Rules

Elena's Pov

The door clicked shut behind Carlos, and the room suddenly felt too big. I slumped to the floor right there beside the massive bed, the sheet I'd been clutching slipped from my fingers, pooling around my hips like a useless white flag of surrender.

Tears came hot and fast, blurring the opulent room into streaks of gold and cream. How could Papa have done this? How could he look me in the eye all those years, calling me his little star, promising me the world, and then auction me off like I was nothing more than a chipped vase he no longer wanted? I still didn't want to believe it was real, but reality was strong.

I didn't hear the knock at first. Or maybe I did and just couldn't bring myself to care. The second knock was sharper, and before I could even wipe my face, the door swung open.

A woman stepped inside like she owned the place. She was in her early thirties, tall and elegant in a crisp white blouse tucked into a black pencil skirt, her dark hair pulled into a sleek bun that didn't allow a single strand to rebel. Her face was beautiful in a sharp, no-nonsense way, high cheekbones, winged eyeliner, lips painted a deep wine red. She carried a garment bag over one arm and a small leather case in the other. Her eyes flicked over me once and she didn't flinch.

"Up," she said, voice brisk but not unkind. "The boss doesn't like waiting, and neither do I."

I tried to cover myself, scrambling for the sheet, but my hands shook so badly I only managed to tangle it worse. "Who—who are you?"

"Sailor," she answered, already crossing the room. She set the garment bag on a velvet chaise and crouched in front of me without hesitation. Up close, I caught the faint scent of jasmine and something metallic, like gun oil. "I've been with Mr. Hernandez for eight years. I handle… everything he doesn't want to." She offered me a hand, perfectly manicured nails painted the same deep red as her lips. "Come on, Elena, shower first. You smell like fear and cheap auction perfume."

I wanted to snap at her, to tell her to leave me alone, but the fight had drained out of me the moment Carlos walked away. My legs felt like they belonged to someone else. Sailor didn't wait for permission. She hooked an arm under mine and hauled me upright with surprising strength, guiding me toward the en-suite bathroom that was bigger than my entire old apartment.

The shower was already running by the time she steered me inside, steam billowing out like a warm fog. She tested the water with her wrist, nodded once, and then started unbuttoning her own blouse sleeves, rolling them up efficiently.

"I can do it myself," I mumbled, even as my knees wobbled.

"You can barely stand." She stepped under the spray with me, fully clothed, and guided me under the scalding stream. The heat hit my skin like a slap, shocking me awake. I gasped, but she didn't let go. "Breathe. Good girl."

My hands trembled as I tried to reach for the shampoo bottle on the marble shelf. Sailor clicked her tongue, took it from me, and squeezed a generous amount into her palm. "Let me." Her fingers worked through my tangled hair with surprising gentleness, massaging my scalp in slow circles.

"Why are you being nice?" I asked, voice small.

"I'm not nice," she replied matter-of-factly, rinsing the suds away. "I'm efficient. And the boss wants you presentable, not a sobbing mess." She paused, then added softer, "He hates crying in front of his men. Keep your chin up. It makes things… easier."

I closed my eyes against the water and the fresh wave of humiliation. "What happened last night?" The question tumbled out before I could stop it. "Did he… did we…?"

Sailor's hands stilled for half a second, then continued working conditioner through the ends of my hair. When she spoke, I could hear the smirk in her voice even without seeing her face. "If the Devil had taken you, sweetheart, you'd still be feeling it this morning. He has… standards. You were out cold from the sedative they gave you at the auction. He carried you up here himself, stripped you, and decided to keep you warm himself.."

Relief crashed over me so hard my legs almost buckled again. Not that it changed anything, I was still here, but at least the worst hadn't happened while I was unconscious. Sailor finished rinsing me, turned off the water, and wrapped me in the fluffiest towel I'd ever felt. She dried me with the same brisk efficiency, then led me back into the bedroom.

The garment bag was unzipped now, revealing the outfit Carlos had apparently chosen for me. A silk blouse the color of deep midnight, cut low enough at the neckline to make my stomach twist. Tailored black trousers that looked like they cost more than my father's old empire. And a pair of glossy black Louboutins with those signature red soles.

"He picked this?" I asked, staring at the clothes like they might bite me.

"Personally." Sailor held up the blouse. "Arms up."

I let her dress me because fighting felt pointless. The silk slid over my skin like cool water, the neckline dipping just enough to show the hollow of my throat and the tops of my breasts. The trousers hugged my hips perfectly, and the heels made me three inches taller. Sailor stepped behind me, produced a hairbrush from her leather case, and started working through my damp strands with long, steady strokes.

"You're beautiful when you're not crying," she said quietly. "Use that. Men like him notice strength more than tears."

I met her eyes in the full-length mirror. "Why do you stay with him?"

She smiled, small and sharp. "Because the world outside these walls is worse. Now chin up. He's waiting."

She didn't give me time to argue. She took my elbow, gentle but firm, and steered me out of the bedroom into a long marble hallway lined with modern art and recessed lighting. My heart hammered so hard I could feel it in my throat. What was he going to say? What was he going to do?

Sailor stopped in front of a set of double doors made of dark wood and etched glass. She gave my arm one last squeeze, almost reassuring, then pushed both doors open.

The private dining room stretched out before me, all floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a glittering turquoise sea. Sunlight poured across a long ebony table set for two. And at the head of it, perfectly composed in a fresh black shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, sat Carlos Hernandez.

His dark eyes lifted the moment the doors opened, locking onto mine with that same lethal calm from earlier. A faint red mark still lingered on his cheek where I'd slapped him. He didn't smile. He didn't speak. He simply gestured to the empty chair beside him with two fingers, like a king summoning his subject.

My stomach flipped. Sailor gave me a tiny push forward and stepped back, closing the doors behind me with a soft, final click.

I was alone with him again. And this time, I had nowhere left to run.

Without wasting time, he pushed forward, the papers he had in front of him. "Now that you've understood that you're mine to use, I'm going to read you the rules you need to obey if you want to survive as my wife."