RULES

Nico came back at noon.

I knew because the entire penthouse seemed to tighten the moment he walked in... staff moving a little faster, voices dropping, the air itself feeling heavier. I was in the library pretending to read a book I hadn’t turned a page of when I heard his voice in the hallway, low and clipped on the phone.

I stayed where I was on the window seat, legs tucked under me, robe still tied tight like it could protect me from whatever came next.

He found me anyway.

He appeared in the doorway, jacket back on, tie straight, looking like last night and this morning had been nothing more than routine business. His gray eyes scanned the room and landed on me.

“You found the library,” he said.

“I found a lot of things,” I replied, keeping my voice even. “Three spare bedrooms, a wine cellar, and a locked room on the east side I’m choosing not to ask about yet.”

His mouth did that almost-smile thing again. “Yet.”

“I’m pacing myself.”

He crossed the room and sat across from me, casual as anything, elbows resting on his knees. Those gray eyes were doing that thing again...collecting, assessing, always more than they seemed.

“We need to talk about how this works,” he said.

“I was going to say the same thing.”

“Ladies first.”

I closed the book and sat up straighter, trying to ignore how sore I still felt between my legs. “I need regular access to a phone and a laptop. Unsupervised. My family’s finances still need managing, and I’m not doing it through a handler. I need to call my mom every day. I need to know what’s expected of me socially...events, appearances, whatever... so I can prepare. And I need to understand the Matteo situation.”

Nico was quiet for a moment, watching me.

“What about it.”

“Last night you said you share everything.” I kept my voice steady even though my hands wanted to shake. “I need to know what that means practically. What I’m actually expected to… handle. Day to day.”

He studied me. I didn’t look away.

“Matteo and I don’t operate on a schedule,” he said carefully. “The bond complicates things. When there’s intensity… he feels it. Sometimes that pulls him in. Sometimes it doesn’t. You won’t always have warning.”

Great. Wonderful. So I could be in the middle of something and suddenly feel him too.

“And I don’t get a say in that.”

“You got a say when you signed the contract.”

“The contract didn’t mention...”

“Clause seven covers shared marital arrangements.” His voice stayed smooth. “I’d encourage you to read it again.”

I stared at him. I had read every page three times. The deliberately vague language I had noticed but told myself was standard legal bullshit now sat in my stomach like lead.

“Okay,” I said quietly. “Your turn.”

He leaned forward. “You’ll attend events when I need you there. You’ll be presented as my wife...not a contract, not an arrangement. My wife. What happens in this penthouse stays in this penthouse. You don’t discuss the business. You don’t ask questions about operations. You don’t go looking for things that aren’t yours to find.”

The last part landed heavier than the rest. I kept my face neutral, but something careful moved through me.

“And in exchange?” I asked.

“Your family is protected. Financially, physically, completely. Your mother gets the best care. Your brother never worries about anything again.” He held my gaze. “And you get treated well. As long as you don’t make that difficult.”

As long as you don’t make that difficult.

I heard the warning underneath it loud and clear.

“Define difficult,” I said.

“Defiance. Deception. Trying to leave.”

The words hung between us. I thought about the money trails I’d been quietly following for months, the shell company records I’d photographed on my old phone before the wedding, the dead-drop account I’d set up years ago. I thought about all of it and kept my face very, very still.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I said. “My family needs me here.”

He watched me for one second longer than felt comfortable.

Then he nodded and sat back. “Good. There’s an event Thursday. Black tie. I’ll have someone bring options for what you’ll wear.”

“I can choose my own clothes.”

“You can choose from the options.”

He was already standing, walking toward the door.

“Nico.”

He stopped. Turned slightly.

“The laptop,” I said.

A pause. “It’ll be in your room by tonight.”

He left.

I opened the book again and stared at the page without seeing it. My hands were steady now, but inside my chest that small, angry spark was growing sharper.

You don’t go looking for things that aren’t yours to find.

I smiled at the page, small and tight.

Good thing I’m very good at finding things.

And even better at making people regret giving me the keys.