Chapter 2 The Rules Of The Game

I didn't sleep.

Even with the silence of the penthouse cocooning me, even with the massive bed and the smell of unfamiliar roses soaking the air-I didn't close my eyes.

Because I couldn't forget the voice on the phone.

"He'll break you."

Elena's warning kept repeating in my mind like a curse I hadn't been able to reverse. The sister I thought had run out of fear sounded eerily calm. Like she hadn't run at all.

Like she had planned this.

And I had walked straight into her trap.

The morning light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, but it felt artificial. Like the suite had been carved out of another world-a glass tower meant to keep the rest of humanity out and me locked in. A dollhouse made of money and silence.

I sat upright on the edge of the guest bed, still in my white silk nightgown-the one the maids had placed in the wardrobe labeled "Mrs. De Luca." It fit perfectly. Of course it did.

Because it had been meant for Elena.

Everything was.

The room, the view, the gowns, the expectations.

Even the man.

Andre.

I heard him before I saw him.

The sound of polished shoes echoing in the hallway outside the suite. Precise. Purposeful. His presence moved like a storm: invisible until it was right on top of you.

I stood immediately, unsure why. Instinct maybe. Or fear.

The door opened a second later, and Andre entered with the same quiet intensity he'd worn yesterday. Dressed in a charcoal suit with a black shirt beneath-no tie, no softness-he looked like he belonged to the shadows.

His gaze swept over me.

"You're awake."

I nodded. "Barely."

He said nothing for a moment.

Then: "Come. We have rules to discuss."

I followed him into the main living room. It was absurdly large-glass walls, marble floors, a fireplace that didn't even need fire to intimidate. The city below looked like a toy village. Distant. Powerless.

He gestured for me to sit on the long velvet sofa.

I obeyed.

He poured two cups of coffee and handed me one without asking how I took it. Black. Bitter. Like him.

"I don't tolerate lies," he said calmly.

My heart jumped.

"I know."

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing.

"Do you?"

I froze.

"Whatever game you're playing, Elena, end it now. I don't have patience for rebellion, secrets, or disobedience."

I stared down into the coffee.

He thought I was her. Still.

And the moment that changed, I would lose everything.

I lifted the cup to my lips and sipped, hiding the tremble in my fingers.

"I understand," I murmured.

He watched me in silence for a long beat.

Then sat beside me.

Close.

Too close.

"Rule one," he said. "You don't speak to the press. Ever."

I nodded.

"Rule two. You don't leave the penthouse without my permission."

I flinched.

"I thought we'd live like a normal couple-"

"We're not normal. And don't mistake this for a marriage built on love. You're mine for a reason. And I expect you to act accordingly."

I felt the words sink into my skin like acid.

Mine for a reason.

"What reason?" I asked before I could stop myself.

His gaze cut to mine.

"Because I own the De Luca name. And you wear it now. Every word from your mouth, every move you make, reflects on me. So I suggest you choose wisely."

I nodded, the taste of coffee now sour.

"Rule three," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "No touching. Unless I initiate it."

My breath caught.

"No problem," I whispered.

A pause.

"Unless, of course," he added slowly, "you decide to tell me the truth. Then I'll reward you."

I looked at him, startled.

He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"You think I don't know something's off?"

I swallowed.

"I just... it's the pressure. The wedding. Everything happened so fast-"

He leaned in, his fingers brushing my knee.

"Careful," he murmured. "You're better at lying than usual. Almost convincing."

My throat dried.

He stood again, collected his phone, and turned to leave.

"I have meetings all day. You'll stay here. The maids will bring whatever you need."

"And tonight?" I asked before I could stop myself.

He paused at the door.

"Tonight," he said without looking back, "you'll learn what happens when a bride forgets who she belongs to."

The door closed.

I exhaled so hard my lungs hurt.

This wasn't just a cage.

It was a glass one-with all the illusions of freedom and none of the safety.

And I had no idea how long I could pretend.

Hours passed.

I explored the penthouse quietly, careful not to draw attention from the staff. The kitchen was pristine, untouched. The dining room looked like it had hosted royalty. But the bedroom-the real one-was the most terrifying of all.

It was cold. Masculine. With a walk-in closet that screamed control.

And on the left side, all her things. Elena's shoes. Elena's perfume. Elena's silk blouses and nightgowns and lingerie, all sorted by color.

My stomach turned.

I didn't belong here.

None of this was mine.

And yet, I had no way out.

I opened a drawer and found something tucked between folded clothes-an envelope. My fingers shook as I pulled it free.

Inside was a photo.

My sister.

With another man.

They were in a dark club, leaning close, whispering. She was laughing.

The man's face was sharp, cruel. And familiar.

I knew that face from the tabloids.

Nikolai Saranov.

Andre's rival.

My fingers curled tightly around the photo.

No wonder she ran.

This wasn't just a wedding. It was a war.

And now I was the hostage.

That night, the penthouse lights dimmed, casting the rooms in warm gold. I stood near the window in a silk gown the maids insisted I wear-bare-backed, ivory, hugging curves I hadn't realized I had.

I felt exposed.

Like bait.

And when I heard the front door open, my heart stopped.

He was home.

Andre walked in like the storm he always carried-silent, sharp, composed. His eyes met mine across the room and didn't move.

He said nothing as he approached.

Only stopped when we were inches apart.

"You look like a wife tonight," he murmured, voice silk over steel.

"Do I?"

"Yes. Almost."

He reached for my wrist and slowly lifted my hand.

I froze as he traced a single finger across the pulse point.

"Your heart's racing," he said.

I said nothing.

He tilted his head.

"Scared of me?"

"No," I lied.

He leaned closer, breath ghosting against my jaw.

"You should be."

My breath hitched.

Then, just as suddenly, he stepped back.

"Follow me."

I followed him into the private study-a dark room lined in bookshelves and low lighting. A large oak desk stood in the center, and beside it: a safe, slightly ajar.

He pulled something from within and set it on the desk.

A phone.

Mine.

I stared.

"You had it?"

He nodded.

"Of course. You don't get to keep secrets from me."

He tapped the screen. My call log lit up.

The number from this morning.

Blocked. Untraceable.

Still there.

My chest tightened.

"She called me," I said.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Who?"

"Elena."

He didn't react.

"She said I made a mistake. That I shouldn't have married you."

He stepped closer.

"And you believed her?"

I faltered. "I don't know."

"She ran, Maureen," he said, voice suddenly cold. "She ran from me. From this family. From her responsibilities."

My stomach dropped.

He said my name.

Not hers.

He knew.

I didn't even have time to run.

His hands were on me in seconds-gripping my arms, holding me still.

"I wanted to see how long you'd last," he whispered, eyes blazing. "But you're worse than her. At least Elena had the guts to admit what she was."

I gasped. "Then why-why let me marry you?"

"Because I needed a bride. And you were desperate enough to volunteer."

Tears burned my eyes.

"You knew all along?"

"I saw it in your eyes the second you walked down the aisle. You weren't her. But you were useful."

My throat constricted.

"And now?"

His smile was cold.

"Now you're mine, Maureen. Not by accident. But by choice."

"I didn't choose this!"

"You did the second you put on that dress."

His fingers slid to my throat-not tight, just enough to make me feel the weight of his power.

"I could ruin you," he whispered. "Bury your family. Break your world."

I trembled.

"Then why haven't you?"

His eyes darkened.

"Because I want to see what happens when you realize you belong to me."

And with that, he pulled me into a kiss so fierce, so punishing, it stole the breath from my lungs.

This time, it wasn't cold.

It was fire.

Possessive.

Hungry.

And terrifying.

Because a part of me kissed him back.