CHAPTER THREE
The basement smelled of damp concrete and fear.
Bora flinched as a cold splash of water hit her face. The man standing over her chuckled
"Still pretending you don't know where she is?" he sneered. "You think your loyalty will save you?"
"it will just land you in much trouble "Mr Henderson isn't jokeing
"I already told you," Bora rasped. Her voice was hoarse from hours of crying. "Luciana doesn't even know that she's alive just let the poor girl go, she's Innocent"despite her aching jaw
"Innocent?" He leaned closer, grabbing her chin roughly. "No one in that family is innocent."
He released her, letting her slump against the wall. The metallic rattle of chains could be heard as she tried to shift her arms. Her wrists were raw.
Outside the small, barred window, the sun had long set , the only light was the flicker of a single bulb swaying above her.
Bora closed her eyes, whispering a silent prayer.
Please be safe, Ciana… please don't come looking for me.
---
Meanwhile, in the mansion, Arlo stood in his father's old study. The room was dark except for the amber glow of a desk lamp. Rows of old books lined the walls, but his eyes were fixed on the framed photograph lying face down on the desk.
He picked it up slowly.
Two men stood side by side in the photo , his father, Alexander Lutheran, and another man with the same sharp jawline and eyes as Luciana.
Victor Vale.
Arlo's grip tightened.
His father's voice echoed in his memory:
> "Never trust a Vale. They took everything from us."
He remembered being a child standing in the hallway, overhearing arguments that never made sense back then. Words like betrayal, debt, fire.
Now, staring at Victor's smiling face, the truth felt closer than ever.
Luciana Vale — now Luciana Lutheran — was the daughter of the man who had ruined his family.
That's why Arlo couldn't look at her. That's why his blood burned whenever she spoke his name.
The marriage had been arranged for business, not love. But for Arlo, it was also revenge — silent, controlled, deliberate.
---
Luciana, unaware of any of it, stood outside the study door with a tray of tea. She hesitated when she heard the faint sound of her name.
"…Vale," Arlo muttered under his breath. "You thought death would erase your sins, didn't you?"
Luciana froze. My father?
Before she could knock, Arlo's voice grew cold again. "Your daughter will pay the price you escaped."
The tray slipped from her hands, the clatter echoing down the hall.
Arlo turned sharply, eyes dark and unreadable.
Luciana stared at him, trembling. "What… what did you just say?"
He looked at her for a long moment — and for the first time, she saw something flicker behind his calm mask. Not anger. Not hate. Something closer to pain.
Then he stepped past her, voice low.
"Nothing that concerns you, Mrs. Lutheran."
The door slammed shut behind him.
Luciana stood frozen in the hallway, her mind racing.
What secret? What did my father do?
Far away, in that cold basement, Bora opened her eyes as if she could feel her friend's fear.
.
.
.
.
The next morning, Luciana woke to an empty bed and the faint sound of voices drifting up from downstairs. She dressed quickly, ignoring the ache in her ankle, and followed the sound.
Arlo was in the living room, seated on the couch with two visitors who made her heart sink — Marina and Neila.
Her step-sisters.
Marina rose with a perfect smile when she noticed her. "Luciana! You're looking… well." The pause before the last word was sharp enough to cut.
Neila giggled softly behind her. "I almost didn't recognize you. The maid's clothes suited you better."
Luciana froze in the doorway. "What are you both doing here?"
"Arlo invited us," Marina said smoothly, turning her gaze to him with a practiced sweetness. "He thought family should visit."
Arlo didn't look at Luciana. He was sipping his coffee, attention fixed on a set of documents. "They'll be staying for a while," he said flatly. "The mansion has enough rooms."
Luciana blinked. "Staying? But—"
He finally looked up, eyes cold. "Do you have a problem with that, Mrs. Lutheran?"
The formality hit like a slap. "No," she said quickly, forcing her voice steady.
"Good. Then make sure they have everything they need." He turned back to his papers. "You can handle at least that much."
