Chapter 7 Chapter : 7

Chapter 7 Chapter : 7
Lydia didn't plan it.
That was the lie she repeated with every step she took down the marble hallway. She was barefoot, and her spine stiff,  while her heart hammering so violently it bordered on pain. Each step she took echoed too loudly in her head, even though the entire house itself swallowed sound like a living thing. The floor was cold beneath her feet, she was cold too. And the polished marble mirror. She could even see the reflection of the chandeliers above her. The crystal dripping light .
The house now so quiet.
Not the gentle quiet of sleep or peace, but the engineered silence of power. Everywhere it was the same. this was not at all like a home, but something else, always. Guards stationed too precisely to be heard. Cameras tucked into corners so discreet they vanished into the architecture. It was all to subtle and silence bought with money, enforced with loyalty and fear.
this was hell to her.
She had learned the rules of this silence quickly by now. Don't ask questions in hallways and don't cry where walls might listen. Don't mistake calm for kindness. And don't trust a soul.
Her breath sounded too loud in her own ears.
She passed the tall mirrors lining the corridor and didn't look at herself. She didn't want to see the woman she'd become inside this house. The woman who flinched at soft footsteps. The woman who wore silk like armor and smiled like obedience. The woman who slept in the same house as a man who could command armies with a single phone call. And never raised his voice at her once.
But she hated all this she had become. At the foot of the stairs, a chair sat beside the entryway table and her coat was draped over it. It was folded neatly, as if the house itself had prepared for her escape. And that is what she was doing 
In this night, she was running out of here. She wanted it.
Lydia reached for it and then froze when she saw her hand. Her hand was bare, because her ring was gone, for good.
For a moment, she stared at her fingers, as if they belonged to someone else. So pale unmarked and now even free in a way, they hadn't been since the day Arthur slid the ring on with that calm, unyielding certainty of his.
She remembered that day too clearly. The weight of the ring and the way it felt less like a promise and more like a lock to her freedom.
She hadn't thrown it away and hadn't hidden it either. Rather she had simply taken it off and was leaving. As if her skin had finally rejected it.
A memory rose unbidden, small, sharp, cruel.
Lydia at sixteen, sitting cross-legged on her grandmother's kitchen floor, and she was trying on her grandmother's old rings while the woman scolded her gently.
"Rings choose you Lydia." Her grandmother had said to her, tapping Lydia's knuckles. "If one feels wrong, you don't force it. Nothing good ever comes from forcing what doesn't belong to you."
Lydia swallowed hard now and slipped her coat on almost immediately. Her hands shaking as she pushed her arms through the sleeves. The front doors opened as she approached it and it was soundless, obedient. 
Outside though, it was different. The night air hit her like a shock. Too cold and too sharp, real.
The driveway stretched ahead as well, wide and immaculate. there were low lights on either side. She could see the gates ahead. Lydia was ready to leave.
Massive. Iron. Black gates.
Her car that was once given to her waited beyond them.
Black. Sleek. Too expensive to ever truly be hers. But it was.
She walked faster, gravel now biting into her feet, each step she took driven by something desperate and burning. She wanted out of here. When she reached the car, Lydia yanked the door open and slid into the driver's seat, breath coming too fast now and her chest tight as if the air itself refused to cooperate with the Queen of Mafia's.
Her finger hovered over the start button for a few second. She didn't know what she was waiting for but she did. Lydia took in a deep breath and she pressed it.
Nothing. Not even a flicker. Of course.
A sharp, humorless laugh escaped her. It startled her as to how she was ready to leave.
"They won't even let me leave," she whispered to the empty car. Knowing this was a waste of time. The words tasted bitter but not anger and not shock. Resignation.
Lydia drove the car to the gate and stood there for a few seconds. And then she hit the horn.
Once.
Twice. She was breathing in a huff.
The sound echoed down the drive. it was ugly and defiant, a crack in the carefully curated silence. Lights flared on in the guard tower and a moment later, a large, calm male voice came through the speaker near her window. Polite. Professional. Impenetrable.
"Mrs. Romero, the gates are locked for the night. Please, I would request you to go back inside. it's too cold out here."
Her jaw tightened.
