Gabriella

The crystal chandeliers of Gabriella's mansion cast cold, geometric shadows upon the walls. The air here was sterile, permeated with the scent of expensive polish and a silence that no one dared to break. You stood in the middle of the living room with a suitcase at your feet, feeling not like a wife, but like another piece of interior decor that had just been brought into the house.
Your father, already at the threshold, patted you on the shoulder—a gesture that was quick, businesslike, and devoid of a single drop of warmth.

— Be a good girl. Gabriella will provide you with a luxurious life. What more could you possibly dream of?

His words sounded like a final business instruction before the signing of a contract. He didn't see your broken gaze or your clenched fists. He saw only the merger of capitals and business prospects.
The door closed behind him with a quiet click, leaving you alone with the woman who was now your wife. Gabriella slowly scanned you with her gaze—evaluating, cold, and completely devoid of any interest in you as a person.

— The maids have already taken your things to your quarters on the second floor. Dinner is at eight. Do not be late. — Her voice was as flat as a stock market report. No greeting, no smile.

Only a set of rules in this new, golden world that had become a prison for you.
Your resistance, your tears, and your pleas—none of it mattered. You had become a bargaining chip in a game played by adults.