Chapter 7

Chapter 7: The Rules

Noah's pov…

I stood in the bathroom, heart pounding, eyes still locked on his as if my brain hadn’t quite caught up with the moment. He had just caught me before I hit the ground, then without saying a single word, he lifted me like I weighed nothing and then made me stand on my feet. He didn’t explain, didn’t look back—just walked away and left me standing there, still in shock, water still running behind me.

My hands shook slightly as I reached for the faucet, turning off the shower. The silence left behind was deafening. For a long second, I just stood there, staring at the floor, trying to make sense of what was happening to me.

This place. This man. Everything.

I finally peeled off my soaked boxers and stepped under the spray of warm water. I scrubbed my skin harder than necessary, like washing off everything could somehow make me feel more in control again. It didn’t work.

When I got out, a towel and clothes had been left for me on a small wooden bench. I dried off quickly, changed into the plain shirt and soft sweatpants, and stepped out into the hallway. The guy from earlier—the one who’d dragged me here—was standing outside, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

He didn’t say anything. Just jerked his head toward the room across the hall.

I hesitated for a second. Then followed him.

The room he led me to was big—definitely bigger than any room I’d ever had. But something about it felt cold. Distant. Like it wasn’t meant for comfort, just containment.

The guy didn’t speak. He just turned and walked out, shutting the door behind him with a dull thud that echoed in my chest.

I looked around. There was a king-size bed in the center of the room with dark gray sheets and no decorations. The curtains were heavy, blocking out most of the light. It was clean, almost too clean—like no one ever actually lived in it.

I took one cautious step back toward the door, my pulse racing. Maybe if I was quiet enough, fast enough, I could slip out before anyone noticed—

Thump.

I froze. My back hit something solid. Or someone.

My breath caught in my throat as I slowly turned around.

It was him.

He was standing right there, taller than I remembered, his dark eyes looking down at me like he could see straight through my skin. I flinched automatically, stepping back.

"I—I didn’t hear you come in," I stammered.

He didn’t say anything. Just stared. And then, as if the silence was some kind of answer, he started walking toward me.

My feet wouldn’t move. I stood there, frozen like a statue, every muscle tense and ready for impact. I closed my eyes.

Was he going to hit me? Shove me? Yell at me again?

But nothing happened.

I cracked one eye open.

He was standing just in front of me now, his face close—closer than before—and his gaze wasn’t angry. It was intense. Focused.

And then, slowly, he walked past me.

He moved over to the bed, sat down at the edge, and began to unbutton his shirt with calm, deliberate fingers. The fabric slid from his shoulders and dropped to the floor. I didn’t mean to look—but I couldn’t help it.

Every line of his body looked carved from stone. Powerful. Wild. Dangerous. And still, I couldn’t read his expression.

I barely had time to process before he stood again and walked toward me.

This time, I didn’t flinch. I just looked up, swallowing hard as he reached me. My breath hitched.

He stared down at me, eyes sharp. "From now on," he said, voice low and unshaking, "you belong to me."

My stomach dropped. I blinked, confused and afraid. "What?"

"You heard me. There are rules in this house. You will follow them."

He said it like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like claiming people was just something he did on a regular days.

I backed up half a step. "What rules?"

His lips curled slightly into a smirk, but there was no humor behind it.

"One. You never run. Ever. If you try, you’ll be caught. I’ll make sure of it."

My chest tightened.

"Two. Keep my room clean. I don’t want to see a mess."

I nodded slowly, trying to keep up.

"Three. No talking back. You only speak when you’re spoken to. Got it?"

This was getting worse by the second.

"Four. You’ll go back to school when I say, but you’re not allowed to talk to anyone. Not friends. Not teachers. No one."

I bit my lip. The lump in my throat was starting to form.

"And last," he said, stepping even closer, "when I give an order, you follow it. No questions."

He said it so casually. Like he wasn’t completely flipping my life upside down.

I stared at him, all the fear and frustration building up inside me like a dam about to burst. My hands clenched at my sides.

I didn’t even recognize myself anymore. The scared kid. The one who’d stopped fighting back.

He leaned in, his face now just inches from mine. I could feel the heat of his breath.

"Do you understand me?" he asked quietly, the edge in his tone sharper than a blade.

I wanted to scream at him. To fight back. To tell him he couldn’t just do this to me.

But my voice cracked as I answered.

"Yes… I understand."

A single tear slid down my cheek.

And he didn’t even flinch.