Chapter 3 The cold marriage

The wedding had come and gone.

The photos painted the perfect picture - the new Mrs. Romano in her designer gown, smiling beside her powerful husband beneath the marble arches of Saint Velmor Cathedral. The media called it the event of the year.

But what no one knew - Katherine Whitemore long standing family disapproves of this happy marriage everyone was eyeing.

"A perfect match," the headlines read.

But behind the diamond ring, the designer gowns, and the palace-sized penthouse, Katherine quickly learned:

There was nothing perfect about this marriage.

The Penthouse

The Romano Penthouse sat above Castellane like a glass fortress, overlooking the entire kingdom. It was Alessio's private kingdom, and now, hers too.

Or at least, that's what it should have been.

But from the very first day, Katherine realized exactly where she stood in Alessio's world.

He was never cruel. Not with words. Not directly.

But his coldness sliced sharper than any insult.

He left early each morning for Romano International before she woke.

He returned late each night, slipping into bed after she had already fallen asleep - or pretended to.

When they sat together, his phone remained glued to his palm - texts, calls, business reports. Boardrooms consumed him. Shareholders owned him.

Katherine?

She was an ornament. A perfect piece of furniture in his perfectly controlled world.

The Silence

In public, he played the role flawlessly.

He held her hand at charity galas.

He posed beside her for the cameras.

He whispered scripted words into her ear as the paparazzi flashed.

"You look beautiful tonight," he'd say.

Always for the cameras. Never for her.

Behind closed doors? Silence.

Long stretches of dinner where they barely spoke. Nights spent on opposite sides of their oversized bed.

Brief, cold glances as if she barely existed. Weeks passed before they even shared a bed - not out of passion, but out of obligation.

Their first night together was mechanical - Alessio approached her with the same clinical detachment he approached everything else.

His hands were skilled but impersonal.

His lips never spoke her name.

His eyes never softened.

He touched her body like he was checking another task off his schedule. But unwillingly wanting to go any more than kissing her to sleep

When it was over, he rolled away, leaving her staring at the ceiling as tears threatened to escape her carefully controlled mask.

This isn't what I wanted. This isn't love.

But still, some small, foolish part of her whispered:

Maybe with time.

Bianca.The shadow returned quickly.

At every event, Bianca hovered - always invited by someone, always slithering near the press lines.

Her presence was deliberate. She wore skin-tight dresses that barely met the dress code.

She laughed too loudly whenever Alessio entered a room.

She made sure her glances toward Katherine carried enough venom to kill.

Katherine noticed the texts first. Small flashes on Alessio's phone late at night.

Messages that he read and deleted quickly.

His jaw tightened when he saw her watching - but he said nothing.

"Don't bring her up again," he snapped once.

"I only want the truth," Katherine whispered.

"The truth is that she means nothing." His voice turned sharp. "You're my wife now. That should be enough."

But it wasn't.

Because Bianca was still there.

And Katherine knew Alessio wasn't as indifferent as he pretended.

Don Emilio remained their puppet master, watching from his throne with smug satisfaction.

At every public event, he praised Katherine like his personal prize.

"You've done well, my boy," he told Alessio more than once. "You finally made a smart decision."

Alessio's jaw would clench. His hand would tighten around his drink. But he never responded.

He tolerated marriage. He tolerated her.