Chapter 2

Cecilia had rules.

They were not written down. They were not explained. They were simply enforced — immediately and without mercy.

Rule one: Sera eats first.

I learned this on day two, when I reached for the bread basket before Sera had been served. Cecilia's hand cracked across the table so hard the silverware jumped.

"Sera is a guest in this house. She has been part of this family since she was twelve years old. You are a transaction."

"Know your place."

Sera lowered her eyes modestly. "Cecilia, please, it's fine. Valentina didn't know."

"She knows now."

Rule two: Dominic was not to be approached.

I saw my husband exactly once in the first week. He passed me in the hallway at midnight. His shirt was splattered with something dark.

I opened my mouth to speak.

He walked past me like I was furniture.

"He doesn't want you," Cecilia told me the next morning, as if reading my thoughts. "He agreed to this marriage to honor the alliance. Nothing more."

"If you need something, ask the staff. If you're lonely, talk to the walls. But do not chase my son around this house like a desperate little stray."

Sera was video-calling Dominic that evening.

I heard her laughter from the hallway — bright, musical, intimate.

"Dom, you promised you'd take me to the vineyard this weekend. Don't you dare cancel on me."

His voice was low, warm — a voice I had never heard him use. "When have I ever broken a promise to you?"

I stood outside the door, holding my bottle of painkillers, listening to my husband speak to another woman the way husbands are supposed to speak to wives.

Sera spotted me through the doorway.

She didn't stop smiling.

She tilted the phone so Dominic could see me standing there.

"Oh — Val's here. Say hi, Dom."

Silence.

Then: "Tell her to stop hovering. It's irritating."

The call ended.

Sera walked past me, close enough that her lips brushed my ear.

"He chose me ten years before he was forced to marry you. Don't confuse a contract with love."

That night, the pain in my abdomen was so bad I vomited blood into the bathroom sink.

I cleaned it up before anyone could see.

In the mirror, the girl staring back at me was already disappearing — hollowed cheeks, bruised eyes, skin the color of candle wax.

Four months.

Maybe five.

I could survive this house for four months.

The next morning, Cecilia was on the phone when I came down.

"She's useless, Marco. Skin and bones. I told you the Castillo family would try to pass off their worst. If she can't produce an heir in a year, we annul and take the rest of what they owe in blood."

She saw me and didn't flinch.

"Your father promised a wife. So far, all I see is a ghost."

I poured my own coffee. My hands were steady.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Mrs. Ferro."

"You will be."