"We need to establish some ground rules."
I set down my coffee. "I'm listening."
"First: you don't leave this penthouse without my permission and my security. Not to the lobby, not to the street, nowhere."
"I'm a prisoner then."
"You're protected. There's a difference."
I didn't agree, but didn't argue.Pick your battles, Paola.
"Second: no contact with your old life. Not your friends, not your colleagues. No one can know where you are or what happened."
This one hurt. "My friend Anna will worry—"
"I already told you, someone will handle it. She’ll know you’re alive at the very least."
The violation of it—he was impersonating me, controlling my entire life. "You can't just cut me off from everyone I know."
"I can and I have. It's for your safety and mine."
I stood, anger overwhelming fear for a moment. "This is insane. You can't keep me locked up here like—like some princess in a tower!"
Cesare stood too, much more gracefully than I had. "Can't I?"
He was taller, broader, infinitely more powerful. The reminder was physical and undeniable.
But I'd spent twenty-four hours terrified. I was exhausted. And exhaustion made me reckless.
"What's your plan, Cesare? Keep me prisoner forever? I'll go crazy. I'll—"
"You'll adjust," he repeated, voice harder now. "Everyone does."
"I'm not everyone!"
"No," he agreed, stepping closer. "You're my wife. Which means you live by my rules."
I wanted to scream, to throw something, to run.
But there was nowhere to go.
Cesare watched me on the edge of breaking down. His expression shifted to one of calculation. He was quiet for a moment, thinking. Then: "The study—third door on the left—has a desk, a computer, internet access."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"You told me last night you're passionate about your work. Renaissance art. Curation." He was remembering our conversation from the dance. "You need something to occupy your time or you'll go insane locked in here."
The fact that he'd remembered, that he'd actually listened during that brief moment at the reception, surprised me.
"Stay productive. Research your art. Read. Work on whatever projects interest you. Just stay out of my business files."
It wasn't freedom. But it was something. A concession I wasn't expecting.
"You're letting me use the internet?" Suspicion colored my voice.
"It's monitored. Try to contact anyone, try to call for help, and I'll know immediately. But for legitimate research, yes. Consider it... an investment in keeping you sane."
Still controlled. Still watched. But more than I'd had a minute ago.
