Chapter 2: His rules
921 Words
The morning light streamed through the sheer curtains, soft and golden. It would’ve been beautiful—if Aria weren’t waking up in a cage.
She sat up slowly, the unfamiliar softness of the bed almost mocking her. Around her, the room looked like something out of a magazine: expensive, tasteful, sterile. A princess’s prison.
A quiet knock made her jump.
Before she could answer, the door opened, and a woman in her thirties stepped in. Her dark hair was pinned back, her uniform crisp. She carried a tray with fresh fruit, eggs, tea, and something that looked far too elegant to eat under the circumstances.
“Good morning, Miss Valentina,” the woman said gently. “I’m Helena. I’ll be attending to you.”
“I didn’t ask for food,” Aria replied flatly.
“I know. But Mr. Moretti insists you eat.”
Of course he does.
She crossed her arms, refusing to touch the tray. “I don’t need a maid.”
Helena didn’t argue. She simply placed the tray down and left with quiet grace.
Aria stared at the untouched food. Her stomach growled, but she refused to give him that win.
---
Hours passed.
By the time the door opened again, the sky outside had turned gray.
And there he was.
Damien Moretti—dark-haired, crisp in black, too calm for someone who bought women like paintings.
He glanced at the untouched tray, then at her.
“You’re really going to starve yourself, aren’t you?”
She lifted her chin. “It’s not about the food. It’s about control.”
“Then you should know,” he said, stepping into the room, “I don’t lose.”
He took slow steps toward her, like a man approaching a wild animal. “I get it. You’re angry. You think I’m the villain. That this is a prison.”
“Isn’t it?” she shot back. “You bought me. You brought me here. Against my will.”
Damien stopped a few feet away, his gaze locking with hers.
“I didn’t hurt you. I could’ve left you with the men who would’ve.” His voice didn’t rise, but there was something fierce behind it. “You were sold to the highest bidder. I just made sure it was me.”
“That doesn’t make you a savior.”
“No,” he said, “but it makes me the lesser evil.”
She hated how calm he was. Hated the part of her that wanted to believe there was something behind his eyes—something broken and maybe a little human.
“I don’t want to be here.”
He nodded once. “You made that clear.”
“Then let me go.”
“I can’t.”
Aria laughed bitterly. “You mean you won’t.”
“No.” His voice lowered. “I mean I can’t. Because the second you leave, they’ll find you. And unlike me, they won’t care if you live or die.”
She looked away. Her hands trembled slightly, but she curled them into fists.
“I don’t trust you,” she whispered.
“You don’t have to,” Damien said. “But you’ll obey my rules until I decide otherwise.”
---
Later that night, Aria wandered out into the hallway. No guards stopped her. The mansion felt endless—marble floors, velvet curtains, oil paintings older than her existence. She could hear soft classical music playing from somewhere downstairs.
She followed the sound.
In the massive study, Damien stood by the bar, pouring himself a drink. The fireplace flickered behind him, painting his sharp features in gold and shadow.
He didn’t look surprised to see her.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.
“I wanted to see if you’d locked me in.”
“I don’t need to. You’re smart. You know there’s nowhere to run.”
She walked farther into the room, stopping a few feet from him. “Why me?”
He turned, the glass in his hand catching the firelight.
“Because you don’t know what you are,” he said simply.
Her heart stuttered. “What does that mean?”
Damien took a slow sip, then met her eyes. “You think you’re just some girl from the street. A ghost in the city. But you're more than that. And you have no idea what you’re capable of.”
“I’m not special,” she whispered.
“You will be. One day.”
A long silence passed.
“I hate you,” she said, her voice raw.
He smiled faintly. “Good. Hatred is honest. It means you’re still fighting.”
She blinked, confused. “And that’s what you want?”
“I want a girl who doesn’t break easy.”
He took a step toward her, slow and steady. Close enough to feel his warmth. “And I want to be the man who makes you bend… without ever needing to force you.”
Aria’s breath caught in her throat. Not because of fear—but because her body betrayed her with a thrill of something dangerously close to curiosity.
“You’re insane.”
“I’m patient,” he corrected, brushing past her.
Just before he disappeared into the hallway, he said over his shoulder, “But don’t mistake my patience for mercy.”
That night, Aria didn’t sleep.
Not because of fear.
But because for the first time in her life, she wasn’t sure who the real villain was…
Or who she was becoming.
- Writer
