chapter 3
1610 Words
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*Chapter 3: Rule #4 and the Girl in His Arms*
The house was silent when I got back.
Not the peaceful kind of silent.
The kind that presses on your chest until you can’t breathe.
Damien wasn’t in the living room. The kitchen was dark. His car was in the garage, so he was here.
Somewhere.
Rule #1: Don’t ask where he goes.
Rule #2: Don’t touch his things.
Rule #3: Don’t be in his bed when he’s not.
Rule #4: Don’t fall in love with him.
I told myself I was only checking the rules in my head because I was bored. Not because my heart was pounding like it knew something was wrong.
I dropped my bag from the office. Another 12-hour day filing contracts for a man who paid me to be his wife on paper. The irony wasn’t lost on me.
“Damien?” My voice echoed.
No answer.
I was halfway up the stairs when I heard it.
A laugh.
A woman’s laugh.
Soft. Familiar. The kind of laugh you only make when you’re being kissed.
My feet stopped.
Rule #5 didn’t exist. But it should have.
_Don’t go to his bedroom._
I went anyway.
The door was cracked open. Light from inside spilled onto the hallway floor in a gold line. And in that light, I saw them.
Damien Blackwood.
My husband.
On paper.
And her.
She was draped over him on the edge of his bed, legs tangled with his, lips on his neck. Her dress was red. Expensive. The kind of red that screams _I belong here_.
His shirt was unbuttoned. His hand was in her hair. And he was kissing her like he owned her.
Like he owned everything.
Like he hadn’t looked at me two nights ago and said, _“This is a business arrangement.”_
Time didn’t stop. It laughed at me.
Because I stood there. Stupid. Frozen. Waiting for him to notice me.
He did.
His eyes flicked up. Met mine in the mirror across the room.
Cold.
Empty.
Not even a flicker of guilt.
He didn’t stop kissing her.
He pulled back just enough to look at me over her shoulder, his thumb still stroking the girl’s jaw like I wasn’t standing there watching.
“Close the door on your way out,” he said. His voice was low. Bored. The same voice he used to tell his assistant to cancel a meeting.
The girl turned. Her eyes widened when she saw me. Then narrowed. Calculating.
“Oh,” she said, dragging the word out. “The wife.”
Wife.
The word tasted like poison.
“I didn’t know you were home early,” I managed. My voice sounded small. Even to me.
Damien stood up, not bothering to fix his shirt. The girl stood too, clinging to his arm like she was afraid I’d rip her off.
She was pretty. Model pretty. Sharp cheekbones, glossy lips, eyes that knew exactly what they were doing.
“This is Alina,” Damien said, like he was introducing a business partner. “Alina, this is… the arrangement.”
_The arrangement._
Not wife. Not even my name.
Alina smiled. It didn’t reach her eyes. “Nice to meet you,” she said. “Damien told me all about the contract. Very… practical.”
Practical.
That’s what we were.
Two signatures and a bank transfer.
“I should go,” I said. Because standing there was making my ribs hurt.
Damien tilted his head. Studying me. That cold, assessing look he gave people before he destroyed them in a boardroom.
“Go where?” he asked. “This is your house too. Contract says so.”
He was testing me.
Wicked. Cruel.
He wanted to see if I’d cry. If I’d scream. If I’d break Rule #4 right here.
I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
“Then I’ll be in the guest room,” I said, and turned.
“Actually,” Alina cut in, sweet as sugar and sharp as glass. “We were about to use the master. Would you mind?”
She knew. She knew exactly what she was doing.
And Damien let her.
He walked to the mini bar in the corner of his room, poured two glasses of whiskey, and handed one to Alina. He didn’t offer me one.
“No,” he said, not looking at me. “She doesn’t mind.”
Rule #1: Don’t ask where he goes.
Rule #2: Don’t touch his things.
Rule #3: Don’t be in his bed when he’s not.
Rule #4: Don’t fall in love with him.
I broke all of them tonight. Just by being here.
