MARRIED TO THE BILLIONAIRE WHO DESPISES ME

Chapter Three: Testing the Limits

The morning sun filtered through the tall windows of the Blackwood mansion, painting long golden stripes across the marble floor. I dressed quickly, careful not to wrinkle the soft blouse Adrian had allowed me to keep from my personal belongings. Every piece of clothing I owned now felt like a fragile shield, meant to protect me in a house where I was constantly under scrutiny.

The mansion was alive with quiet activity. Footsteps echoed in the corridors, servants moved silently, and somewhere in the distance, I could hear the faint hum of Adrian’s private office. He was already at work, I was certain of it. And I knew that today would not be ordinary.

When I entered the breakfast room, the table was already set—white linen, silver cutlery, and steaming dishes that smelled far too rich for someone like me. I hesitated, unsure whether to sit or wait for him to appear. I didn’t have to wait long.

Adrian appeared from the far end of the corridor, perfectly tailored suit, dark hair falling slightly into his eyes. His gaze immediately found me. It was sharp, assessing, and utterly unnerving.

“Sit,” he commanded, pointing to a chair opposite him.

I obeyed, my fingers brushing nervously against the edge of the polished table.

He poured coffee for himself without a word, the silence thick and almost suffocating. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, measured, like a threat wrapped in civility.

“Do you understand why you are here, Lydia?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied, steadying my voice. “I am here to fulfill the contract and follow your rules.”

He leaned back slightly, his eyes never leaving mine. “Good. Because if you fail—even once—I will not hesitate to end this arrangement. And unlike most men, I do not forgive mistakes easily.”

I swallowed, feeling the weight of his words pressing down on me.

“And one more thing,” he added, placing his cup carefully on the table. “You will address me properly at all times. No nicknames, no familiarity, no excuses. I am Adrian Blackwood. Remember it.”

“Yes, Mr. Blackwood,” I said, trying to sound confident.

He nodded once and turned his attention to the papers in front of him. That should have been the end of our interaction, but as I reached for my breakfast, I noticed something odd. A small envelope had been placed neatly beside my plate.

I picked it up, curiosity piqued, and opened it carefully. Inside was a single note, written in neat, precise handwriting:

Rule number five: Your first task is to understand the house. You are to memorize the layout, the staff, and the rules. Failure to do so will not be tolerated.

I frowned.

I had expected rules, orders, perhaps even cold treatment. But a test? Already?

Before I could ponder further, he spoke again, not looking up from his papers. “You will begin your inspection today. I will accompany you.”

My heart sank.

I had imagined being left to my room, quietly settling into this new, terrifying life. I had not imagined walking through the halls with Adrian Blackwood, every step shadowed by a man who could crush me with a glance.

We moved through the mansion in silence, Adrian leading, me following like a timid student. He pointed out rooms, staff quarters, and restricted areas, all the while delivering warnings in his calm, measured voice.

“This is the kitchen. You may enter if needed, but do not touch anything without permission,” he instructed.

“This is the library. You may use it, but only for approved purposes. Personal books are not allowed.”

We passed the conservatory, the music room, and the massive indoor pool. Each step reinforced my sense of being a guest in a house that was more fortress than home.

And then we arrived at the stables.

I stopped in awe. Horses of every color and breed were kept in immaculate stalls. The smell of hay and animals mixed strangely with the scent of the mansion. I had never been around horses before, but the sight of them calmed me slightly.

Adrian observed me quietly, his expression unreadable. “Do not think this is a luxury,” he said finally. “These animals are investments. You will care for them only under instruction. Mistakes are not allowed.”

“Yes, Mr. Blackwood,” I replied.

He didn’t speak again as we continued our tour. I realized, with a sinking feeling, that everything in this house—from the marble floors to the smallest silver spoon—was under his control. There was no room for error, no room for comfort, no room for me.

By the time the tour ended, I was exhausted. My legs ached, my arms were sore from holding my notes and trying to remember every detail. Adrian finally allowed me to rest in the drawing room, a space filled with velvet sofas and heavy curtains.

I sank into one of the chairs, my mind racing. This life was a test—a daily challenge where one wrong step could cost me everything. Yet, despite the fear, there was a strange thrill in it.

I looked up as Adrian entered the room again, carrying two cups of tea. He set one beside me without a word, then took a seat across from me. For a long moment, we simply stared at each other, the silence stretching.

Finally, he spoke, softer this time. “You are more observant than I expected.”

I blinked. “I—thank you?”

He smirked faintly, almost imperceptibly. “Do not misunderstand me. Observation is useful, but it does not excuse mistakes. You are here to obey, not impress.”

“Yes, Mr. Blackwood.”

He leaned forward slightly, his eyes darkening. “But,” he added, “if you survive this house… if you survive me… perhaps there will be… other considerations.”

My heart skipped a beat. Other considerations? Could he mean…? No. I shook my head, forcing myself to focus. I was here to survive, nothing more.

The afternoon passed in a blur of instructions, chores, and tests. I learned the layout of the mansion, memorized staff names, and cataloged the locations of forbidden areas. Adrian observed silently, occasionally offering corrections or warnings, but never outright praise.

By the time evening fell, I was exhausted, my mind and body both aching from the intensity of the day. I retired to my room, hoping for some peace. But just as I began to relax, I heard the sound of footsteps in the hallway.

Adrian.

He stopped outside my door, and I could feel the weight of his gaze even before he spoke.

“Lydia,” he said quietly, almost gently, “remember this: rules are not suggestions. They are lifelines. Cross them, and there will be consequences you cannot imagine.”

I nodded, swallowing hard. “I understand, Mr. Blackwood.”

“Good.” He paused, then added in a tone that sent shivers down my spine, “And remember… you are not alone in this house. I see everything.”

The footsteps receded, leaving me alone once more. My pulse raced, and I hugged the blanket around me. I had survived the first full day. But I knew, deep down, that the real test had only just begun.

And somewhere in the back of my mind, a dangerous thought crept in: Why did I feel this strange pull toward a man who terrified me more than anyone I had ever met?

Surviving Adrian Blackwood’s rules was one thing… surviving the feelings he awakened would be far more dangerous.