As Ivy and Anna approached, they saw three people were already seated in the dining room.

Olivia sat at the head of the table, stern and dressed impeccably. Her piercing eyes that could slice steel.

Isabella was unmistakable in a cream blouse, her posture perfect, her expression unreadable. Next to her, a man who looked to be in his mid-thirties lounged in his chair with a smirk on his face, a navy blazer hanging carelessly off one shoulder. He oozed arrogance.

Ivy didn't need a formal introduction to know who he was. She greeted everyone politely but barely received any acknowledgement.

Anna pulled out a chair for Ivy, and she sat stiffly on the seat reserved for her opposite her in-laws.

"Ivy, this is my husband, Ken," Isabella said blandly, referring to the man slouching in his seat.

"Pleasure," Ivy murmured, offering a nod.

"Sorry, I missed the wedding," Ken said with a smirk. "I had some very important business to attend to yesterday. Although I heard the event was quite... spectacular."

Ivy wasn't sure if she was required to offer a polite response to Ken, but she remained silent. The guy was insufferable and reminded her of her slimy stepfather.

"I must say, though, Lorenzo's taste appears to be evolving," Ken said with a catty grin, eyeing Ivy like she was a new accessory.

Ivy raised a brow. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

Ken chuckled and sipped his coffee without answering.

Isabella shot him a glance that could freeze water. "Ken," she said, her voice sweet but sharp.

"Just making conversation," he said, shrugging.

A waiter appeared with a silver tray and laid out a full breakfast: fresh fruit, buttery croissants, and a delicate spinach quiche.

Ivy had never eaten anything this fancy for breakfast. Heck, she was a cereal-and-coffee girl, and even that was a stretch most days.

She noticed everyone used cloth napkins and tiny utensils, cutting everything into perfect bites. Ivy did her best to imitate them, but she could feel their eyes on her. Judging. Measuring.

"So," Olivia began, breaking the silence, "what are your intentions with my son?"

Ivy nearly choked on her orange juice. "Excuse me?"

Olivia folded his hands and continued, "This arrangement came together quickly. You're a stranger to us, yet you now carry our name. I want to understand your purpose here. How did you convince my son to choose you of all people?"

Isabella sighed, dabbing her lips with a napkin. "Mother, we should probably respect Lorenzo's decision."

"I didn't ask Lorenzo. I asked her," Olivia retorted.

Ivy straightened her shoulders, meeting his gaze evenly. "With all due respect, ma'am, I'm not here to prove myself to anyone. Lorenzo and I have an understanding. That's between us."

Olivia pinned Ivy with a hard look. "Marriage is a serious commitment, and I hope you are fully aware of that. Nobody in this family will tolerate any sort of disrespect or disorderly behavior from you. Ignorance is not an acceptable excuse. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal," Ivy responded flatly.

Ken whistled softly. "Feisty. I like her."

"Do you always flirt with your sister-in-law at breakfast?" Ivy asked sweetly, tilting her head.

Isabella choked on her coffee, coughing into her napkin.

Ivy calmly returned to her meal. The rest of breakfast passed in awkward silence.

Olivia barely spoke, Ken smirked whenever Ivy made eye contact, and Isabella looked like she was silently begging God for patience.

When she finally escaped back to her suite, Ivy collapsed onto the velvet chaise and let out a long sigh.

This world was cold, glittering, and filled with landmines. And Lorenzo? Nowhere to be found.

Ivy picked up her phone, hesitating before opening her texts. Still nothing. No message. No call. Not even a cryptic emoji.

Ivy tossed the phone aside and stared at the ceiling. She had agreed to this arrangement because she thought she could handle it, but so far, all she'd done was survive. And surviving in silk sheets was still just surviving.

---------------

The days slipped by like whispered secrets through the grand hallways of the Martinelli mansion. Ivy, once a woman of humble means and noisy mornings, now woke up to the muffled elegance of too many pillows and a bed too large for one.

Her suite was a cocoon of luxury: silk drapes, marble floors, gold-gilded furniture. Yet each ornate detail only made her feel more like a prisoner of someone else's fantasy.

