Chapter 2 - The Echo of Clara Moretti
The wedding reception was held in the grand ballroom of the Valez estate, a cavernous space of gilded mirrors—all covered in dark burgundy velvet—and crystal chandeliers that cast long, dramatic shadows across the polished marble floor.
Guests moved in small clusters, clinking champagne flutes and conversing in hushed tones. Whenever Adrian and I walked past a group, the laughter would die down instantly, replaced by polite, strained smiles and quick glances at my wrapped face.
My father stood by the main bar, holding a crystal glass of scotch, surrounded by prominent local politicians and foreign investors. He looked entirely in his element, holding court, orchestrating the room as if he were a maestro conducting a symphony of elite society.
"You haven't touched your champagne," Adrian murmured, standing close to my right side. His hand was resting lightly on the small of my back, a warm, protective presence that kept the coldness of the room at bay.
"I can't drink through this easily," I admitted quietly, touching the edge of the linen near my chin. "My father prefers I refrain from eating or drinking around guests."
Adrian’s jaw muscles worked beneath his skin, but he kept his tone calm. "Your father's preferences end today, Sofia. You are my wife now."
The word wife sent a strange ripple of warmth through my chest, quickly followed by a cold surge of anxiety. "Where are we going after tonight, Adrian? You still haven't told me."
"My estate outside Sintra," he said softly, leaning down so his lips were near my ear. "It’s quiet. Surrounded by ancient pine forests and ocean air. No guards at the gates, no covered mirrors, and no rules about what you can or cannot wear."
I looked at him through my veil, my heart hammering. "And... my face?"
"Only when you are ready," Adrian said firmly. "Not a second before."
Before I could answer, a loud commotion broke out near the grand double doors of the ballroom.
"I don't care if my name was crossed off the list, Victor!" a woman’s sharp, resonant voice echoed across the marble floor. "I have every right to be here!"
The chatter in the room instantly died. Heads snapped toward the entrance.
Standing in the doorway was a woman in her late fifties, dressed in an elegant navy blue silk gown. She had sharp, silver-streaked dark hair pulled back into an immaculate bun, and her posture was rigid with anger. Her eyes, a striking gray-green, scanned the room with fierce intensity until they landed on me.
My father dropped his glass. The crystal shattered against the hard marble, spraying golden liquid and sharp shards across the floor.
"Clara," Victor snarled, taking long, aggressive strides toward her. The polite mask he had worn all evening evaporated instantly. "I warned you never to step foot on my property again."
Clara Moretti. The name hit me like a physical blow.
It was the name my father had crossed out on the guest list three days ago during our only argument before the wedding. My wife’s sister, he had told Adrian. A bitter woman who abandoned this family years ago.
"You don't own the world, Victor," Clara spat, standing her ground as two bulky estate security guards moved to flank her. "You managed to keep me away from my sister while she died, but you will not keep me away from her daughter!"
"Get her out of here," Victor ordered the guards, his voice trembling with a terrifying, contained rage. "Now!"
"Sofia!" Clara shouted over the shoulders of the guards as they grabbed her arms. Her eyes locked onto mine through the crowd. "Look at your father's hands! Ask him why he never let you see a doctor! Ask him what happened to Elena’s letters!"
"Drag her out!" Victor bellowed, his face turning an unhealthy shade of crimson.
"Sofia!" Clara screamed as she was pulled backward into the dimly lit foyer. "He is lying to you! He has been lying to you since the day you were born! You aren't sick!"
The heavy oak doors slammed shut, cutting off her voice with a violent bang.
Silence settled over the grand ballroom like a suffocating blanket. The guests stood frozen, their eyes darting between my father, who was breathing heavily by the doorway, and me, standing frozen beside the wedding cake.
My hands began to shake uncontrollably. You aren't sick. The words echoed inside my head, crashing against twenty-two years of dark rooms, white bandages, and soft lies.
Adrian didn't hesitate. He took my hand, his grip tight and reassuring, and stepped directly into my line of sight, blocking the stares of the crowd.
"We are leaving," Adrian said low and fast.
"Adrian, wait—" I stammered, my head spinning. "My father—"
"We are leaving right now, Sofia," Adrian repeated, his eyes burning with an intense, unwavering resolve. "Your trunks are already loaded into my car. We are not staying in this house another minute."
He turned and led me toward the side exit leading to the private courtyard driveway. As we passed my father, Victor reached out to grab my shoulder.
"Sofia, stay where you are," Victor commanded, his voice cold as ice. "That woman is insane. She was committed to an asylum years ago. She is trying to poison your mind."
Adrian stepped between us, his taller frame completely shielding me from my father. "Touch my wife again, Victor, and I will tear this family empire apart stone by stone. Step back."
Victor stared at Adrian, his dark eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. For the first time in my life, I saw my father hesitate. He didn't step back, but he didn't reach for me again either.
May you like
Adrian pulled me out into the cool night air, where a dark vintage Jaguar was waiting with its engine idling. He opened the passenger door, helped me inside, and slammed it shut before getting into the driver's seat.
As the car accelerated down the long, winding driveway of the Valez estate, I looked back through the rear window. My father was standing on the stone steps beneath the bright exterior lights, a solitary, ominous figure watching us disappear into the dark.
