ARIA POV
I can't breathe.
*Breeding vessel.*
The words stare up at me from the papers scattered across the floor. My hands shake so badly I can barely hold the documents.
"I don't understand." My voice comes out broken, small. "This says... it says I'm not really your wife."
Damien walks past me like I'm furniture. His expensive shoes click against the marble as he heads toward the massive staircase. "You signed the contracts. That makes it legal enough."
"But breeding vessel—" I scramble to my feet, papers clutched against my chest. "You can't mean—"
He stops. Doesn't turn around. "You'll be taken to your room. Someone will explain your schedule. Medical examinations begin Monday."
"Medical examinations for what?"
"To ensure optimal conception conditions." His voice is flat, emotionless, like he's discussing a business meeting. "You'll take vitamins. Follow a specific diet. Track your cycle. When you're ovulating, I'll be notified."
The room spins. "You bought me. You actually bought me like—like livestock."
"I paid your debts. Your foster siblings get their medical care. You signed away your rights." Now he does turn, and his gray eyes are completely empty. "What did you think this was? A love story?"
Something inside me cracks. "I thought it was a marriage."
"Marriage is a legal contract. We have one. The rest is sentiment, and I don't deal in sentiment." He checks his watch. "Mrs. Laurent will show you to your quarters. Don't wander the estate. Most rooms are off-limits."
"Wait!" I run after him, desperation clawing at my throat. "Please, can we just talk? I don't know you. You don't know me. Maybe if we—"
"I know everything I need to know." He pulls another folder from inside his jacket and drops it on the hall table. "Age twenty-two. Orphaned at twelve. No living relatives. Three foster siblings you're supporting. Perfect health. Virgin. Genetically screened. You're exactly what was required."
*Required.* Not wanted. Not chosen. Required.
"Why me?" Tears blur my vision. "Why did you pick me?"
For just a second, something flickers across his face. But it's gone before I can identify it. "You were available. And desperate enough to say yes."
The cruelty of it steals my breath.
An older woman appears from a side hallway. Thin, severe, gray hair pulled back so tight it must hurt. "Mr. Moretti. I'll take her upstairs."
"See that she doesn't leave her room tonight." Damien walks away without another glance. "I have work to do."
Mrs. Laurent's grip on my elbow is surprisingly strong. She guides me up the grand staircase, down a long hallway lined with family portraits. All the faces look cold, calculating, like they're judging me.
We stop at a door at the end of the hall.
"This is your room," Mrs. Laurent says. "Mr. Moretti's room is across the hall. You'll stay here unless summoned."
*Summoned.* Like a servant. Like property.
She opens the door and practically pushes me inside. The room is huge—bigger than my entire apartment—but feels like a cage. There's a massive bed covered in white silk, a bathroom through one door, a closet through another.
On the bed lies a white nightgown. Simple, modest, but clearly expensive.
"Put that on," Mrs. Laurent orders. "Mr. Moretti will come when he's ready."
My stomach drops. "Come for what?"
Her expression doesn't change. "To fulfill the contract terms. Tonight begins the conception process."
"Tonight? But I just got here. I don't—we haven't even—"
"Your ovulation window begins tomorrow. The doctors want to maximize chances." She walks to the door. "Don't try to leave. The door locks from the outside. And don't bother screaming. These walls are very thick."
The door closes. A lock clicks.
I'm trapped.
I stand frozen for what feels like hours but is probably only minutes. This can't be real. This can't be happening. People don't do this anymore. This is the twenty-first century, not some medieval nightmare.
But the contract pages are still clutched in my hand. The words don't lie.
*Breeding vessel. Genetic screening. Ovulation tracking. Disposal protocols—*
Wait.
I flip frantically through the pages, searching for that phrase again. There. Section 7, Subsection C: *Post-Birth Protocols and Asset Disposal.*
My vision tunnels. The words swim together, but I force myself to read every terrible line.
*Upon successful live birth and genetic confirmation of paternity, Subject will be... will be...*
I can't finish it. Can't process what they're planning after I give them what they want.
A sound in the hallway makes me jump. Footsteps. Heavy. Deliberate. Coming closer.
They stop outside my door.
The lock clicks open.
Damien enters. He's taken off his jacket and tie. His shirt is partially unbuttoned. He smells like whiskey and something darker, more dangerous.
"Don't make this difficult," he says quietly. "It will happen regardless."
"Please." I back away until I hit the wall. "Please, I'm not ready. I don't—I don't even know you."
"You don't need to know me."
"I'm a person! I have feelings! You can't just—"
"I can. I did. The money's already transferred." He moves closer, predatory, mechanical. "Lay down."
"No. No, I won't—"
"You will." His voice drops to something cold and final. "Because if you don't, that money disappears. Every cent. And your foster sister Lily? Her surgery gets canceled. Sophie loses her therapy. Jason's medication stops. Do you want their blood on your hands?"
The room tilts. "You wouldn't."
"Test me."
He means it. I can see it in his empty eyes. This man would let children die to get what he wants.
*I'm trapped. Completely, utterly trapped.*
My legs give out. I sink onto the edge of the bed, shaking so hard my teeth chatter.
Damien closes the distance between us. His hand reaches for the lamp.
"Wait," I whisper. "Can you... can you at least leave the light on?"
"No."
Darkness swallows the room.
What happens next breaks something inside me I'll never get back.
---
When I wake up, he's gone.
Morning light streams through windows I don't remember being uncovered. My body aches. There's blood on the white sheets.
And on the nightstand, a single piece of paper with two words written in harsh black ink:
*Conception confirmed.*
But that's impossible. It's only been one night. You can't know that fast. Unless—
My blood turns to ice.
Unless they've been tracking more than just my cycle. Unless the medical exam three months ago did more than I knew. Unless they've been planning this far longer than I realized.
I grab my phone with trembling hands. Pull up the text from the hospital about Lily's surgery.
The message is gone. Deleted.
I check my call history. Also gone.
Every number I've ever called—my foster siblings, my friends, my caseworker—erased.
A new text appears from an unknown number:
*Your old life is over. Accept your purpose. Cooperate fully. Or they disappear too. Not just their money. Them.*
The phone falls from my numb fingers.
A knock sounds at the door. Mrs. Laurent's voice: "Time for your first medical examination, Mrs. Moretti. The doctor is waiting."
I look at the bloodstained sheets, the threatening text, the locked door.
And I realize with absolute, horrifying certainty: I haven't married into a family.
I've been captured by monsters.