Chapter 7: Rules of the House (Continued)
1345 Words
“Yes, you were. I can see it in your face. You’re the kind of person who wants to understand everything, fix everything, make everything better. But this isn’t your life to fix, Miss Hart. This is mine, and I’m handling it my way.”
The dismissal in his voice made something hot flash through my chest. “Your way seems to be pretending everything’s fine while your son carries guilt that’s crushing him.”
“My son is my concern.”
“Your son just spoke for the first time in months because he was terrified you’d throw me out into a blizzard. Don’t you think that says something about what he needs?”
Adrian’s expression went ice cold. “What he needs is stability. Structure. Not some stranger who’s going to blow through his life and leave him more broken than before.”
“I’m not trying to break anything. I’m not trying to be anything. I’m just, I’m trapped here the same as you, and I was trying to be kind to a lonely kid.”
“He’s not lonely. He has me.”
“Does he?” The words came out before I could stop them, and I watched Adrian’s face go white. “I’m sorry. That was, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No. You shouldn’t have.” His voice was barely above a whisper now, dangerous and controlled. “Rule four: you don’t question my parenting. Ever. Are we clear?”
“Crystal.”
“Rule five: meals are communal but conversation is minimal. We eat, we maintain civility for Noah’s sake, and then we go our separate ways.”
“Fine.”
“Rule six: the staff comes in daily but they don’t live here. If you need anything, there’s an intercom system in your room. Use it. Don’t come looking for me.”
I almost laughed at that one. Like I’d want to go searching through this frozen mansion for a man who clearly wanted nothing to do with me. “Got it.”
“Rule seven: no Christmas decorations, no Christmas music, no mention of the holiday in general. This house doesn’t celebrate, and I don’t want Noah getting confused about that.”
That one stopped me cold. “You’re not celebrating Christmas? At all?”
“No.”
“But Noah’s five. Kids his age, they live for Christmas.”
“My son will survive without it.”
“That’s not the same as being happy.”
“Happiness isn’t the priority right now. Safety is. Stability is. And Christmas, it’s too complicated.”
I stared at him, at this man who was so determined to protect his son that he was suffocating them both, and felt something crack in my chest. “What happened to you?”
“That’s a personal question, Miss Hart. See rule three.”
“Right. No personal questions.” I stood up, needing to move, needing to do something other than sit there and watch him build his walls higher. “Is that all? Any other rules I need to follow to remain a tolerable presence in your home?”
He flinched slightly at the bitterness in my voice. Good. Let him hear how his rules sounded to someone who wasn’t already buried under them.
“Just one more,” he said quietly. “Don’t make me regret letting you stay.”
“And if you do regret it? Are you going to throw me out anyway?”
“No.” He rubbed a hand over his face, and for just a moment he looked less like an ice king and more like what he actually was: an exhausted father trying desperately not to fail. “No, I’m not going to throw you out. But I am going to hold you to these boundaries, and if you can’t respect them, it’s going to make these next few days very difficult for everyone.”
“I’ll respect them.” I moved toward the doorway, needing to get out of this room, out of his presence, somewhere I could breathe without feeling the weight of his pain pressing down on everything. “But for the record? Your son doesn’t need distance. He needs someone to see him. And right now, you’re so scared of losing him that you’re not even looking.”
I didn’t wait for his response. Just walked out of the dining room and down the hallway toward the guest wing, my footsteps echoing too loud in the silence.
Behind me, I heard glass shatter.
I stopped, turned back, and found Adrian standing in the dining room doorway with his coffee mug in pieces at his feet. His chest was heaving. His hands were shaking. And his eyes, those impossible blue eyes, were fixed on me with something that looked like anguish.
“You don’t know anything about what I need,” he said, voice raw. “You don’t know what I’ve been through or what I’m trying to prevent or why these rules exist. You’ve been here less than twenty four hours and you think you understand my life?”
“No. I don’t understand your life.” I took a step back toward him, drawn by something I couldn’t name. “But I understand what it’s like to live in a cage someone else built and call it safety. I understand what it’s like to follow rules that are slowly killing you because at least they’re familiar. And I understand what it’s like to be so scared of being hurt again that you stop letting yourself feel anything at all.”
“Stop.”
“I see you, Adrian. I see you trying so hard to control everything that you can’t see you’re losing what you’re trying to protect.”
“I said stop.” His voice cracked. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to come into my home and take apart everything I’ve built and act like you’re helping.”
“I’m not trying to take anything apart. I’m just telling you what I see.”
“Well, don’t.” He bent down and started picking up pieces of the broken mug with shaking hands. “Don’t see me. Don’t see anything. Just, stay in your wing and keep your observations to yourself and let me handle my family the way I need to handle it.”
I watched him gather broken ceramic with bleeding fingers, watched this powerful man on his knees collecting pieces, and realized he was talking about more than just the mug.
“You’re bleeding,” I said softly.
He looked at his hands like he’d forgotten they were his. Blood welled from a cut on his palm where a sharp edge had sliced through. He stared at it for a moment, then closed his fist around it.
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. Let me help.”
“No.” He stood up, cradling the broken pieces in his bloody hand. “Rule eight, since apparently we need another one: don’t try to save me. I don’t want to be saved. I want to be left alone.”
Then he walked away, leaving spots of blood on the pristine floor like a trail of breadcrumbs leading nowhere.
I stood there in the hallway long after he disappeared, staring at those drops of blood, and wondered how someone could be so completely surrounded by luxury and still be so utterly, devastatingly alone.
The rules, I realized, weren’t about protecting Noah from me.
They were about protecting Adrian from having to feel anything at all.
And I had just broken through every single one of them in the span of a breakfast that nobody ate.
Three days minimum. Possibly five.
In a house with a man who was determined to keep me at arm’s length and a little boy who’d already crawled into my heart and made a home there.
This was either going to heal something or break it completely.
I just couldn’t tell which.
- Writer
