Rules of the Marriage

Rain pelted softly against the windows of the Cross penthouse, blurring the glittering skyline beyond. Elena Harper sat stiffly on the velvet sofa, hands folded tightly in her lap, as though keeping them together could keep her world from falling apart. She had signed her name, she had given her word, and tonight, she had entered the cage she had agreed to call a marriage.

Damian Cross stood a few feet away, his back turned to her, pouring a glass of whiskey with the same precision he applied to business deals. Every movement carried authority. Every silence was weighted with meaning. Elena studied his reflection in the glass cabinet: sharp lines of his jaw, the tailored cut of his suit, the coldness that clung to him like a second skin.

“Before you make yourself too comfortable,” Damian said finally, his voice smooth but edged with steel, “we need to establish rules.”

Her stomach twisted. She had expected this—Damian Cross was not the kind of man to leave anything to chance—but still, hearing it aloud sent a chill through her.

“What kind of rules?” she asked, her voice quieter than she intended.

He turned then, dark eyes locking on hers with a force that nearly made her flinch. Setting the whiskey aside, he walked closer until he stood just across from her. The faintest smirk tugged at his mouth, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Rules to protect both of us,” he said. “This marriage is a contract, Elena. Nothing more, nothing less. If you follow them, this arrangement will be smooth. If you don’t…” He leaned forward slightly, the shadows in his gaze deepening. “…then you’ll find I’m not nearly as patient as I am tonight.”

Her pulse quickened. “I understand.”

“Good.” He straightened, then began to list them off, as though reciting the terms of a business agreement.

“Rule one. Appearances are everything. To the public, to the press, to the board of directors—you are my wife. You will smile when expected, stand by my side when required, and never let anyone believe this marriage is anything less than genuine.”

Elena nodded slowly. “And in private?”

“In private,” Damian said, his tone dropping lower, “you keep out of my way unless I call for you. Which brings us to rule two. Do not enter my office. Do not touch my files. Do not involve yourself in my business. Curiosity is a dangerous habit, Mrs. Cross.”

She bristled at the way he said her new name, as though it was a chain he had locked around her neck. Still, she kept her expression neutral. “Fine.”

“Rule three,” he continued, pacing now, his hands clasped behind his back. “You will not contact the media. You will not give interviews, you will not speak to journalists, and you will not discuss me—or us—outside of trusted company. I won’t have gossip dragging my name through the mud.”

Her lips parted. “I wouldn’t—”

He cut her off with a glance sharp enough to silence her.

“Rule four. This marriage is not about love. Don’t expect flowers, don’t expect tenderness, and don’t expect me to play the doting husband. If you’re lonely, that’s your burden to carry. Do we understand each other?”

Something inside Elena tightened painfully, but she nodded again. “Yes.”

He paused, studying her for a moment, as though trying to read the thoughts she kept locked behind her eyes. Then he said the last one, almost casually.

“Rule five. No falling in love with me.”

The words struck her harder than she expected. She laughed once, softly, but it wasn’t humor that spilled out—it was disbelief. “You think that’s a danger?”

Damian’s expression didn’t waver. “For your own sake, don’t test it.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy with everything unsaid. Elena’s mind reeled—her mother’s tired eyes, her brother Harper’s hopeful face, the ink of her signature binding her future to his. She was trapped, but she refused to let him see her break.

“Anything else, Mr. Cross?” she asked finally, her voice sharper than she meant it to be.

His lips curved into something resembling approval. “Not tonight.”

He turned away, retrieving his glass of whiskey. “Your room is down the hall, last door on the left. We won’t be sharing one.”

Of course not.

Elena rose slowly, smoothing the wrinkles from her dress. Her heart was pounding, her thoughts loud, but her face remained calm. She had stepped into this world of ice, and she would survive it.

As she reached the doorway, Damian’s voice came again, quiet but commanding.

“Elena.”

She froze.

“Do not mistake kindness for weakness. I married you for convenience, not companionship. Remember that.”

Her hand clenched around the frame of the door, nails digging into the wood. She forced herself to nod once before walking away.

The bedroom was lavish, far more extravagant than anything Elena had ever known—crystal lamps, silk sheets, a view of the city that stretched into forever. And yet, she had never felt more caged.

She sat on the bed, staring out at the storm clouds rolling over the skyline. Damian’s rules echoed in her mind, each one a chain tightening around her. Appearances. Silence. Distance. No love.

But beneath all of it, beneath the suffocating weight of his coldness, a spark of defiance flickered inside her. She wasn’t just a pawn in his empire. She wasn’t just the desperate girl who had signed her life away.

If Damian Cross thought she would simply survive by obeying his rules, he had underestimated her.

Because Elena Harper had her own rules.

And sooner or later, he would learn them.

The storm passed in the night, leaving the city gleaming beneath the pale light of dawn. Elena awoke to the sound of footsteps outside her door. For a moment, she thought Damian had come to check on her, but when the knock came, it was softer.

“Elena? It’s Adrian.”

She opened the door to find Damian’s assistant, Adrian Cole, standing with a tray of breakfast. His dark hair was slightly tousled, his expression warm—so unlike his employer’s.

“I thought you might be hungry,” he said.

Her chest loosened slightly. “Thank you.”

As he set the tray down, his voice dropped lower. “A word of advice—don’t let his rules scare you. He hides behind them, but that’s not all there is to him.”

Elena frowned. “And what else is there?”

Adrian’s smile was faint, almost sad. “That’s something you’ll have to find out yourself.”

Later that day, Elena accompanied Damian to his company’s headquarters. The building was a monument of glass and steel, rising into the sky with the same arrogance as its owner. Photographers swarmed at the entrance, flashes exploding, voices shouting questions.

“Elena, over here! Mrs. Cross, how does it feel to marry the nation’s most eligible bachelor?”

Damian’s hand slipped around hers, strong and possessive, the first physical contact he had offered since the ceremony. His smile was perfectly crafted, charming enough to disarm even the harshest critic.

“To feel,” Damian said smoothly, answering for her, “is irrelevant. What matters is that she is mine.”

The crowd roared with questions, but Elena barely heard them. His grip was tight, too tight, and though the cameras saw only perfection, she felt the truth—control disguised as affection.

She smiled anyway, because appearances were everything.

Inside the building, when the doors closed behind them, she pulled her hand free. “You don’t own me,” she whispered fiercely.

Damian glanced down at her, one brow lifting, as though amused by her rebellion. “We’ll see.”

His words lingered like smoke.

And Elena realized then—his rules weren’t just boundaries. They were battles waiting to be fought.

That night, alone again in her room, Elena wrote her own list in the back of her journal.

1. Protect Harper at all costs.

2. Never lose yourself in his shadow.

3. Find out what he’s hiding.

4. Smile for the cameras, but never forget the truth.

5. Never, ever surrender your heart.

She stared at the list until her eyes blurred, until sleep dragged her under. Somewhere down the hall, Damian Cross sat in his office, staring at a photograph tucked into the bottom drawer of his desk—a photograph no one knew he kept.

A woman’s smile. A betrayal that had broken him.

And a secret that could burn everything.