The Rules of Surrender

Chapter 2

The ride to Julian’s penthouse was suffocatingly silent.

The tinted privacy glass of the Maybach separated them from the driver, sealing Elara inside a luxurious, leather-scented cage with her new husband. Julian didn’t speak a word. He sat in the corner, a tumbler of amber whiskey in his hand, his long legs stretched out casually.

Though he wasn’t looking at her, Elara could feel the weight of his presence pressing down on her. The heavy diamond ring on her left hand caught the passing city lights, flashing like a warning beacon.

I survived the wedding, she reminded herself, clutching her sequined clutch so tightly her fingers ached. Now I just have to survive the night.

When the private elevator finally chimed and opened directly into Julian’s penthouse, Elara swallowed hard.

The space was exactly like the man who owned it: cold, imposing, and breath-takingly expensive. Sleek black marble floors stretched toward floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a panoramic, god-like view of the city skyline. There were no warm colors, no personal photographs. Just sharp edges, modern art, and shadows.

"My housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, left for the night," Julian said, his voice breaking the silence as he tossed his suit jacket over a velvet chair. He loosened his silk tie, his icy blue eyes finally pinning her to the spot. "We are completely alone."

Elara’s heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. "Julian..."

"Come here," he commanded softly.

It wasn't a request. Elara forced her trembling legs to move across the marble floor until she was standing just inches from his chest. She had to tilt her head up to meet his gaze.

"You said... the payment begins tonight," she said, hating how breathless her voice sounded. She reached a shaking hand around to the back of her neck, her fingers fumbling with the tiny pearl buttons of her wedding dress. "Let's just get it over with."

Julian’s eyes darkened, a flash of pure irritation crossing his handsome features.

He reached out, wrapping his large, warm hand around her wrists, stopping her movements entirely. The grip was tight, but not bruising.

"Do you think this is a chore?" he sneered, leaning in so close she could smell the intoxicating mix of expensive scotch and cedarwood on his breath. "A box to check off to save your brother?"

"Isn't it?" she fired back, her hazel eyes meeting his with a sudden spark of defiance. "You bought me, Julian. You forced me into this dress, into that church, and into this apartment. So take what you paid for."

Silence stretched between them, thick and electric.

Julian stared at her. He had expected tears. He had expected her to beg, to plead for a few days of grace, to cower like the spoiled, fragile heiress he believed her to be. Her father, Richard Sterling, was a coward who had ruined Julian's family and then hid behind his wealth.

But looking at Elara now her chin raised, her eyes blazing with a quiet, fierce pride despite her obvious fear Julian felt a strange, uncomfortable tightness in his chest.

It infuriated him.

He didn't want a martyr. He wanted to break her.

Julian released her wrists and took a step back, his expression twisting into a mask of cold indifference.

"Keep your dress on, Elara. I wouldn't touch you tonight if you begged me."

Elara blinked, completely thrown off balance by the sudden rejection. A confusing mix of immense relief and bizarrely, a tiny sting of insult, washed over her. "What?"

"I don't sleep with martyrs," Julian drawled, walking over to the bar to pour himself another drink. "And I don't force myself on women. When we finally share a bed, my sweet wife, it will be because you are desperate for it. Because you are begging me to touch you."

A hot flush of embarrassment crept up Elara’s neck. "That will never happen."

Julian chuckled, a dark, velvety sound that sent a shiver straight down her spine. He turned to face her, leaning against the marble counter.

"We have two years, darling. We'll see. But until then, let's establish the rules of your new life."

He set his glass down, the clink echoing sharply in the large room.

"Rule number one," Julian said, holding up a finger. "In public, you will be the perfect, adoring wife. If a camera is pointed at us, you will hold my hand, you will smile, and you will look at me like I am the center of your universe. If you humiliate me, or if rumors of a sham marriage leak to the press, the funds for little Leo's post-op care will dry up. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Elara whispered, the threat hitting its mark exactly where it hurt most.

"Rule number two. This penthouse is my sanctuary. You are not the mistress of this house. You do not give orders to the staff, you do not redecorate, and you do not invite your high-society friends over. As far as I'm concerned, behind these locked doors, you are nothing but a guest overstaying her welcome."

Elara swallowed her pride. "Understood."

"And finally, rule number three." Julian walked back toward her, his gaze dropping to the plush, massive doorway down the hall. "We will sleep in the same room. Every single night."

Elara’s eyes widened. "But you just said"

"I said I wouldn't touch you," Julian interrupted, his voice dropping an octave as he stepped into her personal space once more. "But I didn't say I would give you the luxury of your own bedroom. You don't get to hide from me, Elara. You will sleep in my bed. You will wake up next to me. You will feel my presence every second of your miserable life for the next two years."

He reached out, running a single knuckle down the soft curve of her cheek. The gentleness of the touch was wildly at odds with the cruelty of his words.

"Now," Julian murmured. "Go to the master bedroom. Take off that ridiculous dress. And wait for your husband."

He walked past her, heading toward his study, leaving Elara frozen in the middle of the grand living room.

She was safe from his physical touch tonight, but as she looked down the dark, luxurious hallway toward his bedroom, Elara realized a terrifying truth.

Julian Vance wasn't trying to conquer her body. He was playing a much more dangerous game. He was going to wage war on her mind, her boundaries, and her heart.

And as she slowly walked toward the bedroom, her pulse racing, Elara wondered how long she could share a bed with the devil before she accidentally burned in his fire.