeaning glares that made my skin crawl.
But now? Now I was going crazy. The mansion was huge, but my “side” felt like a cage. I would’ve preferred something louder, with people, so