Marina's smirk widened. "Of course she can."
Luciana felt her chest tighten, but she managed a stiff nod and left the room. Behind her, the laughter that followed wasn't loud, but it was enough.
---
Later that evening
The dining table glittered under the chandelier. Arlo sat at the head, Marina to his right, Neila beside her. Luciana sat at the far end distant and silent.
Marina kept the conversation lively, talking about parties, designers, and business ventures she didn't understand. Arlo listened, expressionless but never interrupted her making Luciana feel like he could tolerate anybody but not her "Luciana"
When a servant tried to refill Luciana's glass, Arlo spoke without glancing her way.
"She's had enough."
Luciana froze
"I wasn't—"
"I said enough." His tone left no room for argument.
"
"?
---
That night
Luciana sat by the window in her room, staring at the moonlit garden. From somewhere down the hall came Marina's laughter — soft, deliberate, cruel.
Sarah entered quietly. "Ma'am, should I prepare your tea?"
Luciana shook her head. "No. Thank you."
The maid hesitated. "You shouldn't let them see you hurt. That's what they want."
Luciana looked up, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm not hurt. Just… learning."
"Learning what, ma'am?"
"How to survive in this house."
Sarah said nothing. She simply bowed and left, closing the door behind her.
Luciana turned her gaze back to the night sky. Somewhere beyond the glittering lights of the mansion, Bora was suffering — and her own heart felt chained in a different kind of prison.
But beneath the pain, something was changing. The quiet, obedient girl who once endured everything was fading.
Sooner or later, Arlo and her step-family would see that Luciana Vale was not as breakable as they believed.
.
.
.
.
The invitation arrived early in the week — an elegant cream envelope embossed with gold lettering. Arlo didn't hand it to Luciana himself; Sarah found it on the dresser with a brief note written in his sharp handwriting:
> "Be ready by seven. Dress appropriately."
Luciana stared at the note for a long moment before folding it neatly. A social gathering — the first since the wedding.
She told herself it might be a chance to show him she wasn't a burden.
---
That evening
The car rolled to a stop in front of the Grand Virella Hotel. Cameras flashed, laughter rang out, and the air smelled faintly of expensive wine and perfume.
Arlo stepped out first, tall and composed. He didn't offer her a hand.
Luciana followed carefully, clutching her small silver purse. Reporters murmured as they noticed the new Mrs. Lutheran.
Inside, the ballroom glittered with chandeliers and polished marble. Men in tailored suits mingled with women draped in silk and diamonds.
"Stay close and don't speak unless spoken to," Arlo said without turning his head.
She blinked. "I understand."
He gave a curt nod and moved forward, greeting associates, shaking hands, his expression unreadable.
Luciana trailed behind, forcing a small smile whenever someone glanced her way.
When one of the women, a striking brunette named Livia, approached Arlo and touched his arm lightly, Luciana stepped forward instinctively.
"Arlo, should I—"
He didn't look at her. "You should stand over there," he said, gesturing to a quiet corner near the refreshments.
Her heart sank. "Of course."
She stood aside as Livia laughed softly, whispering something that made Arlo's lips curl — the first smile she'd seen from him in days, and it wasn't for her.
---
Minutes turned into hours. The room buzzed with music and conversation, and Luciana's isolation became its own kind of spotlight.
She caught Marina's voice from across the hall — her stepsister had arrived too, wearing a crimson gown and a smirk that could cut glass.
"Oh, Arlo," Marina said sweetly, gliding up to him. "I didn't know you'd bring her."
Arlo's jaw tightened just slightly. "She's my wife. She was expected to attend."
Marina tilted her head. "How thoughtful." Her gaze slid to Luciana. "You always did love to play dress-up, didn't you, dear?"
Luciana's cheeks burned, but she said nothing.
A man nearby — a senior executive Arlo was speaking with — glanced between the two women, amused. "So this is the famous Mrs. Lutheran. You're quite lucky, Arlo."
