Chapter 3: "The Rules"
676 Words
Aria woke up at 6AM because the bed was too big and too quiet.
The red dress from last night was in a heap on the floor.
Her lips still remembered the kiss.
_For show. Don’t read into it._
Right.
There was a knock. The housekeeper.
“Mr. Hale left this for you.” She handed Aria a black folder. “Breakfast is at 7. He eats at 7:15 sharp.”
Inside the folder: 10 pages.
*THE HALE MARRIAGE CONTRACT - ADDENDUM*
Aria groaned and read.
*RULE #1*: Separate bedrooms. No exceptions.
*RULE #2*: Public appearances 2x per week minimum.
*RULE #3*: No dating, no scandals, no social media posts without approval.
*RULE #4*: Attend all family events. Smile.
*RULE #5*: Do not enter Mr. Hale’s office without permission.
*RULE #6*: Do not ask about Mr. Hale’s past.
*RULE #7*: Do not cook. Staff handles meals.
*RULE #8*: Be home by 11PM.
*RULE #9*: In case of emergency, call Mr. Hale first.
*RULE #10*: This is business. Do not fall in love.
At the bottom, in Damian’s sharp handwriting:
_Sign and return by 7:15AM._
Aria signed it. Her hand was getting used to signing her life away.
---
At 7:15AM sharp, Damian was at the dining table. Reading emails. Coffee. No food.
He didn’t look up when she sat down. “You read them?”
“Yes.”
“Questions?”
“No.”
“Good.” He finally glanced at her. She was in jeans and a sweater. No makeup. He frowned. “You’ll need to look presentable at the office today.”
“The office?”
“You’re my secretary now. For appearances.” He stood. “Car in 10.”
---
Hale Group was 70 floors of glass and intimidation.
Aria’s “desk” was right outside Damian’s office.
The whispers started immediately.
“That’s the new wife?”
“She looks... normal.”
“I heard he bought her.”
Aria ignored them and typed.
By 12PM, her head hurt.
At 12:30, a guy from accounting leaned on her desk. “Lunch? I know a place—”
“No thanks,” Aria said.
“Come on. The boss won’t mind.”
“He will,” a cold voice said behind them.
Damian.
He looked at the guy. “Johnson. Alaska office needs a new manager. You start Monday.”
The guy went pale. “Sir, I was just—”
“Out.”
When they were alone, Damian dropped a takeout bag on her desk. “Eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You didn’t eat breakfast.” It wasn’t a question.
He went into his office and shut the door.
Aria stared at the bag. Sushi. Her favorite.
Rule #7: _Do not cook. Staff handles meals._
She hadn’t cooked. But someone had remembered.
---
That night, the penthouse was empty. Damian had a late meeting.
Aria was restless. The kitchen was huge. Stainless steel. Everything untouched.
Rule #7 flashed in her head.
She ignored it.
She made pasta. Garlic bread. Salad.
Just something to do with her hands.
At 10:45PM, the door opened.
Damian walked in. Tie loosened. Exhausted.
He stopped when he smelled food.
“You cooked,” he said flatly.
“Yeah. Sorry. Rule #7. I’ll throw it out—”
“Don’t.”
He sat at the counter. Ate.
Didn’t say anything for 10 minutes. Just ate everything.
When he was done, he pushed the plate away. “It was fine.”
“‘Fine’ is the nicest thing you’ve said to me.”
He stood. “Don’t do it again.”
“Why? Because of rule #7?”
“Because if you start taking care of me, you’ll start caring.”
His eyes met hers. “And that’s against rule #10.”
He walked to his room.
Aria stood in the kitchen, surrounded by the smell of garlic and the mess she made.
He ate every bite.
And told her not to do it again.
This was going to be a very long year.
---
- Writer