Anna, her primary maid, treated her with a deference that felt awkwardly regal. She would enter each morning with a gentle knock, draw the curtains to let in the soft daylight, and lay out Ivy's clothes on the chaise by the window.

Ivy tried, at first, to make small talk, asking Anna where she was from, how long she had worked here, and whether she liked it. But Anna only responded with polite smiles and short, careful sentences, as if she feared becoming too familiar.

Breakfast was sometimes served in the solarium, a glass-walled room overlooking the garden. Ivy sat at a long, glossy table that could seat twenty, but most mornings it was just her, Isabella, and occasionally, Giulia. Their mother would join when it suited her, wrapped in silk robes and silence.

The conversations, if they could be called that, were clipped and chilly. Giulia would scroll through her phone, occasionally commenting on fashion trends or pop-culture gossip. Ivy was always left out of the conversations, as if she were invincible.

Sometimes, Ken would join them for breakfast, looking slightly drunk or high, or both. He oozed the kind of arrogance that didn't require words - it hung around him like bespoke cologne.

Ivy always dreaded his presence because of the lewd looks he directed at her and his consistently rude remarks. He once called her "Lorenzo's little project" with a smirk so oily it could've fried eggs.

Ivy always looked forward to the end of these humiliating daily rituals. This morning, she excused herself from the breakfast table as soon as it was polite to do so.

Back in her suite, she stood by the window and stared out at the garden. Lorenzo was still a ghost in her new life. She had not seen him since their wedding night.

At first, she thought perhaps he was giving her space. Then she rationalized that he must be busy. But now, four days in, his silence felt like a cruel joke.

Despite the glamor of the estate and the endless luxury that surrounded her, Ivy felt like a ghost gliding through someone else's life.

Each night, she waited, foolishly perhaps, hoping he might come to her door. He never did.

Anna, always kind but always careful, never said much. But Ivy had learned to listen. She knew Lorenzo came home late. She heard his voice in the hallway sometimes, low and steady, sometimes sharp with urgency. Always muffled. Always distant.

One night, she had stood behind her door and listened. It was around midnight, and his voice floated in like a secret. He laughed lightly at something someone said on the phone, his tone relaxed in a way Ivy had never heard before.

Ivy waited, breath held. But the footsteps never approached her door. The silence became unbearable.

She had explored parts of the estate just to keep from going insane. The library became a refuge. Giulia had shown it to her once with a casual, "I guess you read, right?"

Ivy simply had nodded, too exhausted to explain that she used to devour books at the public library in between her odd jobs.

The books didn't judge. The walls didn't whisper. Still, none of it filled the void Lorenzo had left.

It wasn't love she craved, at least not yet. It was decency. Acknowledgment. Proof that she wasn't just some pawn in a rich man's game.

Later that night, Ivy couldn't take it anymore. It was nearly one in the morning. She hadn't heard him come in, but she sensed his presence in the house. The subtle shift in the air, the sudden quiet.

Ivy stood in front of her mirror, brushed her auburn curls back, and slipped on the satin robe Anna had left out. Her blue eyes shone with determination.

Tonight, she would confront her husband. Enough was enough!

With a deep breath, Ivy adjusted her robe and checked her reflection one more time in the mirror before leaving her suite. Her bare feet padded across the carpeted hallways as she made her way silently to Lorenzo's suite.

Ivy's heart pounded in her chest as she knocked on Lorenzo's door.

No response.

She knocked again, this time with more resolve.

The door opened a crack, and then Lorenzo appeared, wearing a black tee and joggers. His hair was tousled, his eyes slightly red.

"Ivy," he said flatly. "It's late."

She looked up at him, hands curled into fists at her sides. "I know. But I need to talk to you," she replied.

Lorenzo didn't move aside. He just stared at her, as if calculating the inconvenience. Then he opened the door wider.

His suite was a contrast of sharp edges and warm lighting. Clean lines, dark woods, leather, and steel. A glass of bourbon sat on the table beside an open laptop.

"Talk," he said, walking back inside and leaving the door open.

Ivy stepped in slowly, arms crossed. "You've been avoiding me," she declared.

"I've been working," Lorenzo countered.

"You could've checked in," said Ivy. "You could've said something. Anything."

