Chapter 8

• VALENTINA
• ~•~
• The dress still stuck to my skin like it was sewn there. Even with the night breeze and the garden lights glowing soft around us, I couldn’t breathe right. I could feel his eyes on me again—slow and heavy—watching like he was waiting for me to falter.
• I didn’t want to be here sitting in front of a plate of food I couldn’t touch while he looked like he was enjoying every second of this meal and my discomfort.
• He sat like he ruled the world. One hand holding his fork, the other his wine, like he was born for the life he was currently living. Cutting into his steak like it meant nothing. Taking a bite like he had all the time in the world. No tension. No hesitation.
• I hadn’t touched my plate.
• The food looked as perfect as something from a magazine, but my stomach was too twisted to care. My hands stayed in my lap as I kept my face calm. But I felt the weight of everything I’d lost sitting right there on that plate in front of me.
• He noticed, of course.
• “You’re not eating,” he said, typically pointing out the obvious.
• I looked up just slightly. “I’m not hungry.”
• It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the truth either. I hadn’t eaten since morning, but hunger didn’t survive long in his presence.
• He leaned back, swirling his wine like this was all some kind of test and I was failing it.
• “I hate waste,” he said after a pause. “Despise it, really. Whether it’s time, money… or food.”
• I narrowed my eyes. “Is that a problem?”
• He smiled, but not the warm kind. Just a little twitch of amusement like I was being ridiculous.
• “Let’s just say,” he said slowly, “that when something is put in front of you in this house, it isn’t a suggestion.”
• I picked up my fork but didn’t move. “So what—you want me to eat out of obedience now?”
• “I want you to follow expectations,” he said. “Which includes not letting a five-star meal go to waste just because your pride won’t let you swallow.”
• I gritted my teeth. “What do you think this is, Gustavo? A dinner date?”
• He raised a brow. “No. I think it’s a display of manners. And right now, yours are lacking.”
• My grip tightened around the fork. “You expect me to smile and eat like this isn’t completely twisted?”
• “No,” he said. “I expect you to eat because it’s polite. Because you’re sitting at my table. And because I told you to.”
• I looked down at the plate, jaw tight.
• “Fine,” I muttered.
• My fingers moved slowly, picking up the knife, slicing through the meat with care. I put a small bite in my mouth. It tasted fine—better than fine, actually—but I couldn’t enjoy it because every bite tasted like humiliation.
• He watched me with the kind of smirk that made me want to throw the plate instead of eat from it.
• “There you go,” he said. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
• I didn’t answer. I stabbed another piece just to keep my hands busy. Just to stop myself from saying something I’d regret.
• “This tastes…” I paused, trying to swallow the tightness in my throat, “good.”
• He laughed lightly. “Of course it does. I don’t serve anything that isn’t the best. That goes for food, wine, people. I don’t settle.”
• “You sound proud.”
• “Shouldn’t I be?” he said. “This place, everything in it—it’s mine. Built with my hands. With MY money.”
• I took another bite, forcing it down.
• He sipped from his wine glass, then looked over it at me. “Did the maids show you to your room?”
• “They did,” I said quietly. “Though calling it a room feels like an understatement.”
• “Happy to hear you like it,” he said. “But don’t get too comfortable.”
• There it was. The drop in his tone that served as a reminder that this wasn’t kindness. That nothing here came free.
• I nodded once. “Of course… sir.”
• I said it without thinking. And the second it left my mouth, I knew it landed exactly how he wanted it to.
• He smiled but it wasn’t smug this time. Rather, he seemed… satisfied.
• “I like that,” he said. “You learn fast.”
• “I don’t want to learn,” I said, finally meeting his eyes. “I just want to get through this year.”
• He shrugged. “Getting through it will be easier if you stop fighting everything.”
• “And just what am I fighting?”
• “Your place,” he said. “The deal you agreed to. The life you stepped into.”
