CHAPTER 4: THE RULES

I stood outside the heavy oak door of Roman’s study.

A sliver of warm amber light bled through the gap at the bottom.

I had been summoned here like a disobedient servant called before the master of the house.

I smoothed down the silk of my dress, forcing my spine completely straight. I refused to let him see how fast my heart was racing. I raised my hand and knocked twice on the thick wood.

"Enter," a deep, gravelly voice commanded from within.

I pushed the heavy door open and stepped into the lion's den.

The study was massive, lined with dark bookshelves and smelling of old leather and expensive bourbon.

Roman sat behind a sprawling mahogany desk. He wasn't reviewing standard contracts or relaxing with a drink. His dark eyes were intensely focused on two heavily encrypted computer monitors.

One of the screens displayed black-and-white CCTV footage. It was a recorded replay of me standing near the East Wing side door just an hour ago.

"I watched you counting the guards in the main corridor," Roman stated without bothering to look up at me.

"I was just looking for the kitchen," I replied, keeping my voice perfectly even.

"Elena said you asked a lot of questions about the biometric scanners," Roman noted smoothly. His long fingers typed a rapid command onto his keyboard.

"I like to know the exact layout of the place I'm trapped in," I countered. "I assume that's allowed?"

He finally lifted his dark, calculating eyes from the screens to meet mine. "Sit."

"I prefer to stand," I replied.

"That wasn't a request, Cora."

"And I am not a dog," I shot back, lifting my chin defiantly. "I can hear your rules perfectly well on my feet."

A muscle feathered along his sharp jawline. He closed the laptop screen with a firm snap.

"You are testing my patience tonight," Roman warned softly.

"I'm just establishing boundaries," I lied. The truth was, my knees were trembling slightly, and I desperately needed to maintain my footing.

"You have no boundaries in this house," Roman stated, leaning back in his heavy leather chair. "You only have my rules."

"Then tell me what they are," I demanded.

"Rule number one," Roman began, his voice dropping to a lethal, icy calm. "There are no locks on your bedroom door."

My breath hitched painfully in my throat. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he said coldly. "I demand instant access to my investment at all times."

"That's a complete invasion of privacy," I argued, my anger immediately spiking. "Even inmates in maximum-security solitary confinement have a basic right to hygiene and privacy while dressing."

Roman’s expression hardened completely. He pulled open a heavy desk drawer and extracted a thick, leather-bound ledger. He threw it onto the polished mahogany desk with a loud, aggressive thud.

"Inmates are funded by state taxes," Roman stated coldly. "You are funded by the twenty million, four hundred and fifty thousand dollars in cash that your father stole from my port operations."

I stared at the heavy ledger, the exact, staggering number hitting me like a physical blow.

"Your privacy holds absolutely zero value against that number," Roman finished. "If I find that door locked, I will physically remove it from the hinges."

"And what if I'm changing my clothes?" I challenged, my face flushing hot with indignation.

"Then I will watch you change," Roman stated without a single shred of hesitation. "Your body belongs to the syndicate now."

"Understood," I bit out, my nails digging so hard into my palms they nearly drew blood. "What else?"

"Rule number two," he continued relentlessly. "You will be in your room, ready for bed, by ten o'clock every night."

"Like a child with a strict curfew?" I mocked bitterly.

"Like a woman waiting for her husband," he corrected, his eyes darkening to pitch black.

I swallowed hard, the harsh reality of my contractual duties suddenly suffocating me. "And the third rule?"

"You will never ask about my business," Roman said, his tone turning deadly serious. "You will not ask where I go, who I see, or what I do."

"That shouldn't be difficult," I replied smoothly. "I have zero interest in your crimes."

Roman stood up slowly. The casual, predatory grace of his movements was terrifying to watch. He walked around the massive desk, closing the distance between us with slow, measured steps.

My instincts screamed at me to step back to create immediate space. I forced my feet to stay firmly planted on the expensive Persian rug.

Roman stopped mere inches away from me. His imposing height forced me to tilt my head entirely back just to maintain eye contact. The potent scent of cedarwood and rich bourbon wrapped tightly around me.

The room felt like it was rapidly losing oxygen. My survival instincts triggered a massive spike of adrenaline.

My breathing became completely shallow, and my palms broke out in a cold sweat as his broad chest nearly touched my face.

"Are we finished?" I asked, my voice dropping to a breathless hush.

"We haven't even started," Roman whispered.

His proximity was completely overwhelming. The sheer heat radiating from his massive chest made my skin prickle with sudden, confusing awareness.

"The contract says I must comply," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. "It doesn't say I have to cower."

"I don't want you to cower," Roman replied, his heavy gaze dropping slowly to my mouth. "I want you to obey."

"My mind belongs to me," I challenged, refusing to look away. "You only bought my body."

Roman’s eyes flared with a sudden, dark heat. He reached out slowly, his large hand moving toward my face. I stopped breathing entirely, bracing for the physical impact.

His long, callused fingers brushed gently against my cheek instead. He grabbed a loose strand of my auburn hair, wrapping it deliberately around his index finger.

"Don't play games with me, Cora," he warned softly.

"I'm not playing," I whispered. My heart was hammering so violently against my ribs I was sure he could feel the vibration.

The rough texture of his fingertips grazing my neck sent a sharp jolt of electricity straight down my spine. My body was betraying my logic entirely. I hated him, but his physical touch was burning me alive.

"You are trembling," Roman noted, his voice a low, gravelly hum vibrating in the quiet room.

"I'm cold," I lied defensively. "This house is like a mausoleum."

"You're terrified," he corrected, pulling slightly on the strand of hair. It forced me to lean a fraction of an inch closer to his chest.

"Maybe I'm just disgusted," I spat back.

Roman let out a dark, mocking chuckle. "Your pulse says otherwise, little bird."

He was right. The frantic beat at the base of my throat was giving my lie away. He was a monster, but the sheer, raw magnetism of his physical presence was impossible to ignore.

"I will fulfill my end of the bargain," I told him. "But don't expect me to enjoy it."

"Enjoyment isn't required," Roman said coldly. "Only submission."

Yet, his thumb slowly traced the line of my jawline. The touch was possessive, heavy, and completely contradictory to his clinical words. He was actively searching for my breaking point.

I leaned slightly into his hand, using the only weapon I had left against him. If he wanted to use my body, I would make sure he felt the burn too.

Roman's breath hitched faintly. A flash of genuine surprise crossed his stoic features. He hadn't expected me to welcome the fire.

For a split second, I thought he was going to kiss me right there in the study. Instead, his jaw tightened violently. He suddenly released my hair, dropping his hand to his side.

The sudden loss of his touch left me feeling strangely cold and entirely off-balance. I watched as he carefully reconstructed his mask of brutal indifference.

Roman stepped back, placing a safe, clinical distance between us once more. His hand slid down, resting briefly on the curve of my hip. He pushed me gently but firmly toward the heavy oak door.

"Go to bed, Cora," he commanded, his voice completely devoid of the heat from seconds ago.

I stumbled a step, turning back to look at him in shock. "What?"

"Wash the scent of the Belmonts off your skin," Roman added, his eyes turning to black ice. "Tonight, I claim my investment."