Chapter Sixteen
The villa was always too quiet at night. The vast halls, usually echoing with the presence of guards and distant voices, felt hollow, like a mausoleum that housed the weight of too many secrets. Tonight, Isla felt that emptiness acutely.
She had tossed and turned for hours, unable to find rest. The warmth of last night still lingered on her skin, the ghost of Matteo’s hands still pressed into her memory. She had told herself it was nothing. That she had given in to weakness, that it meant nothing. But as she lay alone in her cold, empty bed, she couldn’t fight the ache in her chest—the unbearable pull toward him.
She needed to see him.
The thought struck her before she could rationalize it. She was stronger than this, smarter than to fall into his orbit so easily. And yet, despite everything, she found herself slipping out of her room, padding barefoot through the halls, following the magnetic force that led straight to Matteo’s study.
As she moved through the corridors, she glanced at the paintings that lined the walls—portraits of men who had shaped this empire long before Matteo had taken the throne. The flickering candlelight cast eerie shadows over their faces, making them seem alive, as though they were watching her, judging her.
Her fingers curled into fists as she reached the heavy oak doors of Matteo’s study, her heartbeat a dull roar in her ears. She hesitated, suddenly aware of how reckless this was, how foolish. But just as she was about to turn away, voices drifted through the narrow gap between the doors.
“I told you that we have to keep this from her.”
Matteo’s voice. Low, rough, carrying an edge of command.
“She was bound to find out eventually,” Luca replied, his tone calm but firm. “Her father isn’t the man she believes he is.”
Isla’s heart stuttered.
She pressed herself against the wall, her breath shallow, struggling to quiet the panic rising in her throat. They were talking about her father.
“She still thinks he’s protecting her,” Luca continued, his voice quieter now. “That this marriage was a way to keep her safe. But we both know that’s not true.”
Silence.
A silence so heavy, so suffocating, that it wrapped around Isla like a vise. She clenched her hands into fists, her nails digging into her palms to ground herself. This marriage… wasn’t about protection?
Matteo exhaled sharply. “She can’t know.”
“She’s going to figure it out, Matteo. And when she does—”
“I’ll handle it.” His voice was steel. Final.
Luca sighed. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
“I always have.”
Isla felt her chest tighten. She had suspected Matteo had his own reasons for agreeing to this marriage, but hearing him confirm it in the dark, behind closed doors, shattered something inside her.
She wasn’t here for peace. She wasn’t here for safety.
She was here because of something else. Something worse.
Bile rose in her throat. Had her father sold her into this? Had Matteo agreed to it, knowing she was nothing more than a pawn in a transaction between two powerful men?
She swallowed hard, trying to suppress the rage bubbling under her skin. The weight of her naivety crashed down on her like a collapsing building, the realization making her lightheaded. Matteo had played her just as much as her father had. And she had fallen for it.
Her breathing quickened as her vision blurred, anger and betrayal blending into a deadly mix inside her. She took a step back, her movement small, but enough to make the floor creak beneath her weight.
The conversation inside the study halted.
Isla’s pulse pounded as she turned sharply, moving as quickly and quietly as she could back the way she had come. But she could already hear the shift inside the study, the sound of footsteps approaching the door.
She ducked into the nearest corridor, pressing herself against the cold stone wall, forcing her breaths to slow. Her mind raced. If Matteo caught her here, he’d know. He’d know she had heard everything.
The study door opened, the heavy creak echoing through the hallway. Isla risked a glance, watching as Matteo stepped out, scanning the dimly lit corridors. His shoulders were tense, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—those dark, unforgiving eyes—searched the shadows with a precision that sent a chill down her spine.
After a long moment, he muttered something under his breath and retreated back inside, shutting the door behind him.
Isla let out the breath she had been holding, her hands trembling as she pushed off the wall. Her legs felt weak, but she forced herself to move, to retreat to the safety of her room before her absence was noticed.
Once inside, she locked the door, pressing her forehead against the wood as she tried to steady her racing thoughts.
Everything had changed.
The last vestiges of hope she had clung to—the belief that maybe, just maybe, she had been wrong about Matteo, about this world—had been crushed beneath the weight of reality.
She was a pawn. A bargaining chip.
She had spent weeks fighting against her circumstances, but now, the war had shifted.
Now, it was personal.
Isla moved toward the dresser, pulling out the phone Nico had hidden for her to find. It wasn’t much, but it was something. A reminder that she still had a choice. That she could still fight.
She sat on the edge of the bed, the phone silent in her palm, her mind racing.
She had been foolish to think last night had changed anything.
Matteo DeLuca and her father had betrayed her.
And now, she would make them pay.