Chapter 6 – The Prison In Silk

• Alina woke up with a thought. “This room wasn’t a sanctuary.”
• It was a gilded prison.
• Alina stared at the lavish space—four-poster bed draped in silk, antique wardrobe, velvet chaise lounge, and a dressing table lined with luxury skincare and perfume bottles. A gold-trimmed vanity mirror reflected a version of her she didn’t recognize—wild-eyed, bruised with exhaustion, rage simmering beneath her skin.
• She stormed toward the nearest window and tugged at the ornate handle. Nothing. Bolted shut. She rattled it harder, gritting her teeth, but it didn’t budge.
• Her eyes darted around the frame, and there—barely visible—was a small black dot embedded in the top corner.
• A camera.
• Her stomach dropped.
• Alina stepped back, scanning the room again. Now she noticed them—three more pinhole-sized cameras: one above the armoire, one near the ceiling corner, and another in the chandelier.
• “You’ve got to be kidding me…”
• She turned her back to the nearest one and marched toward the bed. She couldn’t sit. Not yet. Not when her skin still crawled from what Luciano had said.
• In ten days, they would marry.
• Over her dead body.
• A knock interrupted her thoughts. The door creaked open, and Teresa stepped inside carrying a tray.
• “Breakfast,” the older woman said softly, offering a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
• Alina’s gaze narrowed. “I didn’t ask for food.”
• “You need to eat.”
• “I need answers.”
• Teresa gently placed the tray on the side table. Eggs, toast, fresh fruit, a cup of rich-smelling coffee. Alina’s stomach growled against her will, but she clenched her fists at her sides.
• “How long have you worked for him?” she asked.
• Teresa hesitated, straightening the silverware. “A long time.”
• “Did you know he was going to buy me?”
• The older woman went still. “I’m just the housekeeper, Miss Rayne.”
• “You know what this is,” Alina snapped. “What this place is. You know I didn’t choose this. My father sold me to him like a damn—” Her voice cracked. “Like livestock.”
• Teresa’s eyes flickered toward the camera in the ceiling, then back to Alina. “There are things I can’t say. For your safety and mine.”
• Alina laughed bitterly. “My safety? Is that a joke?”
• “I’m sorry,” Teresa said softly. “Eat something. You’ll feel better.”
• She turned to leave, but Alina stepped forward. “Wait—please. Do you know anything about my father’s debt? About what kind of man Luciano really is?”
• Teresa paused, her hand on the doorknob.
• “Sometimes,” she said, not turning around, “men like him believe they’re protecting what they own.”
• And then she was gone.
• The door locked again with a cold finality.
• Alina paced the room for hours. She didn’t touch the food.
• Mid-afternoon light filtered through the heavy curtains, but the brightness couldn’t pierce the haze of dread settling over her. Every inch of the room felt false—like it was designed to trick her into complacency.
• She inspected every corner, tapping on the walls, checking the back of the wardrobe, even crawling under the bed.
• Nothing. No vents, no secret exits, no tools.
• By dusk, the sun dipped behind the hills outside, painting the walls in amber and gold.
• And Alina had made a decision.
• She wouldn’t wait ten days. She wouldn’t wait another second.
• She would get out of here.
• That night, she waited until the house was quiet.
• She hadn’t seen Teresa again. No guards had come to check in. The silence was suffocating—and full of opportunity.
• Alina slipped out of the silk robe and into a loose blouse and pants she’d found in a drawer. She wrapped her hand in a pillowcase, turned off the lights and crept toward the window.
• She gripped a heavy porcelain lamp in her other hand and swung it hard.
• Glass shattered.
• A sharp alarm pierced the air.
• Her heart seized. Red lights blinked on in the ceiling. The camera rotated with a quiet mechanical hum.
• “No—no, no—”
• She dropped the lamp and ran for the door just as it burst open.
• Two armed guards rushed in. One grabbed her wrist. The other pulled her back by the waist.
• “Let me go!” she screamed, kicking wildly. “Don’t touch me!”
• They didn’t speak. Didn’t strike her. Just restrained her and dragged her further into the room.
• She fought harder.
• And then he appeared.
• Luciano Moretti stepped into view like a phantom from the shadows—calm, composed, and deadly.
• He wore a charcoal sweater and black slacks, no jacket this time. His dark hair was tousled, his eyes sharp and unreadable beneath the warm corridor lights.
• “Enough,” he said quietly.
• The guards froze.
• Alina stilled too, her chest heaving, eyes blazing with fury.
• “You keep me locked in a room like some pet—and then you act like I’m the crazy one for trying to escape?” she spat.
• Luciano’s gaze dropped to the shattered window behind her. The cool breeze from outside swept through the corridor. Shards of glass glinted on the floor.
• “I warned you,” he said.
• “You’re insane if you think I’m going to marry you.”
• “I told you, actions have consequences.”
• Alina jerked away from the guards. “What are you going to do? Hit me? Lock me in a dungeon? Go ahead. Do it. At least it would be honest.”
• A flicker of emotion crossed his face—gone too fast to catch.
• “Leave us,” he ordered the guards.
• They hesitated, then stepped back. One closed the door quietly behind them.
• Now it was just the two of them in the room, moonlight bleeding in through the broken window.
• Alina stood her ground.
• Luciano stepped forward slowly, closing the space between them. His voice, when he spoke, was soft—but laced with steel.
• “You are not here because I enjoy playing jailor. You are here because your father made choices that ended in blood.”
• “He sold me.”
• Luciano’s eyes burned into hers. “Yes.”
• She flinched at the honesty.
• “I don’t expect you to forgive him,” he continued. “I don’t expect you to understand me. But I do expect obedience while you’re under my roof.”
• Alina laughed bitterly. “You expect me to thank you for not breaking my bones? For putting me in a palace instead of a cage?”
• “This is a cage,” he said. “Just one wrapped in silk.”
• Silence.
• “You’ll learn to respect it,” he added, voice lower now. “Even if that respect must be taught.”
• Alina’s breath hitched.
• He wasn’t threatening her with violence. Not outright. But there was a promise in his tone—a shadow of something darker beneath the surface.
• And the worst part? She believed him.
• Luciano turned and walked away, not sparing her another glance.
• The broken window let in a gust of night wind, sharp with the scent of cold grass and freedom just out of reach.
• Alina stood there, trembling—not from cold, but from the weight of what she now understood.
• This wasn’t just captivity.
• This was psychological warfare.
• And if she wanted to win, she’d have to play smarter. Colder.
• She couldn’t afford another misstep.
• She wouldn’t break. She wouldn’t obey. And she sure as hell wouldn’t marry him.
• Not willingly.
• But now she knew the truth about her cage.
• And she would find a way to tear it down—brick by brick.