Chapter 3 — Under New Shadows

Ariana

The room was steeped in darkness, the faint, silvery moonlight seeping through the edges of the heavy velvet curtains the only reprieve from the oppressive shadows. Ariana sat perched on the edge of the bed, her hands resting limply in her lap. The wedding gown—a suffocating cage of ivory silk and lace—was gone, replaced by a soft nightgown that flowed freely against her skin. Yet the constriction in her chest refused to ease, the weight of the day pressing down on her like stone. Her locket lay cool against her collarbone, its familiar touch a small comfort amidst the alien world she had been thrust into.

Silence enveloped the D’Angelo Estate, unnatural in its stillness, as if it were deliberately contrived to stifle any sound, any resistance. Shadows writhed along the walls, teasing the edges of her vision with shapes that seemed just real enough to unsettle. She had not dared to light the bedside lamp; the darkness was a shield, a layer of anonymity she wasn’t ready to lose. Her gaze flickered to the closed door—a resolute, unyielding barrier. It seemed both an invitation and a warning, a stark reminder that she was no longer in her world.

Armando.

His name echoed in her mind, unbidden and unwelcome, stirring a quiet unease within her. He had hardly spoken to her since the ceremony, but his presence felt omnipresent—etched into the air of this room, lingering in her thoughts, in the weight of her new reality. The memory of his piercing blue eyes locking onto hers during the ceremony sent a shiver through her. That intensity had struck her—daunting, consuming, yet grounding in a way that left her restless and unnerved.

Abruptly, Ariana stood, the swish of her nightgown breaking the suffocating stillness. Barefoot, she drifted to the window, her steps silent against the cold hardwood floor. Pulling the edge of the heavy curtains aside, she peered out. The city sprawled before her, a glittering sea of lights glimmering in the distance. The skyline danced tantalizingly out of reach, mocking her with its promise of freedom. Her fingers grazed the edge of the curtain, tightening as she traced the faraway horizon.

She couldn’t stay here, trapped in this room with her unbearable thoughts. The estate was her new cage, but she needed to understand it—map its lines, feel its contours. Knowledge was power, and understanding the prison she was now confined to was the first step toward loosening its grip.

Her fingers brushed her locket, the tiny key hidden within pressing into her palm. The small object held no immediate answers, but it was a reminder of something larger—secrets waiting to be uncovered, perhaps even hope. She let the curtain fall back into place and turned, her gaze fixed on the door. Her breath slowed as hesitation flickered through her chest. What if she was caught? What if the halls outside held dangers she wasn’t ready to face?

But fear had not saved her before. Quiet resolve had. And now, resolve was her only weapon.

The door creaked faintly as she eased it open, the noise loud in the heavy silence. Ariana stepped cautiously into the corridor, the sconces along the walls casting a dim, flickering glow that sent long, distorted shadows careening ahead of her. The air was cooler here, brushing against her skin, alive with the faint scent of cigars—an invisible trace of Giovanni’s omnipresence. She hesitated, her breath steadying, before following the pull of curiosity that drew her deeper into her new surroundings.

The west wing stretched endlessly, vast and foreboding, its stillness amplifying every tentative step she took. Ariana moved carefully, her bare feet making no sound against the polished wood floors. Every corner she turned brought new unease, the oppressive silence broken only by the faint rustle of her nightgown. At any moment, she expected to hear heavy footsteps or a voice cutting through the quiet, demanding to know what she was doing. But the halls remained empty, their emptiness heavy and unsettling.

She paused by a grand window that overlooked the estate grounds. The gardens below were bathed in moonlight, their hedges shaped into endless, twisting paths that wove together like a labyrinth. Beyond them, the high stone walls encircling the property loomed, their spiked iron tips gleaming faintly in the light. It was beautiful in its way, but suffocating—a gilded cage draped in shadow. She pressed her palm against the cold glass, closing her eyes as she imagined the barrier gone, the air outside brushing her face, freedom just steps away. The ache in her chest swelled.

A faint noise cut through her reverie.

Voices.

