5. Good night

The mansion was quiet when Emilia finally slipped out of her gown and into a silk robe provided by the maids. Her room—no, their room—was extravagantly decorated, yet it felt cold and unfamiliar. She perched on the edge of the bed, her mind a chaotic mess of emotions she couldn’t name, let alone control.

Her mother’s warning rang in her ears like a haunting melody. Be a good wife to Luca, or say goodbye to your reputation. It wasn’t just a threat; it was a command rooted in fear and control. The betrayal from her sister and now this—Emilia’s world was unraveling one thread at a time.

The door clicked open, and Luca stepped inside, his presence commanding even without a word. He was still in his wedding attire, though his tie hung loose around his neck, and his shirt was unbuttoned at the collar. His dark eyes flicked to her, and a faint smirk tugged at his lips as he closed the door behind him.

“Still sulking?” he asked, his tone light but probing.

Emilia stiffened, her spine straightening as she shot him a glare. “I’m not sulking. I’m...processing.”

Luca chuckled softly, his deep voice reverberating through the room. “Processing what, amore mio? That you’re my wife now? That you’ve stepped into a world far bigger than you imagined?”

She ignored the teasing in his tone and stood abruptly, the silk robe swishing around her ankles. “Processing that my life isn’t my own anymore,” she snapped. “That I’m nothing more than a pawn in everyone else’s games.”

Luca’s smirk vanished, replaced by an intensity that made her falter. He took a step closer, and she instinctively took a step back, but the bed stopped her retreat.

“You’re not a pawn, Emilia,” he said quietly, but his voice carried a weight that made her heart race. “Not in my world. You’re my queen.”

“Don’t romanticize this,” she hissed, her fists clenching at her sides. “You don’t even know me.”

He tilted his head, studying her as if she were a puzzle he intended to solve. “You’re wrong. I know more about you than you think.”

Emilia scoffed, her frustration bubbling over. “Oh, really? Then tell me, Luca—what do you know about me? What makes me tick? What makes me happy?”

Luca stepped closer until he was towering over her, his presence overwhelming. He reached out and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers brushing her cheek in a way that made her shiver.

“I know that you’re strong,” he said softly, his dark eyes locking onto hers. “Stronger than you realize. I know that you hate being controlled, but you’ve spent your whole life living under someone else’s thumb—your family’s expectations, society’s rules. And now mine.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he silenced her with a finger pressed lightly to her lips.

“I know that you’re scared,” he continued, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “But I also know that fear isn’t all you’re feeling right now.”

Emilia’s breath hitched, and she hated how accurately his words cut through her defenses. She wanted to deny it, to tell him he was wrong, but the truth clung to her like a second skin.

“You’re arrogant,” she said instead, her voice trembling but defiant. “You think you can just waltz into my life and claim me like some...some possession.”

Luca’s lips quirked into a faint smile, and he leaned in closer, his face inches from hers. “You’re not a possession, Emilia,” he murmured. “You’re mine. There’s a difference.”

She stared at him, her heart pounding as his words settled over her like a blanket she couldn’t shake off. The intensity of his gaze was suffocating, but it also stirred something deep within her—a flicker of curiosity, of danger, of desire she didn’t want to admit.

“Why?” she whispered, the word slipping out before she could stop it. “Why me?”

Luca’s expression softened, and for the first time, she saw something genuine in his eyes—a vulnerability he rarely showed. “Because you’re different,” he said simply. “Because you’re the only one who doesn’t cower in my presence. You fight me. And I like the fire in you.”

Emilia swallowed hard, her mind racing to process his words. She wanted to believe he was lying, that this was just another game to him. But the sincerity in his voice was impossible to ignore.

“Don’t expect me to fall in line,” she said finally, her voice steadier now. “I may be your wife, but I’m not your puppet.”

Luca’s smirk returned, and he took a step back, giving her space she hadn’t realized she needed. “Good,” he said, his tone amused. “I wouldn’t want a puppet for a wife. That would be boring.”

He turned away, walking toward the dresser where a glass decanter of amber liquid waited. Pouring himself a drink, he glanced over his shoulder at her. “But don’t mistake my patience for weakness, Emilia. There are rules in this world, and you’ll have to learn them if you want to survive.”

She crossed her arms, her defiance returning. “And if I don’t?”

Luca took a sip of his drink, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. “Then you’ll have to face the consequences.”

The threat was subtle, but it was there, lingering in the air between them. Emilia’s stomach twisted, but she refused to let him see her fear.

“I don’t play by anyone’s rules,” she said firmly.

Luca chuckled, setting his glass down and turning back to her. “Oh, amore mio,” he said, his voice laced with both amusement and warning. “You’re in my world now. And in my world, everyone plays by my rules—even you.”

He closed the distance between them again, his hand reaching out to tilt her chin up so she was forced to meet his gaze. “You can fight me all you want,” he said softly, his voice low and dangerous. “But at the end of the day, you’ll learn one thing—you and I, we’re the same. And no matter how hard you try to deny it, you’ll see that this is exactly where you belong.”

Emilia’s breath caught, and for a moment, she couldn’t find the words to respond. Luca’s dominance was suffocating, but it was also intoxicating in a way she didn’t want to admit.

“Goodnight, cara mia,” he said, releasing her chin and stepping back. “Sleep well. You’ll need your strength for what comes next.”

With that, he turned and walked toward the adjoining door that led to his side of the suite, leaving her alone with her racing thoughts and the lingering weight of his words.

Emilia sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, her mind a whirlwind of anger, fear, and something else she couldn’t quite name. She had thought marrying Luca would be the worst part of her ordeal, but now she realized it was only the beginning.

As she stared at the closed door, her resolve hardened. Luca might think he owned her, but she wasn’t ready to surrender—not yet.

If he wanted a fight, he was going to get one.