Chapter 4 Control

The hours passed slowly inside the study. The air smelled of waxed wood and old pages. Silence settled like dust across the antique desk. Emily had read the spines on the shelves twice-Tolstoy, Du Maurier, Atwood, Morrison. The titles felt curated, like someone had tried to understand her. Or project understanding. It made her skin crawl.

A thin notebook sat in the drawer. Blank. Expensive paper. A fountain pen lay next to it. She picked it up and wrote nothing. She didn't like the idea of giving Marco anything to read.

She spent the morning pacing, touching nothing, listening to the quiet creak of the ceiling, the subtle tick of a clock that wasn't visible. She tested the door: unlocked. But every time she opened it, Bianca was nearby. Cleaning something that didn't need cleaning. Dusting corners that had already been dusted.

By noon, Emily returned to the bedroom.

She hadn't spoken a word since breakfast. It was beginning to ache, that silence-a dull pressure in her chest.

The moment she stepped into her room, she heard it.

Voices.

Not clear, but close.

She paused. Leaned toward the far wall. The one shared with the hallway.

Bianca.

Her voice was low, urgent, laced with something brittle.

"She acts like she knows what she's doing. But she doesn't. She's still just a stupid girl in a pretty cage."

Another voice answered, muffled. Male. Calm. Slightly amused.

Luca, maybe?

Emily listened, still as stone.

Bianca again, quieter now: "Marco watches her like she matters. She doesn't. I won't let her."

Footsteps moved away.

Emily exhaled.

There was no rage. No surprise. Just confirmation. She hadn't imagined the contempt. She hadn't misread the eyes.

Bianca wanted her gone.

The question now was: Why?

---

That night, dinner was silent.

Emily ate across from Marco at a long glass table that could seat twenty. Only two plates were set. Only two people attended.

He watched her eat. Said nothing.

At the end of the meal, he stood and walked around the table. Stopped behind her. His hand brushed her chair.

"You heard Bianca today," he said, softly.

Her fork paused.

"Thin walls," he added.

She kept her voice neutral. "Are you testing my reaction?"

"I'm testing everything."

She turned to face him. "Did you place me in that room on purpose?"

"Of course."

The room. The books. The camera. The photograph. All of it was part of his design.

He leaned down. Not close. But close enough.

"You're watching me," she said.

His smile was slight. "And you're adapting fast."

He left her there, the scent of him still clinging to the air.

---

Emily didn't return to her study that evening. Instead, she walked the perimeter of her room, checking corners, edges, floorboards. She opened every drawer again, every shelf. She tapped the mirror. Rattled the baseboards. Knocked on the wall.

Nothing moved.

But that didn't mean it wasn't there.

She knew Marco. He didn't need brute force to control her. He didn't need bars. Just silence. Anticipation. Precision.

She turned off the lights. Waited in the dark.

Let her eyes adjust. Let her breathing slow.

She sat in the chaise again, knees drawn to her chest, arms around them. The room was so quiet she could hear her own pulse in her ears.

Time passed. A full hour, maybe more.

Then a sound.

Soft.

A click in the hallway. The faintest sound of a door opening.

She rose silently. Stepped barefoot across the carpet and opened her own door a crack.

Nothing.

She stepped into the hallway.

It stretched before her, empty and dimly lit by wall sconces. Her breath fogged slightly in the cool air. She moved west, toward the wing that hadn't been mentioned.

Rooms passed by: closed doors, one after another. A flickering light from under one door. Music playing behind another-something classical, string-heavy.

Then a voice.

Male.

Italian. Low and clipped.

"If she becomes a problem, we remove her."

She stopped.

The door to her left was open a sliver.

Inside, two shadows. Men. One was seated, the other pacing.

She leaned closer, just enough to hear.

"She's already being watched. If she steps out of line, we have the files ready."

"She won't step out of line. She knows what she is."

"And what is that?"

"A liability."

Emily felt her stomach turn. She backed away, heart hammering.

She turned, walking as fast as she dared. Her feet made no sound. Her breath was thin. The hall stretched longer than before.

She reached her door. Closed it without a sound.

Leaned against it.

The room felt colder.

---

She didn't sleep.

At 3 a.m., she sat in the corner, wrapped in her blanket, staring at the camera in the ceiling.

She didn't know who those men were. But she knew what they were discussing.

She was being weighed. Measured. Calculated.

One misstep, and she'd be gone.

And Marco?

He might have already decided how far she could fall before he stopped watching.