Chapter 002 - First Day in Hell
1249 Words
Neya’s legs trembled as she stumbled back from the office door, clutching her bag like it was a shield. Her mind raced in impossible loops.
This isn’t real. It can’t be real. He can’t actually make me… his wife.
But the document was there on the desk. Clean, official, and impossible to ignore. She could almost hear the paper whispering at her.
You signed it. Now you belong.
Her stomach lurched. She bolted for the door, but before she could reach it, the door behind her opened slowly.
Adrian Kade stepped out.
He didn’t chase her, didn’t yell. He just… stood there. Quiet. Calm. Waiting. Like a predator watching prey wrestle with fear.
“You think this is a mistake,” he said. His voice was low, controlled, almost lazy. “But you signed it. That’s all that matters.”
Neya’s chest heaved. “I didn’t read it!”
“Yes, I saw. That’s why it’s more binding than ever.”
She stared at him, disbelief flickering across her features. “I can’t… I can’t live like this!”
Adrian’s eyes narrowed slightly, but his lips didn’t twitch. He leaned against the desk, hands casually crossed. “You don’t have to like it. You just have to obey it.”
Neya froze. Obey. The word cut through her like ice.
Obey.
She backed up slowly, looking around the room for some kind of exit, some loophole, anything. The office was massive but… suffocating. Polished marble floors reflected her panic. Expensive furniture loomed around her. It all screamed his control, and she hated it instantly.
“I… I’ll go to my apartment,” she said quickly, hoping the words sounded firm. “I’ll leave you alone.”
“You live in my city,” he said casually, “and now legally, you’re my wife. So… you don’t leave. Not unless I say so.”
The weight of it hit her suddenly, like a punch to the gut.
Her apartment. Her freedom. Gone.
“You’re insane!” she spat. Her voice shook, but she forced it out. “This is insane!”
Adrian’s eyes darkened just slightly. Enough to make her swallow nervously.
“Insanity,” he said, almost to himself, “is often just seeing the truth and hating it.”
Neya’s mind screamed. How did it come to this? How could one signature ruin my entire life?
She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. She wanted to rip the contract into tiny pieces and burn it. But none of that would work. She was trapped. Completely.
And Adrian… that man… was in control.
He moved then, slowly, deliberately. Not toward her, but just enough to show she couldn’t ignore him. His presence filled the room, and Neya realized with a sinking feeling that she had never, ever been in a room that made her feel so… powerless.
“First things first,” Adrian said, voice cold and precise. “You will follow rules. Simple. You will live here during the week. You will attend meals. You will interact when necessary. That’s all.”
Neya opened her mouth, ready to argue, but no words came out. Her throat felt raw.
“And second,” he continued, “you will not run. Because if you do…” He let the threat hang in the air. “I will find you. And trust me, it will not be pleasant.”
Not pleasant.
Her heart hammered. He didn’t yell. He didn’t threaten with words alone. His calm, deadly certainty said everything she needed to know. He meant it.
The next hours were a blur. Adrian handed her a set of keys—his apartment, he said casually. The language he used made it sound like he was giving her a gift, but the words hit Neya like chains around her wrists.
She tried to protest. “I don’t need this. I’ll manage—”
“You will take them,” he interrupted smoothly. “And you’ll move in tonight.”
“No. I… I can’t…”
“You can,” he said simply. “And you will.”
The calm in his tone was maddening. It didn’t allow argument. It didn’t allow emotion. He wasn’t cruel in a typical sense. He was absolute. Unmovable. Like a wall of ice.
By the time Neya arrived at the apartment, the sun was dipping low. Shadows stretched across the city skyline. The space itself was pristine, sterile. Minimalist. Expensive. Cold. And entirely hers—if she was willing to live there under his terms.
She dropped her bag heavily by the door, her back against the wall.
I can’t stay here. I can’t.
Her phone buzzed—messages from friends checking on her. She ignored them. She didn’t have words to explain. You wouldn’t believe me anyway.
Then came the knock.
Slow. Deliberate. Adrian.
She froze, sliding her back down the wall.
“Relax,” his voice said outside the door. “I’m not coming in.”
Not coming in… yet.
Her pulse raced. She knew he could enter whenever he wanted, legally or not, and there was nothing she could do.
“You’ll eat dinner with me,” he said simply. “And then we’ll discuss the rules of our… cohabitation.”
Cohabitation. The word hit her harder than any insult.
He’s really going to make me live with him. Me. His… wife.
Her hands shook as she pulled out some clothes to unpack. She couldn’t stop thinking about him—his calm, dangerous presence, the way he’d cornered her in that office, and the effortless authority that had made her entire body tense from head to toe.
This is hell. Absolute hell.
Hours passed in a tense blur. When dinner came, Adrian was already seated at the dining table, reading something on a tablet. He didn’t look up. Didn’t invite her to sit.
Neya gritted her teeth, forcing herself to take a chair opposite him. Every muscle in her body screamed to run, scream, fight—but she didn’t. Not yet.
Silence stretched between them.
Then he looked up. One piercing glance, sharp and unreadable.
“You’re adjusting,” he said.
“I’m not adjusting,” she replied sharply.
“Yes, you are,” he countered evenly. “Otherwise you’d be crying or screaming. Which is… normal. But you’re not doing that.”
Neya’s chest tightened. He was right. She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t screaming. But her heart was racing like a drum.
I am scared out of my mind, she thought. And he knows it.
Dinner passed in tense silence. Adrian didn’t speak much, didn’t ask her questions. He simply ate, occasionally glancing at her like he could see through her skin, read every thought, every fear, every lie she told herself to survive.
Afterward, he stood. “Tomorrow, we start… living together properly.”
“Tomorrow?” she echoed. “I… I can’t do this!”
“You can,” he said simply. “And you will.”
That night, Neya lay in the guest room—her new bedroom. The walls were white, sterile, expensive. Every detail screamed control. She hugged her knees, staring at the ceiling.
Tomorrow, she thought, he’ll make me follow rules. I’ll have to see him again. I’ll have to… live with him. And I hate him already.
But underneath the hate, a flicker of something else stirred. Fear? Anticipation? She didn’t know. She just knew one thing.
She wasn’t ready.
Not by a long shot.
- Writer
