The city gleamed under the sharp autumn sun, the kind of day where shadows stretched long across cobblestone streets, and the air smelled faintly of roasted chestnuts and exhaust fumes. It had been weeks since Aria had been allowed outside the high walls of Lorenzo's estate, weeks where her world had shrunk to gilded rooms, guarded corridors, and suffocating expectations. When Lorenzo announced that she would accompany him into the city that morning, she almost didn't believe him. He said it casually over coffee, as if it were an afterthought, his tone smooth, unreadable. But when the sleek black car was brought around and a dress was laid out for her—silk the color of deep wine, with a neckline designed to whisper of elegance and restraint—she understood. This wasn't freedom. This was theater.
The car cut through the streets like a predator, its windows tinted, its presence commanding. Aria sat beside Lorenzo, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She could feel his warmth even without his touch, could sense the tension that lived in his shoulders, the invisible armor he wore every moment outside his mansion's gates. His phone buzzed occasionally, each message answered with the flick of a thumb, his expression never changing. To anyone looking from outside, they would appear as the perfect couple: young, beautiful, powerful. But inside the car, silence stretched between them, sharp as glass.
The restaurant was already crowded when they arrived, an exclusive rooftop space where wealth glittered like diamonds and conversations dripped with secrets. Paparazzi waited outside, their cameras flashing as the car rolled to a stop. Aria felt her breath catch when Lorenzo turned to her, his hand reaching out—not roughly, not with command, but gently, like the gesture of a man with nothing to prove. His fingers brushed hers, warm, steadying. "Smile," he murmured, his lips barely moving. "Let them see what they want to see."
The door opened, and light spilled in. Together, they stepped out, and the cameras erupted in a frenzy of clicks and shouts. Lorenzo's hand slipped to the small of her back, guiding her with possessive ease, his touch firm enough to claim her, yet careful enough to look protective. The crowd drank it in: the mafia heir and his breathtaking wife, stepping into the world like royalty. Aria forced her lips into a faint curve, her eyes focused forward, but inside she trembled at the thought of how well he could play this game.
Inside the restaurant, whispers followed them like shadows. "That's her, the new bride." "She looks terrified." "It's a cold marriage, everyone says so." The words weren't meant to reach her ears, but they did, every syllable branding itself into her chest. She lowered her gaze to the polished marble floors, her heart beating too fast, until Lorenzo's voice broke through the noise.
"She's exquisite, isn't she?" he said, loud enough for the nearby tables to hear. Aria's head snapped toward him, startled, but he didn't falter. His arm draped around the back of her chair as they sat, his thumb brushing the bare skin of her shoulder with deliberate slowness. "My wife has a way of making every room brighter."
The silence that followed was thick, expectant. Aria felt every pair of eyes shift toward her, waiting for her to confirm the performance. She swallowed, her lips parting as though on instinct, the lie slipping out smoother than she imagined. "Lorenzo takes too much credit," she said softly, her tone carrying just enough warmth to disarm. "It's him who commands the room, not me."
The audience drank it in. The whispers turned, softer now, tinged with intrigue. "Maybe it isn't so cold after all." "He looks at her differently, doesn't he?" Aria's pulse raced, not from the weight of their stares, but from the realization that Lorenzo had shifted the game entirely. He wasn't just protecting her image—he was protecting theirs. The illusion of the perfect couple wasn't for her; it was for them, the watching eyes that measured power by perception.
Course after course was served, delicate plates of food that Aria barely tasted. She played her role, laughing quietly at Lorenzo's perfectly timed remarks, her hand brushing against his on the table, every gesture orchestrated. And yet, beneath the performance, there were moments—brief, fleeting—where she swore the mask slipped. When his hand lingered on hers just a second too long. When his gaze softened, caught between calculation and something raw. When his jaw tightened as one of the men dared to compliment her too boldly.
It was almost enough to make her forget the chains. Almost.
When the meal ended and they rose to leave, the crowd parted around them. Cameras flashed again as Lorenzo guided her outside, his arm secure around her waist, his lips dipping close to whisper something indecipherable to the hungry onlookers. Aria tilted her head just enough to make it look intimate, though her heart thundered with the weight of the charade.
It wasn't until they reached the car that she felt the slip of paper pressed into her palm. A hand brushed hers, quick, unseen, the motion so subtle she almost thought she imagined it. But when she glanced down as Lorenzo opened the door for her, her fingers curled around a folded note, its edges worn, the ink smudged slightly. She slipped into the car, her pulse roaring in her ears, hiding the paper beneath the folds of her dress.
The ride back was quiet, Lorenzo scrolling through his phone, his other hand resting casually on his thigh. Aria stared out the window, the note burning against her skin, her heart thudding with every second she couldn't read it. Only when they pulled through the mansion gates, the iron closing behind them, did she finally dare to unfold the scrap of paper beneath the shadows of her lap.
The words were scrawled hastily, uneven, but there was no mistaking them.
He's going to kill you.
Her fingers went cold. Her vision blurred at the edges. She folded the paper quickly, shoving it into her pocket as Lorenzo glanced her way, his expression unreadable, his voice smooth. "You were perfect today," he said simply.
Aria forced a smile, her chest tightening as she whispered back, "So were you."
But the words on the paper screamed louder than her own voice, and as she followed him back into the mansion, she knew the cage around her had just grown darker.