Chapter 3

HIS RULES, HER RUIN

Leona’s POV

The sheets were too soft.

Like clouds or cream or… something expensive I had never touched before.

For a moment, I thought maybe I’d died. But death wouldn’t smell like fresh linen and cinnamon soap. Or… maybe it would, if heaven had a five-star housekeeping staff.

I sat up too fast. Bad idea. My head spun, like I was still running.

Where—? What the hell—

Panic gripped me like a hand to the throat. I grabbed the edge of the bed—white, massive, carved with some old rich-people design—and tried to focus. Big window. Curtains that looked like they belonged in a museum. A gold clock ticked somewhere softly.

I wasn’t on the street anymore.

I was in a… suite?

A goddamn palace.

And then the door clicked. I froze.

He stepped in like he was finally here to claim my life. Maybe he probably did.

Oh, I remember his face. The man who carried in the rain in his arms. He carried me like I weighed nothing, who wrapped me in his coat like I was something to special to him.

But he looks pretty much different now in his facial expression.

Black button-down. Rolled sleeves. Veins along his forearms. Hair too perfect. Eyes like tempered steel—cold, unreadable, but deep.

And God help me… I noticed everything. The way his chest stretched the fabric. The faint scar near his collarbone. The way his voice was always low, in a husky tone making me wonder how if this is how he always is.

I hated that I was taking note of him.

“You’re awake,” he muttered expectedly not asking.

“No shit,” I muttered before I could stop myself.

His brow twitched. Just a flicker.

"What's your name kitten?" he finally asked, in a nonchalant tone.

I swallowed. “Leona.”

“Last name?”

I hesitated.

He stepped closer. The bed suddenly felt too small. My whole body tensed. Not because I thought he’d hurt me—no, that wasn’t it.

It was worse.

He smelled like clean smoke and power. I could see the muscles shifting under his shirt as he moved, and some crazy, needy part of me imagined them against me—rough, claiming, unapologetic.

I shook the thought away. What the hell was wrong with me?

“Leona what?” he asked again.

I squared my shoulders. “Leona— None of your business."

That got a reaction. His lips twitched—maybe amusement, maybe irritation. Couldn’t tell.

“Kitten, you were unconscious. Wet. Barefoot. Bleeding,” he uttered slowly. “You laid on my laps and I paid your bill in the hospital.”

I snapped. “But that doesn't give you the right to interrogate me like I’m a criminal!”

His eyes locked on mine. Sharp. Focused. Like he was analyzing everything, filing it in some brutal mental folder.

“You’re in my house,” he reminded.

I faltered.

Right. Shit.

He sighed and sat down—on the edge of the bed. Right to where I laid. The mattress dipped and my heart jumped into my throat.

“I need answers, Leona,” he voice softer now. “Why were you running? Who were you running from?”

I dropped my eyes.

“Tell me the truth,” he added.

I bit my lip. My whole chest ached. I wanted to lie, but I didn’t have the energy.

“I can’t go back there,” I whispered.

“Where?”

“Home.”

His eyes narrowed. “What happened there?”

I shook my head. My hands gripped the blanket. “Doesn’t matter. I’d rather sleep in a gutter than go back.”

That did something to him. Something shifted behind his expression. The cold cracked. Just a little.

Silence stretched. The clock kept ticking.

Then, carefully, he stood. Walked to the window. Looked out like this was some business meeting he was weighing with stock options.

“I can make you disappear,” he said.

I immediately felt chills.

He turned back. “No records. No names. A new place. A safe one.”

I stared at him. “How? I mean why?”

“Because I hate the people who make girls run in the rain.”

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to throw myself into the offer, scream yes, throw my arms around him like I wasn’t terrified. But… his eyes still held walls.

“You surprise me,” I said trying not to show excitement.

He tried to smile at my question. “Don't be surprised, kitten. You’ll stay under my roof, by my rules.”

“Rules?” I asked, surprised.

He stepped toward me again. I didn’t move.

“Yes. No wandering. No guests. No lying. And no touching anything with my name on it.”

His voice had gone lower. A warning? A tease?

God, he was too close. I could smell the heat of his skin now. Could see the shadow of stubble on his jaw. The curve of his neck. I wondered if he tasted like the rain or whiskey or maybe both.

I hated myself for thinking it.

He turned to go, and I caught a flash in his eyes. Vulnerable. Lonely. But it wasn’t fake.

Why did he carry me, help me, feed me… just to build a wall between us?

“You’re complicated,” I muttered.

He paused in the doorway. Glanced over his shoulder. “No. I’m controlled.”

I snorted. “That’s just a fancy word for cold.”

He didn’t smile, but he didn’t walk away either. “Do you want to stay or not?”

I looked around the room—the warmth, the comfort. I could feel safety clawing at the door of my chest. Real safety, not the fake kind people promise and never give.

I nodded slowly. “I’ll stay.”

His head dipped. “Good.”

Then he was gone as he clicked the door shut behind him.

I fell back against the pillows. Heart pounding. Legs trembling. Not from fear this time. From… something else.

I stared at the ceiling, cheeks burning. Why the hell did he get under my skin like that? Why did I fantasize about that mouth, those hands, those rules whispered in my ear in a way that made me want to disobey?

I imagined what it would be like to break them. On purpose.

To make him crack. Lose control. Take me apart with that same cold voice commanding me to stay still while he—

I groaned and pulled the pillow over my face.

Get yourself together Leona. He just saved you don't ruin it.

I was still in my thoughts when I heard a soft knock on the door startling me. It cannot be him. He won't knock.

"Come in," I said pulling the duvet to my body.

A middle aged lady walked in with a food tray in her hand as she walked to where I laid and dropped it on a stool by the bedside I didn't notice was there.

"Good evening ma'am, I was instructed you eat dinner in your room. Master doesn't want to be disturbed," She dropped it as she turned back to leave shutting the door behind her.

Pheewww, that was close, I thought.

I came down from the bed as I looked through the window listening to the calm quiet nature of birds chirping and the trees waving. I was soon disrupted by some noise.

“Mmnh—yes… Marco… yes… ah—”

My blood turned to ice. It was coming from the room next door.

I stood straight, ears straining.

Another moan. High-pitched. Hungry. Followed by a low, masculine grunt. Furniture shifted. A soft thump against the wall.

I froze. Every muscle clenched.

That was his voice. Marco.

The same man who gave me rules. Who looked at me like I was a storm and a burden. So this was why he didn't want to be disturbed.

He was—

He had—

No. No, it didn’t matter. He was a grown man. He could screw whoever he wanted. Hell, I’d only known him for what, ten minutes?

But my stomach twisted. Heat turned to embarrassment. My stupid fantasies flipped inside-out. My whole face burned.

I went back to the bed and faced my face on the bed. Squeezed my eyes shut.

You’re not special, I reminded myself.

You’re just another stray he's grooming for himself.

The moans got louder. I covered my ears.

But the damage was already done.