Chapter 6

The Rules We Don’t Say

The door shut behind him with a soft click, but her voice still echoed in his ear like a faint music.

Elara Wolfe.

He knew she didn't want to be married to him.But she had put on a brave face and even now when she could be crying and whimpering about the fact that she had married a complete stranger she was taking it in good stride.

He hadn't expected her to challenge him without raising her voice or unsettle him without even trying. She hadn’t slept, he could tell. But she'd stood her ground, sharp-eyed and composed, like someone used to swallowing discomfort whole.

He moved through the hallway with measured steps. Always measured. Always deliberate. Routine had long ago replaced feeling.

The estate had always been silent. Ordered. Predictable.

And now?

Now there was a woman in his wing who looked at him like he wasn’t just a name with power but a man with questions he couldn’t afford to answer.

Not anytime soon.

Adrian entered his private study, pulling his phone from his pocket.

“Connect me to Darius,” he said to the automated intercom. Within seconds, a soft chime confirmed the call.

Darius Reid — one of his senior analysts. Sharp. Efficient. Loyal. Hopefully.

The line clicked.

“Mr. Wolfe,” came the brisk voice on the other end.

I want the quarterly reports for Bellington refined by noon. And rerun the background check on Wexford. Something’s off in the asset transfer timeline.

“Yes, sir.”

“Also,” Adrian added, sitting behind his desk and glancing out the window, Tell Miss. Khouri to freeze the Langston deal. I don’t trust the leak. If it leaks again, cut it off at the root. Quietly.

A beat of hesitation. Then, “Understood sir.”

He hung up without saying goodbye.

This was how control stayed intact by staying ten steps ahead. By not letting anything close enough to burn.

But she had already cracked something.

“The girl with the tired eyes and stubborn mouth.she wasn’t a threat”. Not yet. But she was no pawn either.

He sat still for a moment, the silence stretching.

He should’ve felt relief. Instead, he felt… watched.

Not by Elara.

By the part of himself he thought he’d buried with his mother.

He stood up and walked towards the closed window, his reflection barely visible against the glass. She was in the house. She was in his life. And the strangest part?

He didn’t hate it.

_____

The hallway outside her room was quiet, too quiet — like the air itself held secrets.

Elara moved slowly, her slippers silent against the polished marble floor as she wandered past closed doors and carefully arranged art into the estate. The estate didn’t feel lived in . It felt curated. Like a museum meant to impress guests who never came.

Genevieve had offered to give her a tour, but Elara had politely declined. She needed to explore on her own. To breathe.

She looked at her phone one more time and stared at the empty notifications.

No calls. No texts.

Not even from her mother.

They hadn’t even bothered to check if she made it to her new home. If she was safe. Alive. 

Her throat tightened.

A laugh escaped her lips dry and bitter. “Of course not,” she whispered to herself. Why would they?

Frustrated, she opened her messages and typed quickly.

Hey Lily, it’s me. I’m okay. I… I got married. I’ll explain everything later, I promise. Just… I miss you.so much.

She stared at the message, hovering over the send button. Then pressed it.

She kept on walking towards the estate while trailing her fingers along the paneled walls, noting the way everything was designed to be admired but not touched. Every detail whispered money, power.

She walked past the second floor gallery, the rose garden, the library with its vaulted ceiling and books older than her hometown. It was beautiful, yes. But also curated. A place made for appearances.

She walked in the hallway’s path until she came to a heavy door, slightly ajar.

It didn’t look like the other rooms.

Inside, the space was darker. Masculine. Shelves of books. A small book collection. A desk that looked untouched but clearly used. This had to be someone's office.

His office?

She hesitated.

Curiosity nudged her forward.

The room smelled like cedar and something faintly warm — the scent of him. Her fingers brushed over the edge of a leather notebook. Closed. Neat. She didn’t dare open it.

Her eyes moved to a glass liquor cabinet which gleamed in the corner, untouched. To a large oak desk and behind the large oak desk — a portrait.

Elara froze.

The woman in the painting was beautiful. Not in the way magazines loved — but regal. Poised. Sharp cheekbones and striking green eyes that felt both distant and sad. Her dark hair was pulled back in soft waves. Her presence commanded the room, even in silence.She had a quiet smile, almost wistful. And there was something in her gaze that felt like softness locked away behind glass.So lonely.

