Every night at the penthouse felt like a prison of soft sheets and silk curtains…too quiet, too empty except for the constant echo of her own thoughts.
She sat on the edge of the bed, legs curled up to her chest, the city lights flickering through the rain-slicked glass. Her phone, stripped of every contact that used to tether her to the real world, sat useless beside her pillow. It might as well have been a brick.
She thought of her parents how her mother always made tea before dawn, how her father used to hum old love songs under his breath when he thought no one could hear. Did they even know where she was now? Did they think she'd abandoned them?
The click of the door snapped her out of her spiral.
Luca stood in the doorway, half-shadowed, dressed in black slacks and a crisp white shirt undone at the collar. His hair was damp, like he'd just come in from the rain.
He didn't knock. He never did.
"You should be sleeping," he said quietly.
"I can't."
He stepped inside, the door closing behind him with a soft, final thud. He looked at her for a long moment, his eyes dark but impossible to read.
"Is it the sickness?" he asked, nodding at her belly. The word baby never left his lips not yet.
"No." Her throat closed up. "It's not that."
She pressed her palms to her knees, forcing the question out before she lost her nerve. "Where are they?"
His brow furrowed. "Who?"
"My parents," she said. "Where are they living? Do they know where I am? Do they… do they think I just disappeared?"
He crossed to her slowly, each step measured like he was taming a cornered animal. She hated how her heartbeat jumped when he knelt down in front of her.
"They're safe," he said, too calm. "They're being looked after."
"That's not what I asked." She leaned forward, her voice trembling with the weight of all the nights she'd laid awake, imagining her mother crying alone. "Do they know where I am, Luca? Do they know what I did for them?"
Something flickered in his eyes regret, maybe. Or just annoyance that she'd dared to question him.
"They don't need to know everything," he said, voice soft but sharp as a blade. "They wouldn't understand."
She jerked back like he'd slapped her. "So they think I just abandoned them."
"No," he snapped. And for a moment, the control slipped she saw something raw underneath. "They know you're safe. They know you're… taken care of."
"By you," she bit out. "Like I'm some pet you feed scraps."
His jaw twitched. "Do you want them to know the truth? That you sold yourself? That their freedom cost you your future, your pride, your"
"My body?" she finished for him, her voice a blade of her own.
He rose to his feet, towering over her. But she didn't shrink back this time.
"You can hate me all you want," he said. "But you made this choice."
Her laugh was dry, sharp. "Did I? Or did you make it for me the second you pinned that contract over my throat?"
Silence coiled around them, thick and stifling. A car horn blared somewhere far below the world moving on while hers stayed frozen in this glass prison.
"Can I see them?" she asked, hating how her voice cracked. "Just once. Please. Let me see my parents."
His eyes softened for half a heartbeat just long enough to make her breath catch.
"No," he said, too fast, too harsh. "Not yet."
She recoiled. "Why? Because you don't trust me not to run?"
"Because you're not strong enough yet," he snapped back, then froze like he'd revealed too much.
She blinked. "Strong enough for what?"
He ran a hand through his hair, turning away, pacing to the window. For the first time, he looked… unsettled. Like the mask didn't quite fit tonight.
"You're carrying my child, Aria," he said finally, his back still to her. "If something happened to you, to them"
She felt the words pierce a hole through the walls she'd built around her chest. "So you do care."
His reflection in the window met hers dark eyes haunted by something she couldn't name. "Don't mistake this for kindness. It's just necessary."
She pushed off the bed, crossing the space between them until she could feel the heat rolling off his body. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides.
"You keep saying that word necessary," she hissed. "What about what I need, Luca? What about what I want?"
His hands shot out, catching her wrists before she could shove him away. The shock of his touch burned through her.
"You want me to lie?" he said, voice low and rough. "You want me to pretend I don't wake up in the middle of the night wondering if you're still here? That I don't check the cameras, the guards, because I know you'd rather jump than stay?"
Her pulse thudded so hard it hurt. "Then let me see them."
He pulled her closer so close her knees brushed his thighs, her breath mingling with his. "Not yet."
"Why?" she choked out.
His hands slipped from her wrists to her waist, curling there possessively. "Because if you see them, you'll remember what freedom feels like. And you'll hate me all over again."
She stared up at him at the brutal honesty that cracked through his control like a fault line. For a second, she thought he might kiss her. She almost wanted him to.
"Luca…" she breathed.
But he didn't lean in. He just let his forehead rest against hers, his eyes shut tight like he was holding back something that might ruin them both.
"Don't run from me," he whispered. "Don't make me remind you who you belong to."
She should've shoved him away. But instead her fingers clutched the fabric of his shirt, hating how warm it felt between her palms.
"Don't make me want to stay," she shot back, her voice breaking.
He pulled back just enough to look at her and there it was. That flicker of something real behind the ruthless king's mask.
"You already do," he murmured.
He kissed her then nothing sweet about it, all raw need and desperate possession. She tasted the storm he kept locked behind his eyes, the cracks in his walls that only seemed to open when she pushed him too far.
And for a heartbeat, Aria forgot about her parents. About the lies and the contracts and the cage.
For that one reckless moment, all she wanted was him.