The mansion had always felt too large, as though it had been designed not to house a family but to trap one. Every corridor seemed to stretch endlessly, lined with heavy doors that guarded more silence than sound. For days Aria had passed them without thought, focusing instead on survival—keeping her chin high at dinners, keeping her temper in check around Lorenzo, keeping her heart from splintering under the weight of doubt. But after seeing him come home bloodstained, after hearing his cryptic admission that not tonight it was his blood, the mansion's silence no longer felt passive. It felt alive, thick with secrets.
Aria had always been curious. As a child, her father used to scold her for wandering where she didn't belong, for asking questions meant to stay unspoken. Curiosity had been a flaw then, but in this house it became both shield and weapon. If she couldn't fight her way out, if she couldn't run, then she would learn. She would know what he was hiding, what this cage of glass and gold truly contained.
It began innocently enough. She wandered further than usual, trailing her fingers along the wallpaper, listening for the faintest echoes. The mansion was too quiet for its size. She had expected staff bustling, voices carrying, but most of the rooms seemed uninhabited, the air stale as though they had been untouched for years. And then she noticed it—the locked doors.
At first, she brushed it off. Old houses always had rooms locked away, storage filled with forgotten furniture, rooms sealed by neglect. But these doors were not ordinary. Each one bore heavy locks polished to a shine, their handles gleaming as though tested regularly. They weren't sealed by dust or disuse. They were guarded.
Aria's heart quickened as she tried the first handle, finding it immovable beneath her hand. She leaned closer, pressing her ear to the wood, but heard nothing. The second door was the same—locked, silent, mocking in its refusal.
It was at the third door that the air shifted. She reached for the handle, tugging lightly, and though it refused to budge, something faint seeped through the cracks. A sound. She froze, breath held. At first, she thought it was the hum of pipes, the creak of wood settling. But then it came again, clearer—a muffled noise, rhythmic, strained. A voice.
Her skin prickled. She pressed her ear tighter, her pulse thundering in her throat. It wasn't clear enough to form words, but there was no mistaking it: someone—or something—was behind that door.
Every instinct screamed at her to pull away, to retreat to the safety of ignorance, but she couldn't. Her mind raced with possibilities. Prisoners? Enemies? Ghosts of wives past, locked away as warnings? The thought clawed at her chest, both horrifying and irresistible.
"Who's there?" she whispered before she could stop herself, her voice barely audible.
The sound stilled instantly, as though whoever—or whatever—was inside had heard her. The silence that followed was worse than the noise, stretching taut until her nerves screamed. Her hand hovered over the handle again, trembling, desperate to know, terrified of what she might find.
And then—
"Aria."
Her name, spoken low, dangerous, unmistakable.
She spun, her heart leaping into her throat. Lorenzo stood at the end of the corridor, his frame dark against the muted light, his gaze sharp enough to cut through the air between them. He moved forward slowly, each step deliberate, the predator closing in on prey.
"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice calm but heavy, the calm of a storm gathering force.
Aria's hand fell from the handle, her pulse a drumbeat in her ears. She forced her chin up, meeting his gaze even as her stomach twisted with dread. "I heard something," she said, her tone steady, defiant. "Behind the door."
Lorenzo's eyes flicked briefly to the lock, then back to her. He didn't break stride until he stood only a foot away, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from him, close enough that the faint scent of smoke and iron clung to her senses.
"There are rooms in this house you do not enter," he said quietly, but the softness made it more dangerous. "Doors you do not touch. Rules you do not break."
Her throat tightened, but she refused to look away. "And why not? What are you hiding?"
For the first time, his composure cracked—not much, just enough that she caught the flicker of something darker in his eyes. Anger, yes, but beneath it something heavier. "You think curiosity will protect you?" he asked, his voice low, almost a growl. "You think opening every locked door will make you free? Some truths are poison, Aria. And once you drink, there is no undoing it."
Her chest heaved with the effort of holding her ground. "I'm already poisoned," she whispered fiercely. "By this house. By you. Don't talk to me about truths when you keep me in a cage and expect me to play the part of a wife."
His jaw tightened, his hand lifting suddenly as though he might seize her arm, her chin, her throat—but at the last second, he stopped, his fingers curling into a fist at his side. He leaned closer, his breath hot against her ear, his words a warning and a promise.
"Do not touch what is mine to guard," he whispered.
The words sent a shiver down her spine, though whether from fear or something more, she couldn't tell. Her heart hammered as he stepped back, his eyes locked onto hers with a heat that felt almost unbearable. For a moment, she thought he might drag her away, lock her in her room, remind her with cold steel who held the power. But instead, he reached past her, his hand wrapping around the handle she had dared to touch.
The door rattled once under his grip, the lock firm, immovable. His knuckles brushed hers, deliberate, before he let go. He leaned closer again, his eyes narrowing.
"Stay away from these doors," he said, his tone final, his authority absolute. "Because if you don't, you won't be afraid of what's behind them—you'll be afraid of me."
And with that, he turned, his footsteps echoing as he strode back down the corridor, leaving her pressed against the locked door, her breath shallow, her pulse wild.
Aria stood there long after he had gone, her mind spinning, her body trembling. The silence on the other side of the door had returned, but it was no longer empty. She knew now, with bone-deep certainty, that something was hidden there—something he would do anything to keep her from discovering.
And though fear coiled tight in her chest, one truth burned brighter than ever:
She would find out.
No matter what it cost.