Elara stepped closer, inexplicably drawn in. The frame was gold, ornate, but there was no nameplate. No indication of who she was.

His ex? she thought bitterly. No. Too old… too elegant.

His mother?

She didn’t know why the thought unsettled her. Maybe because the eyes in the painting reminded her of Adrian’s when he wasn’t wearing that detached mask.

Elara didn’t hear the footsteps behind her.

Not until the voice came, low and unmistakable.

“You shouldn’t be in here.”

Elara spun.

Adrian stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, the faintest trace of surprise in his expression. Not anger. Not even annoyance. Just… unreadable.

His eyes flickered to the frame in her hand and then back to her.

She stepped back from the frame. “I’m sorry. The door was open. I wasn’t snooping—”

“It’s fine,” he said, walking in. His gaze flicked to the portrait. Most people don’t notice her.

Elara looked between him and the woman on the wall. She’s hard to ignore.

He didn’t answer immediately.

Then: “She was my mother.”

So she’d been right.

Elara studied the woman again. “She looks… strong.”

“She was.”

“She’s beautiful,” Elara added before she could stop herself.

He nodded,“She was.”

There was something clipped in his tone now, a wall sliding back into place.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” she said quietly.

“You’re not a guest,” Adrian replied. “This is your home now.”

The words didn’t quite settle in her chest. Home.

She walked toward the desk, fingers trailing the edge of it. It doesn’t feel like one.

Adrian watched her carefully. That’s because you’re expecting comfort. The Wolfe estate isn’t built for that.

“What was it built for?”

He paused. “Legacy. Power. Control.”

She turned to him. And you? What were you built for?

Something unreadable flickered in his eyes. “Survival.”

There was silence between them ,not cold, but weighted.

Elara finally asked, Why keep her portrait here? Not in the main hall? Or somewhere people would see?

“Because she wouldn’t have wanted them to.”

He moved behind the desk, resting a hand on the chair’s back. She hated this house. Hated what it did to people.

“And yet you stayed.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

Elara looked at him then, really looked — at the tired edges of his posture, the way he avoided the picture’s eyes.

“I think she’d like you,” he said quietly, surprising her.

She blinked. “Why?”

He shrugged. “Because you don’t flinch.”

Elara’s heart did something strange. That doesn’t mean I’m not scared.

“I know,” he said. “That’s what makes it impressive.”

A pause settled between them, warm and heavy.

Then his voice softened, a rare drop in tone. When would you like to resume your acting school?

Elara blinked, caught off guard. You’d let me go back?

“You said it matters to you.” He crossed his arms, leaning slightly against the desk. I don’t break what I promise.

She hesitated. “Soon. Maybe… this week. I don’t want to fall behind.”

He nodded. “I’ll have the driver take you. Cain will arrange security.”

Her brow lifted. “Security?”

“Non-negotiable.”

She almost smiled again. “Control issues?”

“Survival instincts,” he corrected.

He walked a little further into the room, toward the far corner where the shadows didn’t quite reach, then turned back to her.

“Elara,” he said, the name low and steady, That’ll be your room,” he added quietly.

Elara gave a simple nod. “That’s fine by me.”

“What about you?”

“Don’t worry about that,” he said, a shadow flickering across his face.

It was the first time he’d offered something without expectation and she didn’t know what to do with that.

What about you?

Don't worry about that.

Like I said, you’ll have your space, your privacy. I won’t enter unless invited. And I won’t… force anything.

Her gaze met his. Quiet. Guarded.

“Not even the wedding night?”

“Especially not that,” he said.

A beat passed, and he added, I won’t touch you unless you want me to. You have my word.

Elara didn’t respond right away. But in that silence, something in her posture shifted. Loosened. A thread of tension letting go.

She nodded once, slowly.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

He just looked at her — not with warmth, not quite but with something close to it. Then his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, eyes scanning the screen.

“Julian” lit up.

His expression darkened.

“What is it?” she asked.

He hesitated. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

Then he turned and walked out, his steps clipped.

And once again, she was alone in a room that didn’t feel like hers, staring at a woman who’d survived the Wolfe name — and wondering if she would too.