Lorenzo turned to her, arms crossed now. "Ivy, this is what we agreed to. A marriage of convenience. I didn't sign up for morning cuddles or nightly check-ins."

"I'm not asking for cuddles. I'm asking for basic human interaction," she snapped.

"Then find something to occupy your time. A hobby, perhaps," Lorenzo retorted unapologetically. "Take Gigi shopping if you're bored."

"Who?" Ivy asked irritably.

"Giulia," said Lorenzo. "She loves shopping. You can join her tomorrow for that. Tab's on me, of course."

Ivy's nostrils flared. "Do I look like someone who wants to spend afternoons comparing handbags?"

Lorenzo smirked faintly, not unkindly. "You're right. You're more of the punch-someone-in-the-face type."

Ivy didn't smile.

Lorenzo's smirk disappeared too. "Look, this is exactly what you agreed to. Don't pretend you didn't know the terms."

"I didn't agree to being treated like a ghost," Ivy snapped.

Lorenzo sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Ivy, this arrangement works better when we both keep our distance. You wanted security. A roof over your head. An escape from whatever mess you came from. I gave you that."

Ivy's jaw clenched. "And in return, I became your invisible bride."

Lorenzo walked to the table and tapped a key on the open laptop. Its screen came to life instantly.

"You wanted to talk," he finally said. "We've talked. Now, if you don't mind, I have work to finish. And next time, don't show up at my door uninvited. Better yet, send a message through Anna."

Ivy blinked at him, stunned. "I didn't think you could be this cold."

Lorenzo met her gaze without flinching and said, "Then you haven't been paying attention."

Ivy was speechless. How did she convince herself that marrying this icy man was a good idea?

"Goodnight, Ivy. You can leave now," Lorenzo said coolly.

It was a dismissal, and it stung. Like crazy.

With nothing else left to be said, Ivy turned around stiffly and walked out of Lorenzo's suite, every step echoing with the sharp sting of his words.

Back in her suite, Ivy stood in the center of the room, too angry to cry, and too tired to scream in frustration.

So, this was her new life.

Married. Rich. And completely, utterly alone.

---------------

The days passed with a cruel sameness that made Ivy question if she'd truly escaped her past or simply traded one prison for another.

Each morning, Anna would knock gently and wake her up with a murmured "Good morning, Signora," followed by the routine of picking out clothes for Ivy to wear.

Ivy would sit at the breakfast table in the Martinelli mansion's formal dining room or the solarium, where either Olivia or Isabella would already be seated, both impeccably dressed and equally cold. Sometimes, Gigi joined them, breezing in and out with barely a glance at Ivy's way.

The conversations around the table rarely included her. Olivia would talk about upcoming charity events or the occasional adjustments she'd made to the family menu for the week.

Isabella would share snide remarks or laugh about people Ivy didn't know, and when Ivy tried to speak up, her comments were met with polite silence or half-hearted nods.

After breakfast, Anna would follow her back to her suite, offering to run baths, choose outfits, or bring her books. Ivy often declined. She didn't want pampering. She wanted purpose. Or at least the presence of her husband.

After that humiliating encounter with Lorenzo in his suite, Ivy had resolved to leave him alone to preserve what little shred of dignity she had left.

Lunch was always a solitary affair. Anna would wheel in a cart with various lunch options that Ivy barely touched. She would eat in silence by the window, watching the trimmed gardens outside and the peacocks strutting along the marble paths.

Dinner was worse. The entire Martinelli clan, except Lorenzo, gathered at the long formal table. Sometimes, Salvatore would join them and sit at the head, his presence sharp and commanding despite his physical frailty.

He would try to include Ivy in the conversations with polite questions, and Giulia would roll her eyes at everything Ivy said. Olivia would snort with disgust while Isabella snickered.

Ken - the oily, arrogant husband of Isabella - would leer at Ivy and make crude jokes that only he found funny. Ivy wondered why the family put up with his nonsense. How did he even convince Isabella to marry him?

The days passed like this, same routine, same cringeworthy family gatherings. By the eighth day, Ivy had had enough.

She stared at herself in the mirror. The woman looking back at her wore silk robes, gold-plated slippers, and diamond earrings. But behind the glamor was a hollow shell. She didn't recognize herself.

