Chapter 2: The Mansion Rules

8:06 PM.

I was late.

The driver didn’t mention it. He just drove through the automatic gates and stopped in front of a house that barely looked real.

White stone. Black windows. Enormous and dead quiet.

The kind of place that would echo if you so much as cleared your throat.

A man in a black suit opened the door before I could knock.

“Ms. Carter. Mr. Vance is in the study.”

Right. Mr. Vance.

My sneakers squeaked across the marble. Every sound carried.

No photos. No plants. No sign that anyone actually lived here—just cold, expensive money.

He stood by a fireplace that wasn’t lit. Black shirt, sleeves rolled up. Younger without the suit. And more exhausted.

He didn’t turn when I walked in.

“Close the door.”

I closed it.

“Sit.”

I perched on the edge of a leather chair that probably cost more than my rent.

He finally looked at me, giving me a quick once-over—jeans, plain shirt, the ring box in my hand.

“You read the agreement,” he said.

“I did.”

“Then you know how this works.”

He went to his desk and pulled out a single page. Not the contract. Just this:

THE MANSION RULES

1. My wing is off-limits.

2. Separate bedrooms. No exceptions.

3. No touching. Not for photos. Not for anything.

4. Breakfast 7AM. Dinner 8PM. You will be there.

5. Don’t talk to staff about me. Don’t talk to press about us.

6. 100 days. Then you leave. No contact after.

He slid it toward me. “Sign it.”

I stared at rule 3. No touching. Not for photos.

So how exactly were we supposed to look married tomorrow?

I signed anyway. Nadia Carter.

My handwriting looked messy next to the clean printed text.

“Your room is upstairs,” he said. “Second door on the left. Clothes for tomorrow are in the closet. The announcement is at 10AM.”

He turned back to the window. Dismissed.

I didn’t leave. “Can I ask something?”

“You just did.”

“Why me? Really.”

This time he turned. For a second the CEO mask slipped. He just looked… drained.

“Because you said yes without crying. Because you need the money and you won’t sell the story afterward.”

A pause. “Because my assistant said you were the only one who didn’t ask for more.”

It wasn’t a compliment. But I’d take it.

“Okay,” I said.

Upstairs, my room was painfully white. White bed. White curtains. White walls.

Like someone was trying to erase me.

On the dresser sat the ring box from earlier.

Underneath it, a folded note.

His handwriting again. Sharp.

Rule 7: Don’t be late.

— O

Rule 7 hadn’t been on the list.

I laughed quietly and opened the box.

The diamond looked even bigger in this light. It spun loosely around my finger.

Too big. Too much.

Down the hall, a door closed. His.

I lay on top of the covers still fully dressed.

100 days.

Rule 2 said separate bedrooms.

Rule 3 said no touching.

But nobody said anything about not thinking about the man down the hall.

My phone buzzed. Mom.

A text from the nurse: Bill is cleared. She’s asking for you.

I stared at the ceiling.

Day 1 was almost over.

99 left.

And I was already breaking the rules in my head.