"I want them opened," Lydia said, forcing steadiness into her voice and moreover, forcing herself not to sound like she was asking. She was the Queen after all.
A pause was there.
"I'll need authorization." he said and her chest constricted.
"From my husband?" She asked and there was another pause. Longer. He already knew the answer. They both did.
"Yes, ma'am." Something inside her snapped. She slammed her palm against the steering wheel, the sound sharp in the enclosed space. Tears burned, but she refused to let them fall. Crying had never changed anything in this house.
However, Arthur Romero stood at the window, looking at the car. Marcus was standing right behind him and spoke.
He had known.
Arthur had known the moment Lydia's breathing changed upstairs and known when her feet touched the floor, instead of waiting for the house to wake her gently, obediently. Known because the air itself shifted when Lydia decided something.
Power recognized defiance. But more than that, power recognized power very well.
Marcus stood a few steps behind Arthur, hands clasped and his posture respectful but alert all this time. A man who had survived long enough to understand silence as well as violence and Arthur Romero.
"She's at the gate," Marcus said quietly. Arthur didn't turn, he watched.
"I know." The King whispered.
"She's angry." Arthur's mouth curved, just barely. Not a smile, it was something closer to regret.
"She has every right." Marcus hesitated. 
"Do you want us to stop her?" Arthur looked down at his hand. The ring lay in his palm. Gold, heavy and it was still warm. Her warmth. He remembered sliding it onto her finger. The way she'd gone still, not pulling away, not leaning in. Accepting. She was always accepting.
"No." He said softly. "Open the gates." The King spoke and Marcus stiffened. 
"Sir, it's not safe."
"She'll have guards." Arthur said.
"She doesn't want guards." Marcus reminded him and this made Arthur's jaw tightened. "She'll have them anyway. Two cars back. Discreet."
"Yes, sir." The man said, okay with that. Arthur picked up the intercom. Ready for this.
"Open the gates." He said and as the order left his mouth, something old and dangerous stirred in him. Not fear. Anticipation. This was the moment he had been preparing for since the night he married her.
He saw her go, because everyone did eventually. Arthur though, he didn't stop her because cages broke. Walls endured.
___________________________________________________________________
At the far end of the drive, Lydia watched the iron doors begin to move, slowly, reluctantly. And her breath caught. She hadn't expected it to be this easy.
For one foolish and an aching second, she imagined him appearing at the top of the steps. And also calling her name, telling her to stay. Telling her she mattered enough to be chased.
He didn't.
The gates opened fully and Lydia didn't waste a single second and pressed the accelerator.
The car surged forward, tires whispering over stone. The mansion shrank in her mirrors  and she watched it. Light and shadow, glass and power, a beautiful cage receding into the dark. And she was leaving, for now, leaving.
It took her sometime, but she reached her family house. Once there, her grandmother's house looked smaller than she remembered. It was smaller, sadder, worn thin by time. But she was gone just for days.
The paint was always peeled in long strips. The gate newly colored because she had done it.  This was her house, but it looked so different. Lydia parked across the street and didn't move.
She was simply looking. This house had once smelled like cardamom and old books. Of soup simmering too long and of hands that brushed her hair with affection.
There was safety there once. But now, now it smelled like dust and something sour beneath it. There was no light as well. And she thought about her Nonna.
Once out of the car, Lydia got to her house and she rang the bell. Waited, and nothing.
Lydia knocked harder, and this time panic creeping in and still nothing. A curtain shifted across the street.
"Lydia?." A woman called. Making Lydia turn.
The neighbor stood half-hidden in her doorway, eyes sharp with curiosity, and something gentler beneath it.
"I'm looking for my grandmother, Mrs. Lane." Lydia said. "Is she home?" She asked looking around. The woman's expression tightened. 
"Oh, no, dear. She left." She said and Lydia was stunned. 
"Left?" She was confused, and lines on her forehead.
"Yes. In quite a hurry."
"When?" She asked stunned.
"Late last night. Or early morning." The woman hesitated. "There were men." Lydia's stomach dropped.
"Men?"
"Expensive cars. Black ones." The woman lowered her voice. "She was carrying bags. Heavy ones. I saw money slip out." She explained and this freaked her out.
