Chapter Thirteen: Rules of the Game

I slept fitfully all through the night, turning and tossing.

Half afraid Dominic would change his mind in the middle of the night and take what he wanted anyway.

Half afraid that I wanted him to do just that.

I was hot, aching, throbbing, and wet all over.

For a man who was just teasing me.

A man who just wanted to mess with me.

So yes, I don’t sleep well. One time I turned to glare at the huge couch and of course there he was, sleeping peacefully and looking so hot while at it.

“Arrogant, proud, cold bastard.” I muttered and forcefully closed my eyes.

And then it was morning and I woke up to silence.

Heavy, stretching silence.

The kind that felt too big, too clean. Like something had been scrubbed out of the room.

I blinked against the soft morning light pouring in from the massive windows. The sheets beside me were smooth, untouched. Cold.

He hadn’t come to bed.

Of course he hadn’t. He said he wouldn’t.

I need to remember that Dominic Blackwood isn’t Blake Reynolds. Dominic is a man of his words.

I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling, that ridiculously huge chandelier winking down at me like it knew something I didn’t. I was still in my silk chemise. Still wearing the diamond-studded wedding band he slid on my finger yesterday like a collar.

Scarlett Blackwood.

It wasn’t a dream. I was really her now.

A billionaire’s wife. A scandal magnet. A walking target.

I dragged myself upright, muscles sore in places I didn’t know I had. The events of the night before clung to my skin like ash—Dominic’s breath against my cheek, his words, the look in his eyes when he said all he did.

And the worst part?

He wasn’t wrong.

I pulled on the silk robe that had been laid out at the foot of the bed—black, of course, because even comfort had to look calculated in this house—and padded out of the room barefoot.

The mansion was too quiet because of course, it was a whole ass city and had barely fifty people in it.

Where will I even find any living soul? I thought until I smelled delicious sizzling bacon nearby.

Before I could stop myself, my legs started to pad toward the smell. I barely ate anything yesterday, now I’m ravenous. I could eat a whole man.

A man like Dominic Blackwood would suit my palate just fine right now.

You’re not talking about just food anymore are you, Scarlett?? Bad girl.

It didn’t take long to locate the mini kitchen— I wonder just how many kitchens this mansion has.

Dominic was in the kitchen, shirtless, like some twisted reward for surviving hell. His slacks hung low on his hips, his back bare and sculpted like sin, a cup of coffee cradled in one hand as he typed something on his phone with the other.

He didn’t glance up.

Didn’t say good morning.

Didn’t even ask if I’d slept well, which was just as well, because I didn’t.

I crossed the room slowly, still watching him like he was a live wire waiting to spark. The kitchen island gleamed under the soft sunlight. A tray of fresh fruit and toast sat untouched. My stomach twisted, loud.

His voice broke the quiet.

“There's a drone outside the window.”

I blinked. “A what?”

He nodded toward the floor-to-ceiling glass. “Top left. You can see the lens if the sun hits it just right.”

I turned. And there it was.

Hovering like a silent eye, watching. Filming.

A shiver crawled down my spine.

“You knew it was there?”

He took a sip of his coffee. “Of course.”

“And you didn’t— I don’t know—shut the curtains?”

“Why would I?” he asked, finally meeting my gaze. His eyes were impossibly calm. “Let them see the happy couple enjoying their morning.”

This bastard.

My jaw clenched. “This isn’t a marriage.”

“It is now.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re glowing,” he said, motioning to my robe. “The press is going to have a field day.”

I grabbed a glass from the counter, poured some water with shaking hands.

“You don’t care that we’re being watched?”

“I care that we control the narrative.” He set his mug down and walked around the island, closing the space between us with calculated grace. “Which means starting today, there are rules.”

I crossed my arms. “More rules?”

“Smile for the cameras,” he said, circling me like a predator. “Play the doting wife. Hold my hand when we’re in public. Laugh at my jokes. Pretend you’re in love.”

“You’re insane.”

“No.” He stopped in front of me, lifted my hand, and twisted the ring on my finger just slightly. “I’m practical.”

My throat dried.

“And what do I get in return?” I asked.

He smirked. “A billion-dollar shield. My last name. And revenge served cold.”

I yanked my hand back. “Any more rules?”

His smirk deepened.

“Don’t fall in love.”

The silence after that sentence was louder than any scream.

I didn’t think. I didn’t plan.

My fingers tightened on my glass of water and I threw it at him.

It hit his chest, shattering with a sharp crack.

Cold liquid spilled across his skin, dripping down the muscles of his stomach.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t even blink.

Fuck, what have I done?? He’s going to kill me!

He just looked down, then back up—his gaze unreadable, like I hadn’t just assaulted him in his own home.

“Feel better?” he asked softly.

“No,” I breathed. “But it’s a start.”

And then he turned.

Calmly. Casually.

He walked toward the hallway like I hadn’t just lost control in the middle of his designer kitchen.

He didn’t flinch.

He didn’t yell.

He just smirked—cool, detached—and disappeared down the hall without another word.

What the actual fuck?

I stood there, hands shaking, chest heaving, glass shards glittering at my feet like fallen stars.

And that was the problem.

I should’ve felt powerful.

Instead, I felt rattled.

And the worst part?

Some traitorous, buried part of me was also—

Turned on.

Because Dominic Blackwood didn’t scare easily. He didn’t chase. He didn’t beg.

He pushed.

And part of me—God help me—wanted to push back.