I woke to silence that felt so thick like pressure on my chest.
The penthouse windows stretched wide, showing New York glowing below, alive and loud.
Inside, nothing moved, no footsteps at all, no low voice on the phone and there was no presence right behind me in bed. Matteo's side was cold, untouched, as if he had never slept there at all.
I stared at the ceiling, counting my breaths. One, two., three …
This was how it always started, waking alone, even when my husband lived ten feet away.
I pushed myself up, with the silk sheets sliding down my legs. The bed was too big for one person, though it had been designed for power, for dominance, not for love. Everything in this penthouse was like that, sharp lines, dark colors, glass and steel were beautiful, but empty.
I slipped on Matteo's white shirt without thinking that it still smelled like him, clean, expensive, but dangerous. The scent hurt more than comforted, though I should have stopped wearing his things months ago, but old habits clung harder than pride.
I walked barefoot into the kitchen. The coffee machine was already on which meant Matteo had been awake earlier. He, however, left without waking me. Again?
My fingers curled around the counter.
I told myself not to feel anything, I had promised that last night, while lying awake, listening to the clock tick louder than my thoughts.
I poured coffee and sat at the island. The city stared back at me through the glass walls. Everyone down there had noise, generated chaos with someone waiting for them. I had silence, a last name that weighed more than my heart could carry.
My phone buzzed.
I looked at it too fast, hope rising before I could stop, it had fallen just as quickly.
Elena.
Did he come home?
I typed back slowly. Yes, much later.
That was easier than the truth reason being, Matteo had come home after midnight, showered, and slept in the guest room. I had heard the water and also perceived the door closing, but he never said my name once.
I took a sip of coffee, it tasted bitter as everything did lately.
This marriage wasn't loud, neither was it violent or cruel in the obvious ways people warned you about. It was worse and a quiet neglect.
Careful distance has been maintained, slowly erasing affection disguised as protection.
Matteo said it was safer this way.
He said less was better.
Less touch, less talk and even less of me.
I stood and walked toward his office, I didn't know why. Curiosity, maybe or the need to confirm he still existed in the same world as me.
The door was open.
That alone felt strange.
Matteo never left doors open.
I stepped inside, the room smelled like leather and smoke. Papers were stacked neatly, guns locked away, with power framed and organized. My eyes landed on the desk and then on the folder lying open.
I shouldn't have looked, but I always did.
The folder wasn't business neither was it weapons, territory or numbers. It was thinner and cleaner.
A contract.
I leaned closer, heart speeding up before my mind caught up.
Marriage Settlement Agreement.
The words swam for a second.
My hands shook as I flipped the page.
My name stared back at me in black ink.
Isabella Romano De Luca.
There were clauses, dates, terms and conditions. Everything so calm and logical it felt unreal like my marriage had been reduced to bullet points.
I backed away from the desk, air leaving my lungs.
This wasn't finalized, there were no signatures, but it was prepared, planned and thought through.
He had been ready.
The silence around me shifted, it no longer seemed empty, rather felt planned.
A sound reached me from the hallway, voices. I froze.
"…not a problem," a man said. "She was never meant to last."
My stomach dropped.
I moved closer to the door, careful, but quietly.
Luca's voice came next smooth and confident but too familiar. "Matteo did what he had to do, you know how this world works. Women like her are temporary."
I pressed my hand against the wall.
Another man laughed softly. "Still, shame, she looks expensive."
Luca chuckled. "Everything about that marriage was an investment and as a matter of fact, investments end."
My ears rang.
They didn't know I was there, maybe they didn't care.
I waited for Matteo's voice, eager to hear him shut it down. To say my name and still say they were wrong.
He said nothing.
The silence returned, louder than before.
My vision blurred, I stepped back before they could see me. I had to break in halfway in front of men who saw me as a line item.
I walked into the bedroom and closed the door softly, my movements calm while my chest burned.
So this was it.
Not love fading, not distance for safety, but strategy.
I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at my hands, they looked the same, small, soft and still wearing his ring.
I twisted it off slowly.
All those nights I had blamed myself, for needing more, for asking questions, for wanting warmth from a man who ruled with cold precision.
I had thought I was failing as a wife.
I hadn't realized I was already being replaced.
My phone buzzed again.
Sofia this time.
Coffee later? You sounded off yesterday.
I stared at the message, then typed back before fear could stop me.
I need to talk, about everything.
I stood and went to the mirror, the woman staring back looked composed. Calm, untouched, but her eyes were different, much sharper. Wounded in a way that didn't heal with apologies.
I took off Matteo's shirt and changed into a simple dress, no diamonds, no silk. Just me.
Before leaving the bedroom, I looked once more at the bed we no longer shared.
I didn't cry.
That scared me more than tears.
As I walked toward the door, a sound echoed behind me, footsteps. Familiar, heavy, but controlled.
I stopped.
I didn't turn around.
Matteo was home.
I felt him before I saw him, like always.
But this time, I didn't move to meet him.
This time, I walked out.
And behind me, the door closed on everything I thought my marriage was, setting into motion something
ing I didn't yet understand, but would never escape.
End of Chapter One.