Money.
The word rang hollow.
"She didn't say where she was going?" The woman shook her head. "Just said she had to leave before they came."
"Who?"
The neighbor glanced down the street, nervous. "Be careful, child." was all she said and closed the door. Lydia though, she walked in and the atmosphere changed. Inside, the house felt violated.
Most of the drawers yanked open, closets stripped bare, and a painting hung crooked. And behind it, the safe stood open.
Not empty, but wrong. Some bundles gone and some left behind.
Her mother's jewelry box lay overturned on the bed. Necklaces missing. Earrings scattered like casualties.
Lydia sat down hard, the mattress sagging beneath her weight. She knew her family never had money. And that lie echoed now, collapsing under its own weight. Her chest ached as understanding crept in. Her grandmother hadn't been helpless. She had been hiding, and maybe Arthur was right. She was lied to all her life.
And Lydia couldn't help but think her mother hadn't been unlucky. She had been silenced.
"I didn't know you," Lydia whispered. "I didn't know any of you." She repeated, scared, frustrated and mad. Confused most of all.
______________________________________________________________________________
Arthur watched the security feeds in silence. Marcus stood beside him, reporting softly. 
"She's staying the night in her old family home." Arthur nodded.
"She's not alone. Rivals are circling. Her grandmother disappearing will stir things." Arthur's jaw clenched.
"She doesn't know. " He murmured. "She has no idea how deep it goes." He sat there with her family file open.
"Should we bring her back, sir?" Marcus asked. 
Arthur shook his head slowly. "No."
Marcus frowned. "Sir—"
"She needs to see it," Arthur said quietly. "The cracks. The lies. All of it." Arthur was worried about her, but he knew this was important for Lydia.
"And if she gets hurt?" Marcus asked. Worried too. Arthur's voice dropped, lethal. "Then the world burns."
He picked up the ring again, thumb brushing the engraving inside.
She thinks I'm the cage. Arthur closed his eyes. Lydia doesn't know I'm the only thing standing between her and the knives. He let out a heavy breath. 
That night, Lydia slept in her old room, fully dressed, lights blazing. She listened to the cars outside. To engines running and footsteps that never came too close.
Lydia knew she was safe. Just not with her own blood. She wanted to cry but all her tears now gone. And for the first time, that terrified her more than Arthur ever had.
Lydia closed her eyes, exhausted and done. If someone came here  to hurt her, she wouldn't care. She was that tired.
And with her eyes closed she was gone. And the only person she thought about last, was Arthur. And surprisingly only him. 
____________________________________________________________________________
Lydia woke to the sound of an engine. Low. Steady. Controlled.
For a moment, she thought she was still dreaming, that her mind was replaying memories the way it had all night, stitching fear into half-formed images. But the sound didn't fade. It grew closer, then cut off abruptly, leaving behind a silence that felt heavier than noise.
Her eyes snapped open and her head hurt right then.
Light flooded the room, pale and bright. Morning had crept in through the thin curtains, revealing everything she'd avoided looking at in the dark. The cracked wall near the window. The faint water stain on the ceiling. The dresser her grandmother had insisted was "still perfectly good" even when the drawer stuck. This was all fake.
Lydia sat up slowly. She hadn't slept. Not really.
Her clothes were still on, but rumpled, creased from hours spent curled on the narrow bed. The lamp beside her glowed weakly, having burned all night. Her head throbbed still. Her chest felt hollow.
The engine had stopped.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, bare feet touching the cool floor. Her body felt heavy, as if gravity had increased while she wasn't paying attention.
Another sound reached her.
A car door opening, then closing, single, deliberate.
Not guards. Her breath caught.
She crossed the room and pushed the curtain aside just enough to look out and a car sat at the curb. Black immaculate. Out of place on a street that smelled faintly of rust and damp concrete.
Arthur had come alone.
He stepped into view, and something inside her twisted painfully. No driver and he had no entourage. Just him, standing on the cracked pavement as if it belonged to him by right.
He wasn't wearing a suit jacket this time. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his forearms and the dark fabric pulled tight across broad shoulders. He looked tired in a way, she had never seen him like this before. This was not weak, not disheveled, but worn. As if the night had taken something from him as well.
