Silence

Silence

Catherina’s POV

When I stepped out of the room, the air hit me — thick with heat and the faint smell of car exhaust. I exhaled sharply, the breath leaving my chest like I had been holding it for hours. My fingers brushed the edge of the hoodie, still clinging to me with Leonardo’s scent. I didn’t know if it comforted me or made my stomach twist.

The street was already loud. Vendors shouted, horns blared, and somewhere in the distance a child laughed. It was all too normal for a morning that felt anything but. I raised my hand, waved down a passing taxi, and climbed in.

“Greenwood Estate,” I said quietly.

The driver nodded, his eyes catching mine through the mirror for a second. I looked away. The hum of the engine filled the silence, steady and low. My thoughts, on the other hand, were anything but steady.

Dante was going to kill me. Maybe not literally — but his words could cut deeper than most blades. I’d given him another reason to keep me locked inside, another reason to remind me that I was irresponsible and care free.

I shut my eyes and whispered a quick prayer, one of those short, shaky ones that never sounded convincing even to me. “God, please… not today.”

By the time the taxi pulled up in front of the gate, my palms were damp. The mansion stood the same as always — too quiet, too clean, too cold. I paid the driver and stood there for a second, staring at the house like it was a test I hadn’t studied for.

Then I walked in.

The scent of polished wood and freshly cooked stew lingered in the air. Somewhere in the distance, the grandfather clock ticked with painful precision.

Dante was at the dining table.

He didn’t need to speak — the moment our eyes met, I felt the disappointment hit me like a slap. His gaze was sharp, unmoving, the kind that could strip away excuses before they were even formed.

“Where were you?” His voice was calm, too calm. That tone was always worse than when he shouted.

I swallowed hard. “I—I went out.”

“Out,” he repeated slowly, like the word was something dirty. “Out where, Catherina?”

Before I could answer, I heard heels on the stairs.

“Cathy?” My mother’s voice floated down from the mezzanine. She was in her robe, hair tied back, her face soft with worry. “We were scared. You didn’t come home last night.”

I forced a small smile. “I’m fine, Mum.”

Dante’s chair scraped against the marble floor. “She’s not fine,” he said. “She’s reckless. That’s what she is.”

A part of me was happy that he didn't bring up what Leonardo did with my phone. The way he stared at me suggested he knew that I didn't do it.

Something inside me snapped. “I’m twenty-two,” I said, the words trembling out of me before I could stop them. “Not a child.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re sick.”

The word hung in the air. My chest tightened, and for a second, I thought I might cry. But my mother stepped in quickly, her hand on his shoulder. “Please,” she said softly. “Let’s just have dinner. She’s safe now.”

Dinner. Always dinner. As if food could fix everything.

The dining table was set beautifully set— it always was. Gold-trimmed plates, folded napkins, the same silence sitting between us like a guest no one invited.

I kept my eyes on the food, trying to steady my voice. “I met someone today,” I said quietly.

My mother looked up. “Someone?”

“His name is Leonardo.”

“Leonardo?” she repeated, curious. “Who is he?”

I hesitated, then met her eyes. “He saved my life.”

Before she could respond, her phone began to ring. She frowned, glanced at the caller ID, and rose from her seat. “Excuse me. I have to take this.”

The silence she left behind was deafening. I could hear the faint ticking of the clock again, each second heavier than the last. Dante didn’t speak. He just ate, knife and fork moving with slow precision.

Each time I looked at him, my heart picked up speed.

When Mum returned, she was smiling faintly, her tone apologetic. “I’m so sorry. I have a meeting with the women’s council by noon t. I’m already late.”

Always late. Always somewhere else.

She walked past me, adjusting her dress as she entered the room. “Cathy, help me with the zipper, please.”

I followed her to her room. The scent of perfume and powder filled the air. She turned her back to me, and I lifted the zipper slowly, the sound of it sliding up breaking the quiet.

“Why is he always like that?” I asked quietly.

She turned halfway, brows furrowed. “Like what?”

“Cold,” I said. “Like he’s angry all the time.”

She smiled, distracted. “He’s just strict. You know he means well.”

No, he doesn’t, I wanted to say. But I didn’t.

She opened her jewelry box, pulling out a pair of gold earrings. “Do these match the dress?” she asked.

I sighed. “They’re fine, Mum.”

She turned, smiling now, her face lit by the mirror light. “You’re too serious, Cathy. You should smile more.”

I didn’t answer.

When she was done, she kissed my forehead. “Be a good girl,” she said softly, the same words she always used. Then she was gone, her heels clicking down the stairs.

I stood there for a while, staring at her reflection fading from the mirror.

Downstairs, Dante was still at the table when I returned. The plates had gone cold, but he hadn’t moved.

“Dante,” I said, my voice quieter than I wanted it to be. “Leonardo will meet you tomorrow evening. Please… be nice to him.”

He didn’t even look up.

He placed his napkin beside his plate, stood, and without a single word, walked out of the dining room.
The sound of his footsteps echoed down the hall until they disappeared completely.
I wished I was still in that cheap hotel room — with cracked walls, peeling paint, and Leonardo’s calm voice reminding me that I was careless.