I walked out. Closed the door behind me. Heard the lock click.
Heard Alina laugh again.
I made it to the guest room before my legs gave out. I sat on the floor with my back against the door and pressed my hands to my mouth so no sound would come out.
He was colder than I remembered.
Wicked in a way that wasn’t loud. It was quiet. Deliberate.
He brought her here. To _our_ house. To _his_ bed. While I was still wearing the ring he gave me for the cameras.
This wasn’t jealousy.
This was war.
And I just realized something.
Damien Blackwood doesn’t cheat because he’s careless.
He cheats because he wants me to see it.
Because pain is a tool to him. And I was the easiest target.
My phone buzzed. Unknown number.
> _Contract Clause 8.3: Emotional involvement from either party voids the bonus. Don’t get ideas. - D_
I stared at the text until the words blurred.
He saw me. He knew how it would look. And he still did it. Then he had the nerve to warn me not to feel anything.
Outside, I heard footsteps. Then Alina’s voice, muffled through the door. “Babe, come back to bed.”
Babe.
Something inside me went still. Not broken. Still.
Like the moment before a storm.
I stood up. Wiped my face. Fixed my shirt.
If he wanted cold, I could be colder.
If he wanted wicked, I could learn.
I walked back down the hall. Stopped in front of his door.
I didn’t knock.
I opened it.
They were on the bed again. Clothes still on, but barely. Alina was straddling him, kissing him slow, like she was marking territory.
Damien looked up. For the first time, there was something in his eyes. Surprise.
“Didn’t I tell you to close the door?” he said.
I smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile.
“I just came to remind you of something,” I said.
Alina froze.
I held up my left hand. The ring caught the light.
“Clause 4.1,” I said, voice steady. “Public appearances. We attend events together. As a couple.”
“And clause 7.2,” I continued. “No third parties at the residence during contract hours without mutual agreement.”
Damien’s jaw ticked.
“That’s not how this works,” he said.
“Isn’t it?” I stepped further in. “You wrote the contract, Damien. Don’t get mad that I read it.”
Alina slid off him. “Damien?”
He ignored her. His eyes were locked on me now. Dark. Dangerous.
“You think you can play this game?” he asked quietly.
“I don’t play,” I said. “I survive. And you just made it very clear what kind of husband you are.”
I turned to Alina. “You can stay. But you sleep in the guest house. Contract hours are 8am to 8pm. It’s 10pm. So technically, you’re trespassing.”
Alina looked to Damien for backup. He gave her nothing.
For a second, the room was so quiet I could hear
my own heartbeat.
Then Damien stood. Walked to me. Close enough that I could smell his cologne and the whiskey on his breath.
He was furious. And something else. Something that looked a lot like respect.
“You’re learning fast,” he murmured, only for me to hear.
“I had a good teacher,” I whispered back. “A cruel one.”
He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. The touch was so soft it made my chest ache.
Then he dropped his hand.
“Get out,” he told Alina.
Alina’s face fell. “What?”
“You heard her,” Damien said, eyes never leaving mine. “Guest house. Now.”
The wickedness in him wasn’t gone. It was just aimed somewhere else now.
Alina grabbed her bag and stormed out, slamming the door.
When it was just us, the air changed. Heavy. Electric.
Damien walked past me to the window. Hands in pockets. Back to me.
“You should have cried,” he said.
“I don’t cry for men who bring other women to my bed.”
“You’re not my wife,” he said, but it sounded like he was trying to convince himself.
“On paper I am,” I replied. “And on paper, you just breached contract.”
He turned. Slow. That cold mask back in place.
“What do you want?”
I met his eyes. Didn’t flinch.
“I want you to remember Rule #4.”
He frowned. “What?”
“Don’t fall in love with me,” I said. “Because after tonight, I don’t think I can stop you from falling for me.”
I walked out before he could answer.
Behind me, I heard him exhale. A sound that might have been a laugh. Or a curse.
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