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The sunlight was too harsh.
Noah groaned and rolled onto his side, flinching as pain throbbed at the back of his skull. His eyes felt puffy, lids dry and raw from crying. The silence around him was thick—almost too loud. He sat up slowly and checked the time on his phone.
2:13 PM.
Shit.
He had overslept.
Memories of last night him him hard,
how can he cry like a baby ? It was his own decision to marry Alessio? His plan to ruin him ? He's already winning this game, but why it's feel like he's already losing.
He saw here and there, he's in Alessio's room but Alessio is nowhere to found.
But maybe that was a blessing. If Alessio had already left for work, he wouldn't have to face him—not yet. Not after everything that happened. Not after their.... So called contract marriage.
Marriage.
Noah's fingers curled into the bedsheet. That word shouldn't feel so foreign on his tongue. And yet it did. Like a bad joke. A nightmare.
He was married. For real.
And not just to anyone. To him.
Alessio fucking Romano.
The infamous mafia king who could have anyone—and chose Noah out of spite, not love. He pushed the covers aside and shuffled to the bathroom. Splashing cold water on his face didn't do much to chase away the heaviness in his chest. He looked into the mirror and saw red-rimmed eyes, dull skin, and a lost boy who somehow became a bride overnight.
A bride in a cage made of gold.
By the time he made it downstairs, the house was too quiet—eerily clean and pristine, like a museum. Noah padded barefoot into the kitchen, fingers combing his messy hair. He wasn't expecting anyone to be there.
But he was.
Alessio sat at the breakfast table, dressed sharply in black, sleeves rolled to his elbows, veins lining his strong forearms. His back was straight, posture precise, and his face unreadable as he sipped black coffee from a porcelain mug.
Cold. Composed. Distant.
He didn't even spare Noah a glance.
Yeah so now he had achieve his goal, now he's ignoring.
Noah blinked, froze for a second in the doorway. That sting in his chest—that dull ache—came back again, stronger than before. He hated how his heart still skipped, stupid and confused, at the sight of Alessio. Without a word, he walked past him, opened the fridge, and took out a shiny green apple. His hands were shaking a little as he grabbed a knife and began slicing it mechanically, thin slice after thin slice.
He wasn't hungry. Not for food. Not for anything.
Married. He was married to that man sitting across from him now like a stranger.
How had it happened so fast? One moment Alessio was forcing him, The next—he was his husband. The ink had dried. The vows were said. And yet...
There was no love.
Noah's vision blurred slightly. He looked down, focused on the knife, pretending it mattered. Pretending it didn't hurt.
Then came the sound. A short, sharp cough.
Noah looked up instinctively.
Alessio wasn't asking. He was declaring.
"Today we're going to meet my parents. I want you on your best behavior. Don't cause me any troble and keep your tounge in your control. They shouldn't judge my eyes."
Also they are not like me, My mother is a very strict women she's not going to listen to your tantrums like me, Understand?
The words were flat. Unfeeling. His voice like ice cutting through Noah's daze. Not even a greeting he don't even ask how he's feeling. No "how are you," no acknowledgment of last night's breakdown, no care about what it meant to wake up beside someone you never expected to marry.
Just orders.
Just the Mafia King speaking to his newly acquired property.
Noah's lips parted, but for a second, nothing came out. He swallowed and forced himself to speak.
"Your… parents? Today?" he asked, voice quieter than intended.
Alessio didn't respond. He merely set the coffee cup down with a clink.
Noah frowned, biting into the inside of his cheek.
"Do they know I'm a boy?" he asked, a little sharper now. "I mean… Theo said you're not even gay."
That made Alessio pause.
A flicker of something crossed his face—too fast to name. His jaw tensed, just slightly. A twitch near his temple. But he didn't look at Noah. Didn't explain. Didn't deny.
Instead, he rose smoothly from his chair, back straight, cool like always, and turned toward the hallway leading to his office.
Noah's blood boiled.
"Are you seriously walking away again?" he snapped, heart hammering now. "At least answer me before leaving like that—!"
But the footsteps didn't pause.
No answer. No glance. Nothing.
He could still hear the echo of Alessio's shoes down the hallway as Noah stood frozen, gripping the apple knife like it might hold him together.
His breathing was shallow. Fast.
Why did it hurt? Why did it hurt so much?
This was what he wanted, right? To be safe. To have a roof over his head. To have protection from the auction, from everything he'd been running from.
And now he had it.
Except—he didn't.
He had a husband who wouldn't look at him. A man who touched him like he owned him but treated him like a ghost. A protector who didn't protect his heart.
"Stop it," he muttered to himself. "Stop feeling things. You knew what this was."
But he couldn't stop.
Not the ache in his chest. Not the sting behind his eyes. Not the racing of his heart every time Alessio was near.
He hated it.
He hated that his fingers still remembered the feeling of Alessio's touch. That his body leaned ever so slightly in his direction even when his mind screamed run. That somewhere in this mess, a part of him still longed for something more.
Affection. A word. A look.
A moment where he didn't feel so small.
But all he got was silence.
The only thing real between them was the heavy ring on his finger which Alessio put on his finger when he was sleeping… and the chaos it promised.
And that silence—it was louder than any scream.
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End Of Chapter 27:
"He gave him safety in a golden cage, but never once unlocked the door with warmth."