HIS RULES 1

The car door closed with a dull, final thud.

I flinched at the sound, my body reacting before my mind could catch up. The vehicle smelled of leather and something faintly metallic, the windows tinted so dark the city outside blurred into shadows and streaks of light. I sat stiffly in the back seat, my hands folded in my lap because I didn’t know what else to do with them.

Across from me, Dominic Voss watched in silence.

He hadn’t touched me. Not once. Not when I signed the contract. Not when I packed a single suitcase under his men’s supervision. Not when he guided me out of the apartment I had once called home.

That somehow made it worse.

The car began to move.

I stared straight ahead, refusing to look at him, but I could feel his attention like a weight against my skin. He was calm. Entirely at ease. As if this were nothing more than a routine transaction.

“How long?” I asked finally.

His gaze sharpened slightly. “How long for what?”

“Until we get there.”

“A little under an hour.”

I nodded once, then fell silent again.

The city lights slipped past, familiar streets dissolving into unfamiliar territory. My phone buzzed in my pocket, sudden and jarring. Instinctively, I reached for it.

Dominic’s voice cut through the space between us.

“Don’t.”

My fingers froze.

Slowly, I withdrew my hand.

“Am I allowed to know who’s texting me?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “But you’re not allowed to answer.”

Anger flared. “You can’t control everything I do.”

He leaned back slightly, crossing one leg over the other. “I already do.”

I clenched my jaw, biting back a response. Anything I said felt useless, swallowed by the certainty in his tone.

The car exited the city, the buildings giving way to long stretches of road bordered by trees and iron fencing. Ten minutes passed. Then twenty.

The silence grew oppressive.

“You said I wouldn’t be a prisoner,” I said finally.

“I said you wouldn’t be a victim.”

“There’s a difference,” I snapped.

“Yes,” he agreed. “Prisoners fight cages. Victims surrender. You’ll do neither.”

I turned to face him then. “Then what am I supposed to do?”

His eyes met mine, dark and unreadable.

“Adapt.”

The car slowed.

Tall gates rose ahead of us, wrought iron curling into sharp, elegant patterns. Security cameras tracked our approach. As we neared, the gates began to open silently.

Beyond them stood an estate.

Not a house. An estate.

It was vast, looming against the night sky, its structure a blend of old stone and modern glass. Lights glowed softly from within, illuminating wide balconies and towering windows. Everything about it spoke of power and isolation.

My chest tightened.

“This is where you live?” I asked.

“This is where we live,” he corrected.

The car rolled to a stop beneath the portico. Before I could react, one of the guards stepped forward and opened my door.

I hesitated.

Dominic stepped out smoothly, then turned back toward me.

“Elara,” he said, using my name for the first time. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

I forced myself to move, stepping out into the cool night air. Gravel crunched beneath my shoes. The house loomed over me, immense and unforgiving.

Inside, the estate was quiet.

Too quiet.

The floors were polished stone, the ceilings high. Every surface gleamed, immaculate and impersonal. Staff moved silently through the space, heads lowered, eyes averted.

Dominic walked ahead, unhurried. I followed, my footsteps echoing far too loudly.

“This is not a hotel,” he said without looking back. “You’ll learn the layout quickly. You’ll learn who to speak to and who not to.”

“Do I get a room?” I asked bitterly.

He stopped at the base of a wide staircase and turned.

“You get several.”

I frowned. “Several?”

“You’ll sleep in mine.”

My breath caught.

“That wasn’t in the contract.”

“It was implied.”

“I’m not sleeping with you,” I said flatly.

Dominic regarded me calmly. “You won’t be sleeping with me.”

Relief flared—brief, fragile.

“You’ll be sleeping near me,” he continued. “There’s a difference.”

I didn’t like the sound of that either.

He gestured to the stairs. “Come.”

We ascended in silence, the staircase curving upward like a spine. At the top, he led me down a long corridor before stopping in front of double doors.

He opened them.

The bedroom was enormous.

Dark wood, steel accents, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the estate grounds. A bed dominated the center of the room, large enough to feel intimidating rather than inviting.

My pulse quickened.

“There’s a sitting area through there,” Dominic said, pointing to an adjoining room. “You’ll use it when you want space.”

“When,” I repeated. “Not if?”

He looked at me. “You’re not a captive animal, Elara. You’re my wife.”

The word sent a shiver through me.

“Rules,” he continued. “We establish them now.”

He moved closer, stopping just short of invading my space.

“Rule one,” he said. “You don’t leave this estate without my permission.”

I swallowed.

“Rule two. You don’t lie to me.”

My fingers curled into fists.

“Rule three,” he said softly. “You don’t run.”

I met his gaze. “And if I break them?”

His expression hardened.

“Then you’ll learn why they exist.”

A knock sounded at the door.

A woman entered quietly, carrying a tray. She set it down on the table near the window and left without a word.

“Eat,” Dominic said. “You’ll need your strength.”

I stared at the food, my appetite nonexistent.

“What happens next?” I asked.

His eyes lingered on me.

“Now,” he said, “you begin to understand what you agreed to.”