Bound by rules

Paige's POV

The first sensation that greeted me when I opened my eyes was softness, an unfamiliar weight of silken sheets wrapping around me as if trying to lull me back into sleep, for a moment, I forgot where I was, the ceiling above me wasn’t the cracked plaster of my old room, but painted gold, gilded with carvings that gleamed faintly in the morning light, the curtains, heavy and velvet-rich, filtered the sun into golden ribbons across the polished floor, the air smelled of roses and sandalwood, a fragrance both intoxicating and suffocating.

I sat up slowly, my body feeling too small, too insignificant against the grandeur of the bed I had been placed in, my bare feet brushed against a rug so soft it almost swallowed my toes. 

Everything was luxurious, from the carved dresser with its mirror framed in silver vines, to the chandelier dangling from the ceiling like a cluster of frozen stars. Yet, beneath the splendor, a chill wrapped around my chest, this wasn’t freedom, this wasn’t kindness, this was gilded captivity.

The door creaked open and two women entered, both wearing neat uniforms of pale gray and white. Their hair was pulled into simple knots, their heads bowed as though even their footsteps dared not offend the silence of the room. One carried a tray with a porcelain teacup and small pastries, the other a folded set of clothes draped over her arm.

“Good morning, my lady,” the first whispered, her eyes darting to me only briefly before she set the tray on the bedside table. The second placed the garments at the foot of the bed, then both stepped back, waiting, expectant, as though my response mattered less than their obedience to him.

I tried to smile but it felt forced. “Good morning.”

They did not return the greeting with warmth, only lowered their heads again, my chest tightened. I wanted to ask them who they were, what their names were, but something in their silence warned me not to. Instead, I reached for the clothes, the fabric cool beneath my fingers. A long flowing dress of deep crimson, simple yet expensive, its embroidery glimmering faintly like veins of fire.

“This is for me?”

The second maid nodded. “Lord Raymond’s orders.”

Of course, every detail of my existence now dictated by him. Even my dress. I swallowed the lump in my throat and stood, taking the garment behind the screen to change, the dress fit perfectly, as if it had been tailored in advance. When I emerged, both maids adjusted the hem and smoothed the sleeves before retreating without a word, the door clicked shut behind them, the silence that followed heavy enough to crush the breath from me.

I wasn’t free. I wasn’t even a guest. I was something else entirely.

When he entered, it was without sound, as though the air parted for him alone. I turned, startled, to find Raymond standing in the doorway, he looked devastatingly composed, dressed in black that hugged the lines of his body, his presence filling the room before he even spoke, his eyes found me instantly, a piercing storm of silver that made my skin prickle.

“You’re awake,” he said, voice calm, controlled, but threaded with something dangerous. “Good.”

He stepped further inside, closing the door behind him. I could feel the energy shift, his nearness did things to me I couldn’t name, a mixture of dread and a traitorous pull that had me rooted in place.

“I trust you slept well.”

“Yes,” I answered, though the word tasted like a lie.

He studied me, his gaze sweeping over the dress. His lips curved faintly, approval ghosting his expression. “It suits you.”

I didn’t respond, not because I didn't want to buy because I couldn’t.

He moved to the table, lifting the folded parchment that lay there, his gloved fingers smoothed it flat before holding it out to me. “There are rules you will follow, Paige.”

My hand hesitated before taking it, his eyes narrowed slightly at my reluctance, but he let me pull the parchment free. The list was written in elegant script, each line precise, unyielding:

You may walk the gardens, but only when accompanied.

You may speak to the maids, but they will not answer questions about this estate or about me.

You are forbidden from leaving the mansion without my permission.

You will not ask about the locked wings or their purpose.

You will not wander the halls after dusk.

You will not disobey me.

My throat tightened with every line, it was less a list of rules, more a chain carefully coiled around my life.

“Do you understand?” he asked, voice soft but sharp enough to draw blood.

I looked up, meeting his eyes despite the thundering of my heart. “And if I don’t?”

His lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, the scent of him dark and rich. “Then you will learn,” he murmured. His gaze dropped to my lips, lingering, before flicking back to my eyes. “And I assure you, the lesson will not be gentle.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks, anger and something else tangled inside me. I wanted to scream at him, to tear the parchment apart and tell him he couldn’t dictate my every breath, but my voice betrayed me, too quiet, too soft. “You’re keeping me here.”

“I am protecting you,” he corrected, his hand lifting to brush a stray strand of hair from my cheek, his touch lingered, feather-light but possessive. “There are things in this house you do not understand, things that would devour you if you wandered too far.” His thumb grazed my skin, and for a heartbeat, I forgot to breathe. “Trust me, Paige and obey me.”

His closeness burned, his voice a snare that pulled at something deep inside me. I hated how easily my body betrayed me, how my pulse quickened under his touch. I wanted to shove him away, yet part of me leaned closer, as if he had cast a spell.

“Breakfast awaits,” he said finally, pulling back, his expression once again unreadable. “Do not test me, Paige. I will know if you disobey.” With that, he left, his absence just as heavy as his presence.

For hours I tried to sit still, tried to breathe within the cage of his rules, but restlessness coiled in my chest, the mansion was too vast, too silent, its corridors whispering promises of secrets hidden just out of sight, his rules pressed against me like a chokehold, and the more I tried to accept them, the more I wanted to break free.

By afternoon, I couldn’t bear it any longer.

I slipped out of the room, the hem of my crimson dress brushing over marble floors, the halls stretched endlessly, walls lined with portraits whose painted eyes seemed to follow me, my steps were quiet, my heart louder than my breath. Each turn revealed more doors, some open to reveal sitting rooms or libraries, others locked.

It wasn’t enough. I needed more.

I wandered deeper, past the parts of the mansion I had been shown, past the polished corridors into older halls where the light dimmed and dust lingered in the corners, the silence here felt thicker, heavier, as though the walls themselves held their breath. And then I found it.

A corridor ending in a single door. Tall, black, carved with strange symbols that shimmered faintly against the wood. The sight of them made my stomach twist. They looked familiar, though I couldn’t say why, their shapes curling like smoke in my mind.

I stepped closer, my hand lifting before I even realized it, my fingertips brushed against the carvings, and the wood beneath trembled, a vibration that traveled up my arm and settled deep in my bones.

That was when I heard them again.

The whispers.

Faint at first, like the brush of wind, then clearer, echoing against my skull. My name, or what sounded like my name, stretched into something older, heavier.

Avina.

The sound chilled me to the core. It was the same as before, that strange name threading through the shadows as if it belonged to me, the whispers grew louder, overlapping, a chorus calling out from beyond the door, my breath came faster, fear clawing at my chest.

The door shuddered beneath my palm, rattling as if something inside was desperate to get out, the symbols glowed faintly, pulsing in rhythm with the whispers. My heart pounded so hard it hurt, yet I couldn’t pull away. It was as if the name itself held me captive, binding me to the door.

“Avina,” the voices crooned, sweet and venomous all at once.

The rattling grew violent, the air thickening around me.

“Paige.”

The new voice wasn’t a whisper. It was sharp, commanding, dragging me back into the present. My breath hitched, and I turned, only to feel a hand clamp around my arm.

Raymond.

His grip was iron, his silver eyes burning with fury as he yanked me away from the door. His face was carved in anger, his voice low and venomous.

“I told you never to come here.”

The words cut through me, the final nail sealing the truth. I wasn’t free, and whatever lay behind that door was a secret he would never willingly let me uncover.

But the whispers still lingered, echoing faintly in my mind. Avina.

And I knew I wouldn’t stop until I found out why.