Chapter 3: The Penthouse Rules

The Thorne penthouse wasn't a home; it was a testament to untouchable wealth.

Blake, the driver, escorted me through a private elevator that bypassed every floor of the skyscraper, opening directly into an apartment that felt less like a living space and more like a museum. It was stark white marble, cold steel, and silent, floor-to-ceiling windows that looked down on the entire city. My small, cluttered apartment—filled with Lucas’s toys and the scent of Mia’s cooking—felt like it belonged to another universe entirely.

Julian was waiting. He had changed from his tailored suit into an even more casually expensive outfit: dark trousers and a crisp, black button-down shirt that did nothing to soften the hard lines of his body. He was on the phone, his voice a low, commanding rumble as he finalized the Sinclair Industries deal.

He ended the call, dismissing Blake with a curt nod, and turned his full, unnerving attention to me.

“The butler, Higgins, has unpacked the single bag you saw fit to bring,” Julian stated, walking toward a massive, unlit fireplace. “Your master suite is at the north end of the floor. My suite is at the south. We will observe the boundaries I am about to establish, for both our sakes.”

He looked completely unimpressed by my sudden intrusion into his life, as if he'd just acquired a piece of furniture.

“This marriage,” Julian began, his voice dropping to the measured tone of a lawyer reading terms, “exists for three reasons: to stabilize my corporate image, to secure the Sinclair deal, and to produce a legitimate heir.”

I flinched inwardly at that last word. The man was so arrogant, he was already planning for the son he didn't know he had.

“As you are aware, our arrangement is purely transactional. Therefore, the following rules are non-negotiable, Evelyn. Break one, and the contract, along with your financial security, is immediately void.”

He held up one finger, his eyes locking mine.

“Rule One: You are not to enter my private suite without my explicit permission, for any reason. Ever.”

I nodded quickly. That was a rule I was more than happy to obey. His suite was a physical representation of the distance I needed to keep from him.

“Rule Two: You will maintain the image of the dutiful wife in public. You will wear what I approve, accompany me to all necessary functions, and, if asked, you will praise my devotion to you. Your past life is irrelevant; you are now Mrs. Thorne.”

“I understand,” I confirmed. This was the easy part. Pretending was what I did best.

“Rule Three: You will not, under any circumstances, socialize with my friends, family, or business partners outside of my presence. Your role is purely to support my image, not to develop your own social network.”

This one stung. It was a clear command to remain isolated and invisible. But it also worked to my advantage; the less contact I had with his world, the safer my secret life remained.

Julian paused, and his eyes drilled into me, as if searching for a weakness.

“Rule Four: We will share a bed only when necessary to convince outsiders, or when we choose to work toward the terms of the contract.”

The air thickened instantly. The casual mention of physical intimacy—the one thing Julian had forgotten but I couldn't—sent a shockwave through me. This was a detail I hadn't prepared for.

"And how... how often will that be deemed 'necessary'?" I asked, my voice barely a tremor.

A corner of Julian's mouth quirked up—the closest he came to a genuine smirk. "When I decide it is, Evelyn. Until then, you will not look at another man, and you will ensure no other man looks at you." His possessiveness, though fake, was immediate and total.

"Rule Five," he finished, his voice final, "You are not to use any internet or digital device in this penthouse other than the official, encrypted tablet I provide. You will not conduct any external, private business without my knowledge."

My heart plummeted. That wasn't a rule; it was a total lockdown.

"But... my old laptop," I stammered. The official tablet would be monitored, secured, and useless for the one thing I had to keep doing: my work as a hacker. "I need my personal files."

Julian merely gestured to a small, sleek tablet resting on a marble stand. "This contains all you need. You're a secretary, Evelyn, not a data analyst. You have no need for 'personal files' that aren't managed by my team."

His dismissal of my hidden skill was arrogant, but it confirmed his strategy: he wasn't checking for a secret son; he was controlling a secret life. Julian was so focused on controlling my communication, he couldn't imagine my real secret was something as simple, and catastrophic, as a child.

I swallowed, forcing myself to look resigned. "I understand, Mr. Thorne. I accept the terms."

"Good." He walked toward the bar, pouring himself a single glass of amber liquid. "Now, put on something suitable. We are having dinner with the Sinclair CEO tonight. You will sit, listen, and look beautiful. You have two hours."

He offered no further instruction, no soft glance, no reassurance. I was his puppet, and the strings were officially pulled tight.

As I walked to the north suite, I gripped the burner phone hidden deep in the lining of my bag. Julian had taken my voice, my freedom, and my privacy. But the last rule—the forced digital isolation—was a challenge.

I was trapped in a fortress built by the enemy, but Julian Thorne had just made a critical mistake: He thought a good security system could stop a genius hacker from working.

He had no idea that his dutiful wife's first job was going to be breaching his very own network.

Hook Question: How will Evelyn manage to contact Mia and check on Lucas, using only the encrypted tablet and Julian's heavily monitored network?