Her eyes snapped open, her pulse quickening as she turned toward the sound. The low tones were indistinct but unmistakably male, carrying through the stillness like a warning. She hesitated, the instinct to retreat warring with the pull of her curiosity. Her grip tightened on the locket. Whatever this world held, she needed to see it. She needed to know.

The voices led her to a grand staircase that descended into the main halls of the estate. Ariana froze at the top, her heart hammering as she peered into the dim shadows below. Two figures stood near the base, their outlines sharp and distinct in the faint light. One of them was unmistakably Armando. His profile, all sharp lines and controlled stillness, was imprinted in her memory. He was speaking in low, deliberate tones to another man—a guard, perhaps. The tension in his posture was palpable, his movements precise, deliberate, like a predator biding its time.

The guard nodded sharply and disappeared into a side hallway. Armando didn’t move. He remained rooted at the base of the stairs, his head tilted slightly as though listening to something beyond her hearing. And then, slowly, his gaze lifted.

His piercing blue eyes locked onto hers.

Ariana’s breath hitched, the air around her growing heavier as they regarded each other in silence. His stare was unrelenting, sharp and searching, and she felt as though he could see every thought flickering behind her eyes. The moment stretched taut, leaving her frozen in place.

“You shouldn’t be wandering the halls alone.” His voice broke the silence, low and commanding, the edge of authority unmistakable.

“I couldn’t sleep.” Her voice was soft but steady as she descended the staircase, her fingers tightening on the railing with each step. She fought to keep her movements deliberate, her gaze fixed firmly on his despite the unease curling in her chest.

Armando studied her with an unreadable expression, his silence stretching just long enough to unnerve her. Then, without a word, he turned and began walking toward the hallway the guard had disappeared into.

“Come,” he said over his shoulder, the single word carrying a weight that grated against her instincts.

Ariana hesitated only briefly before following, her bare feet silent against the floor. Each step heightened the tension, her curiosity pushing her forward despite the defiance that simmered beneath her fear. The corridors twisted and turned, growing more ornate with each passage. At last, they reached a set of heavy double doors. Armando pushed them open, revealing a room that stole the breath from her lungs.

The library.

It was vast, its walls lined with shelves that stretched from floor to ceiling, crammed with books bound in leather and gold. A massive fireplace dominated one wall, its embers faintly glowing, casting soft light across the polished wood floor. The air was rich with the scent of aged paper, the warm tang of smoke, and something faintly sweet—an unplaceable comfort.

“This is my sanctuary,” Armando said, his tone quieter now, almost thoughtful. He stepped further into the room, his movements more relaxed, as though the space itself softened him. “When the rest of the world feels too heavy.”

Ariana glanced at him, startled by the unexpected admission. His expression shifted, just for a moment—a flicker of something unguarded, almost vulnerable, before the mask returned.

“Why bring me here?” Her voice was cautious, probing.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he crossed to a shelf, his fingers brushing the spines of the books. “You seem restless. Overwhelmed. I thought you might find use in this place.”

“Overwhelmed,” she repeated, her tone measured. She watched him closely. “And you’re not?”

He glanced at her, the corner of his mouth twitching faintly. “I’ve had more practice.”

She stepped closer to the shelves, her hands trailing over the smooth leather bindings. She could feel his gaze on her, heavy and assessing, but she refused to look at him. The weight of his presence was enough.

“You don’t seem in any hurry to explain yourself,” she said quietly.

“Perhaps that will come with time,” Armando replied, his voice steady but laced with something she couldn’t quite place.

He moved to a small table near the fireplace, pouring amber liquid from a decanter into two glasses. He returned and held one out to her, his expression inscrutable.

“I don’t drink,” she murmured, hesitant.

“This isn’t about drinking.” His eyes held hers, steady and knowing. “It’s about understanding the weight of what’s been placed on your shoulders.”

The words lingered, heavy and deliberate. Slowly, reluctantly, she accepted the glass. Its weight felt solid, grounding.

“To survival,” he said, raising his glass slightly.

Ariana’s chest tightened. She raised her glass, her fingers trembling slightly as the crystal met his with a faint clink. “To survival,” she echoed.

The liquid burned as it slid down her throat, igniting a fire within her. And in that fire, a new thought took root.

Survival wasn’t enough. Victory was what she craved.