• “I’m not your toy,” I said.
• “You’re right,” he said, tipping his glass toward me. “You’re not a toy. You’re a bargain. One I intend to see through.”
• I pushed my plate away. “You’ve made your point.”
• Gustavo leaned in just a little, placing his elbows on the table, wine glass set aside. His voice dropped—calm, slow, and a little too pleased with himself.
• “There’s something you should know,” he said. “I value privacy more than anything. And that starts now.”
• I blinked. “What do you mean, ‘privacy’?”
• He didn’t even pause. “I mean starting tonight, you’ll be cut off. No internet. No phone calls. No social media. No letters. Nothing in or out. The outside world? Forget it exists.”
• I stared at him, my fork frozen halfway to my mouth.
• “You can’t be serious. What the hell!?”
• “Oh, I’m completely serious,” he said, like this was some casual update in a meeting. “You signed the contract, Valentina. One year. You belong to me. This house, these walls, me—that’s your entire world now.”
• I set the fork down. Hard. The clink echoed off the plate like a slap.
• “No,” I said. “You can’t do that. That wasn’t part of the agreement. You didn’t say anything about isolation.”
• His smirk didn’t even shift.
• “It was an understood term,” he said. “You’re my wife on paper, my employee in function, and my property in practice.”
• “Property?” I snapped. “I’m not a goddamn chair.”
• He ignored that. “And I don’t let my property wander.”
• He lifted a hand—just a simple flick of his fingers.
• And from the dark edges of the garden, a man dressed in black silently stepped forward. He moved like he’d been waiting all night for that signal.
• I turned quickly, clutch reaching instinctively.
• My phone.
• “No,” I breathed, pulling it out and holding it close.
• “Yes,” Gustavo said, calmly, like he was talking about the weather.
• The man held out his hand toward me. “Your phone ma’am.”
• I looked at Gustavo, then back at the guard, then at the phone in my hand. My fingers gripped it tighter and my throat locked up.
• “I need it,” I said. “I have to check on my brother. What if something happens? What if the hospital—”
• “It’s already taken care of,” he interrupted. “Updates will come to me. If something happens, I’ll let you know.”
• “That’s not the same,” I said. “You can’t control—”
• “I can,” he said, voice harder now. “And I will. I don’t want distractions. I don’t want outside voices filling your head. You’re here, and so you stay here.”
• I looked up at him. His face wasn’t cold. It wasn’t angry. It was worse—calm, sure, locked in place like stone.
• “This isn’t fair,” I whispered.
• The man didn’t move. He just waited, hand out, still and patient like he’d done this before.
• My stomach twisted. But when I looked at Gustavo again, I saw it in his eyes—he was done talking. There was no bluff. No joke hiding behind the smirk. Just a warning, quiet and clear.
• I handed the phone over.
• The man nodded once and stepped back into the shadows without a word.
• Gustavo leaned back, a slow smile forming. “Good girl.”
• He wasn’t finished.
• “You see this place as a palace,” he said, voice smooth. “Most people do when they first walk in. But it’s not a fantasy. It’s not a museum. It’s my home.”
• He took his time, letting the silence stretch before he added, “And I expect it to be respected.”
• He leaned forward again. “You’ll stay where you’re told and you’ll go only where you’re shown. You don’t wander, you don’t snoop around, and you certainly don’t touch what you’re not asked to.”
• I looked up at him, barely able to hold his stare. My hands were in my lap now, clenched tight enough to hurt.
• Gustavo stood up, adjusting his cuffs with slow care, like this was all just business.
• “I’m sure you’ll enjoy your stay,” he said, turning toward the walkway. “As long as you behave like a good little girl.”
• And just like that, he walked off, vanishing into that massive house like a ghost while I sat here alone, in the middle of his garden, surrounded by roses and candles I couldn’t feel anymore.
• My phone was gone and my world gone with it.
• Could this possibly get any worse?