Chapter 2 Rules I Didn't Know Existed

I barely slept.

Not because he said much.

Because he did not.

The drive back had been quiet. Too quiet. He dropped me at my apartment without another word, waited until I got inside, then drove away.

No apology. No explanation.

Just control.

By the time I arrived at the Cole house the next morning for Chloe's birthday brunch, I had convinced myself I imagined half of it.

The garden looked different in daylight. Less magical. More expensive. Staff moved quietly between tables arranging plates and coffee cups.

Chloe spotted me first.

She was already in oversized sunglasses even though it was barely ten in the morning.

"You disappeared last night," she said, hugging me. "Dad almost had a heart attack."

"I didn't," Damian said calmly from behind her.

I froze.

He stood near the patio doors, phone in hand, expression unreadable. If someone had not been in that driveway last night, they would have thought nothing had changed.

He looked normal.

Controlled.

Untouched.

Chloe rolled her eyes. "You were stalking the driveway like a security guard."

"I was making sure guests left safely."

His eyes shifted to me.

Only for a second.

But it lasted too long.

My stomach tightened.

We sat at the long outdoor table overlooking the garden. The morning sun made everything look softer than it had the night before. Chloe talked endlessly about gifts and pictures and who drank too much. I nodded when required. Laughed when expected.

Damian sat at the head of the table.

He did not look at me.

Until he did.

And when he did, it felt deliberate.

One of the house staff stepped behind my chair to refill my coffee. She had worked for the Coles for years. I knew her face. She smiled politely as she reached for my cup.

"That's enough," Damian said without looking up.

The woman paused. "Sir?"

"She doesn't need more."

I looked down at my half empty cup. "I'm fine."

He finally lifted his eyes to mine. "You've had enough."

The staff member withdrew quietly and moved to the next guest.

Chloe leaned toward me and whispered, "Ignore him. He turns into a control freak after events."

Control freak.

That was one word for it.

Later, one of Chloe's friends joined us. A guy I vaguely knew from campus. He slid into the seat beside me and started telling a story about someone falling into the pool last night.

The guy laughed and nudged my arm as he finished his story. It was harmless. Easy. The kind of interaction I used to have without thinking.

I laughed.

It felt forced.

Damian's fork stopped against his plate.

Not loudly. Just enough that I heard it.

I didn't look at him immediately.

I didn't need to.

The weight of his attention pressed against my skin like heat.

The guy leaned closer. "So are you going to the after party tonight?"

"There's an after party?" I asked.

"Small thing. Just friends."

"She won't be attending," Damian said evenly.

Chloe blinked. "Dad."

"What?"

"She can answer for herself."

"I wasn't going to go," I said quickly.

Which was true. But not the point.

Damian's jaw tightened slightly before he resumed eating.

It was subtle.

But I saw it.

The entire brunch passed like that. Small interruptions. Quiet corrections. His eyes tracking every movement I made.

By the time guests began leaving, I felt restless.

Confused.

Annoyed.

I waited until Chloe went upstairs to shower before walking into the house.

Damian was already in his office.

The door was half open.

I knocked once and stepped in.

He stood behind his desk, reading something on his tablet.

"You look like you have something to say," he said without looking up.

"Why are you acting like I did something wrong?"

He lowered the tablet slowly.

"You put yourself in a situation that could have ended badly."

"I wasn't in danger."

"You were."

His tone was calm. Too calm.

"I knew what I was doing."

"Did you?"

"Yes."

He studied me like he was trying to measure something.

"You don't understand the kind of men who circle girls like you."

There it was.

The line I had felt sitting in his silence all morning.

"Girls like me?"

He stepped around the desk.

Not rushed.

Not angry.

Just deliberate.

"Naive."

"I am not naive."

"Reckless."

"I was getting into a car."

"With a man who sees opportunity in vulnerability."

I crossed my arms. "You don't get to decide who I talk to."

"I decide who walks into my house."

"I was leaving."

"And I stopped you."

Silence fell between us.

He was close now.

Close enough that I remembered every second of the driveway.

"Why?" I asked quietly.

His eyes flickered. Just once.

"You think every man has good intentions."

"That doesn't answer my question."

He inhaled slowly.

"You don't know what men like him are thinking."

"And you do?"

"Yes."

My heart pounded.

"And what kind of men don't circle girls like me?" I asked.

The question left my mouth before I could reconsider it.

He did not answer immediately.

His gaze dropped.

To my mouth.

It lingered.

Then lifted back to my eyes.

Something unreadable passed across his face.

The room felt smaller.

"I am not a girl," I said softly.

His jaw tightened.

"No," he agreed quietly.

For a second I thought he would say more.

He did not.

He stepped back first.

Which somehow felt like he was the one regaining control.

"You should focus on your own life," he said. "Not on men who don't deserve your attention."

"And who decides that?"

"I do."

The confidence in his voice should have angered me.

Instead it made my pulse jump.

"That's not how this works," I said.

"It is in my house."

"And if I'm not in your house?"

His eyes darkened slightly.

"That doesn't change the rules."

"What rules?"

He looked at me for a long moment.

"The ones you didn't know existed."

I left his office more unsettled than when I entered.

Because this time it wasn't just about a stranger's hand on my waist.

It was about something else.

Something neither of us had named.

And I was beginning to realize I did not want him to.