Arlo's response was cool and immediate. "Fortune doesn't always come in the form one expects."
The laughter that followed was quiet but cutting.
Luciana froze, her throat tightening. She managed a small nod toward the man before excusing herself.
---
Later, on the balcony
She stepped outside, letting the cold night air wash over her. The lights of the city sprawled endlessly below. For the first time in weeks, she allowed her mask to slip — her lips trembling, her hands clutching the railing.
From behind her came Arlo's voice, low and even.
"You shouldn't have left the table."
"I needed air."
"Next time, control yourself. You looked out of place enough already."
Her fingers tightened around the metal. "You brought me here only to humiliate me?"
He said nothing for a long moment. Then, quietly, "You're here because appearances matter. Nothing more."
Luciana turned toward him, eyes shining — not with tears, but anger.
"Then I'll make sure I look the part next time, Mr. Lutheran."
For a second, something flickered in his expression — a faint surprise — before he turned away.
"Do what you want."
As he walked back inside, Luciana looked at her reflection in the glass door. The girl who stared back didn't look broken anymore — she looked determined.
She straightened her shoulders.
If Arlo wanted a cold war, she would give him one.
.
.
.
.Luciana had promised herself she wouldn't touch the champagne.
But as the evening dragged on — the endless polite laughter, the whispers, Arlo's cold glances — the promise slipped away.
The first glass dulled the ache in her chest. The second made her brave. By the third, she no longer cared who was watching.
She was tired of standing quietly in corners while people treated her like a shadow.
"Mrs. Lutheran," someone called cheerfully, handing her another flute of champagne. "You're glowing tonight."
Luciana laughed, a soft, slightly uneven sound. "Am I? Maybe I'm just finally visible."
The man smiled awkwardly. "Your husband—"
"My husband," she interrupted, her tone light but her eyes sharp, "is too busy entertaining every woman in this room to notice."
Several heads turned. The music still played, but the air had changed — taut and uncertain.
From across the room, Arlo heard the commotion and turned sharply. His expression darkened as he saw Luciana at the center of a small crowd, glass in hand, eyes bright with defiance.
"Luciana," he said quietly when he reached her side, voice low but edged with warning. "That's enough."
She smiled up at him, her words slurring slightly. "Enough? You've barely spoken to me all night, Arlo. I'm just… mingling."
He reached for her arm. "We're leaving."
"No," she said, shaking her head. "You don't get to order me around in front of them. Not tonight."
A few gasps rippled through the onlookers. Arlo's jaw tightened, his composure cracking for the first time.
"Luciana," he said again, quieter but colder. "Don't do this."
But she was already stepping back, her laughter bitter. "Why not? Isn't this what you wanted? The obedient wife embarrassing you in public—how poetic."
He didn't argue further. He simply took her hand — not gently — and led her out of the ballroom. The murmurs followed them like a shadow.
---
In the car
The silence was suffocating. The city lights blurred past, and Luciana's head throbbed with a dull ache of regret and fury.
Arlo's voice broke the quiet.
"You made a spectacle of yourself," he said flatly.
She stared out the window. "Maybe now they'll remember I exist."
He turned to her, eyes cold and distant. "You're an embarrassment, Luciana. To yourself and to me."
Her throat tightened, but she didn't look away. "At least I feel something. You can't even pretend to."
"am not even sure if you are able to love your self"she mumble inaudibly but he heard.
For a moment, his expression flickered — anger, pain, something deeper — before it hardened again.
"When you sober up, you'll apologize," he said. "And after that, you'll stay out of my way."
Luciana laughed softly, the sound hollow. "You can't keep pretending you don't care forever, Arlo. Even cold hearts burn when they're pushed too far."
He said nothing.
The rest of the drive was silent except for the hum of the engine and the unspoken war between them .
Luciana didn't understand why her heart kept beating rapidly,was is because of fear or was it something else.
Tcb.....