He didn't look at the house right away. He looked at the door.
At her door.
Lydia let the curtain fall.
She didn't rush. There was no point in doing that. Whatever fight she'd brought with her last night had burned itself out, leaving only ash behind.
She moved through the house slowly. The hallway where her grandmother used to scold her for running. The kitchen table with the chipped corner where she'd done homework, elbows sticky with spilled tea.
At the front door, she hesitated.
Lydia took in a deep breath and then she opened the door.
Arthur stood there, close enough that she could see the faint shadow under his eyes. He smelled like clean soap and something darker beneath it, leather, steel.
"Lydia," He said. Just her name. No title and for once no command as well. Her throat tightened, but she didn't look away. "You're early."
"It's already late," he replied. Like they both needed this.
Silence stretched between them. His gaze moved over her with slow precision. Not the possessive way she was used to, but something sharper. He took in the way her shoulders slumped, the bruised exhaustion under her eyes.
"You didn't sleep," He said.
It wasn't a question. She gave a small, humorless laugh. "Neither did you, I assume."
"Assumptions aren't usually wise." He whispered.
"And yet you came." She said. He held her gaze. "You didn't come home."
Something about the word home made her chest ache. She stepped back, opening the door wider for him.
"You should come in." She said quietly. "It's... it's a mess."
Arthur paused, then stepped over the threshold. The house seemed to shrink around him.
He took it in without comment. The open drawers. The crooked painting and even the bare spots on the wall where framed photos once hung.
"She left," Lydia said. The words felt foreign in her mouth. "My grandmother. She was gone before I got here."
Arthur's jaw tightened. "I know." He was mad that someone hurt her. Her head snapped up. "You know?"
"I knew she wouldn't be here." That should have made her angry. Instead, it just made her tired.
"Then why did you let me come?" she asked, her voice cracking.
"Because if I hadn't," he said quietly, "you would have run again."
She looked away, blinking hard. "She took the money. A lot of it. We were never....." Her voice broke. She stopped, inhaled sharply, then forced herself to continue. "Everything I thought I knew was wrong."
Arthur said nothing. For once he listened to her.
That silence was worse than any lecture.
"I don't even know who I am anymore." She whispered.
He stepped closer, not touching her but close enough that his presence pressed in on her senses. 
"You are exactly who you've always been." He said. "You just didn't know what you were standing on."
She laughed bitterly. "And you did?"
"Yes." The honesty in that single word stunned her. He didn't soften it. Didn't apologize.
"I knew," he continued, looking right at her. "And I still married you."
Her hands curled into fists. "So what? This was all inevitable?"
"No," he said.
"This was avoidable. You leaving like this wasn't." She closed her eyes, shaking her head.
"I can't stay here." She whispered.
"I didn't come to argue," Arthur replied. She looked at him then, truly looked. At the restraint in his posture. At the way he held himself like a man bracing against something violent inside him.
"What did you come for?" she asked and there was silence for once.
"To take you home." The word landed heavy. Home, it felt right because this did not. She stared at the floor. When she spoke again, her voice was smaller. "I don't think I know where that is anymore."
Arthur moved past her and opened the door.
"I do." He said and stepped aside. Waited for her.
The choice hung between them, fragile and sharp. Lydia picked up her coat from the chair. Slipped it on. Walked past him without a word. Outside, the morning air was cool and sharp. Arthur opened the car door for her and he helped her in.
She hesitated only a second before getting in. But it was warm inside and the smell of him was there. There was finally something familier around her.
Arthur closed the door gently and sat down. The engine started and he looked at her one more time. She looked out the window but not at her house.
And then they drove.
No guards followed. No words filled the space.
The city passed by in muted colors. Lydia watched reflections slide across the window, her own face ghosted over buildings and trees.
Arthur's hands were steady on the wheel.
"You can sleep." He said finally.
"Hmmm." She hummed. Her eyes burning.
"Close your eyes anyway." he said and she did. It hurt but she did. Not because she trusted him, but because she was too tired to fight gravity any longer.
The car carried them forward. Toward a house that was no longer just a cage but toward truths waiting behind locked doors. She was safer here. And her body knew it.