"I need air," she muttered.

Ivy dressed in a simple sundress, slipped on flat sandals, and headed downstairs. Anna offered to accompany her, but Ivy declined.

"I'll be fine. I just want to take a walk," she said.

The estate's grounds were expansive, but Ivy didn't want to roam the gardens. She needed to leave. To feel life again.

When she reached the main gates, she smiled at the two guards stationed in the booth.

"I'd like to go out for a bit," she said calmly.

The chief security officer, a tall man with a stony expression, stepped forward and shook his head.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. Mr. Martinelli has given strict instructions. You're not allowed to leave the estate without his permission."

Ivy blinked. "Excuse me?"

The man didn't flinch. "We can contact him if you like," he said.

"No," Ivy snapped, her face flushing. "I don't need permission to take a walk. I'm his wife, not his prisoner."

"I understand, ma'am, but orders are orders," the man said firmly.

Rage bubbled inside her, and just as she turned to storm back toward the house, a sleek black SUV pulled up beside her. The window rolled down to reveal Giulia lounging in the backseat, sunglasses perched on her head like a crown.

"Ivy?" she said in mock surprise. "Why are you loitering like a homeless person?"

Ivy's fists clenched. "Why are you allowed to leave but I'm not?"

Giulia laughed, a tinkling, mocking sound. "Because I'm not in captivity," she said gleefully and motioned to her driver. The gates opened effortlessly for her vehicle.

Ivy stood there seething, watching the SUV glide out like a royal carriage while she was left in the dust.

On the walk back, she fought back tears. Her heart pounded with frustration. Every hallway, every painted wall, every polished floor reminded her that she was trapped.

As she reached the mansion's steps, a tall figure in a red pantsuit descended from the foyer. It was Chloe.

Ivy paused at the base of the stairs. "Do you live here too?" she asked bluntly.

Chloe offered her a tight smile. "Of course. I have my own suite. Lorenzo needs me to be available at all times."

Ivy's jaw tightened. "Right. Of course, he does."

Chloe's gaze slid over Ivy as she asked, "Was there something you needed?"

"Yes," Ivy snapped. "I need Lorenzo's personal number. I don't have it."

Chloe tilted her head and said, "If he wanted you to have it, he would've given it to you."

That statement stung more than Ivy expected. Trying not to show it, she exhaled through her nose.

"Well, since I'm clearly not allowed to leave this place, any suggestions on how I should entertain myself?"

Chloe smiled sweetly. "Why not explore the mansion? Wing by wing. That should keep you busy for a while."

Ivy glared at Chloe. "Did you really just say that?"

Chloe didn't answer. She simply smirked and walked away, her heels clicking like exclamation marks against the marble.

This has got to be a bad joke, Ivy thought.

Was this really her life now? Her, the street-smart girl who has been the only final authority in her life for the past nine years? What had she done to herself this time?

Back in her suite, Ivy slammed the door shut. Anna peeked out from the adjoining room but said nothing.

Ivy threw off her dress, kicked away her shoes, and collapsed onto the bed. Her arms were trembling. Her throat ached. She wasn't the crying type, but the tears forming behind her eyes were real.

She turned on her side, stared at the wall, and let her thoughts go blank until sleep took her.

Ivy didn't know how long she had been asleep when her phone buzzed sharply beside her. She grabbed it.

Hidden Number.

Frowning, she answered.

"Ivy."

It was Lorenzo's voice, cold and controlled.

Ivy sat up. "Where the hell have you been?" she demanded.

"I've been working," he said flatly. "Chloe told me about your attempt to leave the property. That's not part of our agreement."

"Our agreement didn't include imprisonment," Ivy shouted. "I'm not some doll you tuck away in a glass box!"

Lorenzo ignored that. "You're bored. I understand. I've sent you two million dollars. Check your account."

"What?"

"Spend it," he continued calmly. "Order whatever you want. From anywhere. It'll be delivered to the house."

"I don't want your damned money, Lorenzo-"

The line went dead.

Ivy stared at the phone, her heart thudding.

Two million dollars.

She was a prisoner. A well-fed, silk-robed, diamond-draped prisoner.

And for the first time in her life, Ivy experienced the beginning of what some might call depression.