The Rules
1170 Words
Bianca’s Pov
I learned the rules by breaking them.
No one sat me down with a list. No warnings taped to the walls. The estate didn’t work like that. It lets you move just far enough to hurt yourself before reminding you where the edges were.
The first rule was silence.
Not literal silence. No one told me not to speak. But I learned quickly that questions were tolerated, not welcomed. I could ask where things were. I could ask for water. I could ask for time. But I couldn’t ask why.
Every time I did, the air shifted.
Conversations ended. Doors closed. Dante’s presence became heavier, closer, like a pressure system moving in.
So I stopped asking why.
The second rule was visibility.
I wasn’t watched constantly, but I was never unseen. Someone always knew where I was. I tested it on the third day by slipping into a side corridor I hadn’t explored yet. It took less than a minute before one of Dante’s men appeared, not blocking my path, just standing there.
“Wrong direction,” he said calmly.
“How do you know where I’m going?” I asked.
He smiled faintly. “We always do.”
The third rule was routine.
Breakfast at the same time. Dinner when Dante was present. Lights dimmed automatically after midnight. The house ran on a rhythm that didn’t bend for me. I could either step into it or trip over it.
I chose to go on a trip.
I skipped breakfast the next morning.
No announcement. No dramatic refusal. I just stayed in my room and waited.
By noon, my stomach was tight and aching, but no one came. No knock. No lecture. I almost smiled, thinking I’d found a gap.
Then Dante came to my room himself.
He didn’t knock. He didn’t barge in either. He opened the door and leaned against the frame like he’d been invited.
“You missed breakfast,” he said.
“I wasn’t hungry.”
“Lie.”
I sat on the edge of the bed, arms crossed.
“I don’t owe you an appetite.”
“No,” he agreed. “You owe me compliance.”
I laughed softly. “That sounds healthy.”
“You’re testing limits,” he said. “That’s expected.”
“Are you going to punish me?” I asked.
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Is that what you want?”
“No.”
“Then eat.”
He turned and walked away.
I waited. Five seconds. Ten.
Then I followed.
The dining room was empty except for one place set at the table. My place. The food was still warm.
I stared at it, furious that he’d won without raising his voice.
I ate anyway.
The fourth rule was proximity.
Dante didn’t hover, but he didn’t disappear either. He placed himself where he could be seen. At the far end of rooms. In doorways. At the head of the table. Never touching. Always present.
It messed with my head more than chains ever could.
That night, he joined me for dinner.
No ceremony. No warning. He just sat across from me and started eating like this was normal.
I pushed food around my plate, appetite gone.
“You’re watching me,” I said.
“You’re watching me too.”
“That’s not the same.”
“It is,” he replied. “You’re just less practiced.”
I set my fork down. “Why don’t you lock me up? Wouldn’t that be easier?”
He chewed slowly, swallowed. “For who?”
“For you.”
“No,” he said calmly. “For you.”
I frowned. “Explain.”
“If I lock you up, you become predictable,” he said. “Predictable people get rescued. Or killed.”
“And this is better?”
“This keeps you alive.”
I stared at him. “You keep saying that like it’s a gift.”
“It is.”
I stood abruptly, chair scraping against the floor. “I didn’t ask for this.”
“No,” he agreed. “You didn’t.”
I waited for more. It didn’t come.
I left the table without permission.
No one stopped me.
That was the fifth rule.
Leaving was allowed. Running wasn’t.
I learned that the hard way two days later.
There was a service path near the back of the estate, narrow and partially hidden by overgrowth. I noticed it during one of my walks and memorized it immediately. I didn’t plan to use it right away. I just needed to know it existed.
On the fifth night, I waited until after midnight.
The house was quieter then. Not asleep. Just still.
I moved barefoot, slow and careful, heart pounding so hard I was sure it would give me away. The back door wasn’t locked. That should have warned me.
The air outside was cold and sharp. I breathed it in like freedom.
I ran.
I didn’t get far.
Hands grabbed me from behind, strong and unyielding, pinning my arms before I could scream. I kicked, twisted, clawed, panicked.
“Enough,” Dante’s voice cut through the dark.
The hands loosened immediately.
I turned, chest heaving, rage and fear colliding in my throat. “You said I wasn’t locked in.”
“You’re not,” he said evenly.
“Then why…”
“You didn’t ask.”
I laughed hysterically. “I was supposed to ask permission to leave?”
“To run,” he corrected. “Yes.”
“You don’t own me.”
His gaze sharpened. “You’re wearing my protection. That’s ownership enough.”
I stepped closer, shaking. “Then kill me. Because I won’t live like this.”
The men around us stiffened.
Dante raised a hand. They backed away.
He looked at me for a long moment. Then he reached out not to grab me, but to take my wrist gently, turning my hand palm up.
My skin was scraped raw from the stones.
“You didn’t plan,” he said quietly. “That’s why you failed.”
I yanked my hand back. “Is that advice?”
“Yes.”
I stared at him, stunned. “You want me to try again?”
“I want you to survive,” he replied. “If that means learning how to move in this world, then yes.”
“That’s sick.”
He didn’t deny it.
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You’re not fragile, Bianca. You’re just untrained.”
The word sank deep.
Untrained.
He turned away, signaling the end of it.
“Tomorrow, you’ll stay inside. Not as punishment. As for recovery.”
“And if I don’t?”
He glanced back over his shoulder. “Then I’ll stop pretending you don’t need supervision.”
That night, I lay awake again.
But this time, I wasn’t just afraid.
I was angry.
And anger was dangerous.
Because it meant I was starting to care how this ended.
- Writer
