Chapter 3 Rules of the Devil
770 Words
The morning sun spilled through velvet curtains, gilding the marble floors in shades of gold.
Shen Zhiwei woke with a start, disoriented by the silk sheets beneath her and the chandelier above her head. For one fleeting second, she thought it had all been a dream—the contract, the mansion, the devil in a tailored suit.
Then the door opened.
A maid in crisp uniform bowed. “Miss Shen, Young Master Gu requests your presence in the dining hall.”
Her stomach twisted. Requests was just a polite word. She knew better.
The dining hall looked like something out of a European palace, its endless table stretching into the distance. At the head sat Gu Chenghan, dressed in a dark suit, eyes sharp as ever. His untouched breakfast—perfectly plated eggs and toast prepared by the mansion chefs—sat cooling on fine china.
He didn’t look at the food. He looked only at her.
“You’re late,” he said.
Shen Zhiwei bristled. “It’s seven in the morning. Most people are still asleep.”
“I am not most people.” His voice was smooth, but the authority in it made the air heavy. “Sit.”
She hesitated, then sat across from him. The maids retreated silently, leaving them in an echoing silence broken only by the ticking of an antique clock.
Gu Chenghan steepled his fingers. “There are rules in my house. You will learn them if you want to survive here.”
Her jaw clenched. “Rules?”
“Yes. First—your meals are mine. You cook when I say, what I say, how I say. If I crave lobster at three in the morning, you deliver it. If I want porridge at dawn, you deliver it. No complaints.”
Her fists tightened in her lap. “I’m not your servant.”
“You’re worse,” he said coldly. “You’re bound by contract. A servant can quit. You can’t.”
Her throat burned, but she forced herself to meet his gaze. “And if I refuse?”
The faintest curve tugged at his lips. “Then your father rots in prison, your mother loses her treatment, and every door in this city slams shut in your face. Do you want me to list the debts in detail, Miss Shen?”
Her heart lurched. He knew everything. Every weakness, every wound. He had mapped her life like a battlefield, and she was already a prisoner of war.
He continued, voice calm, precise, merciless.
“Second—you do not leave this house without my permission. The golden cage is yours now. Get used to it.”
Her breath caught. “You can’t just lock me up!”
“I can.” His tone was icy. “And I will. The world outside has no place for you anymore. In here, you cook, you obey, and you keep your head down. That is all.”
Her nails dug into her palms, but she said nothing.
“Third—” His gaze darkened, lingering on her face, her trembling lips, the defiance in her eyes. “You do not belong to any man but me. Not in service. Not in touch. Not in thought.”
Heat surged to her cheeks. “You—You can’t control my thoughts.”
He leaned forward, his presence pressing against her like a storm. “Try me.”
The silence burned between them, thick with tension. Her pulse hammered in her ears. For a terrifying moment, she thought he might kiss her right there, claim her mouth as brutally as he had claimed her freedom.
Instead, he leaned back and lifted the cup of untouched coffee. He sipped slowly, then set it down with a click.
“These are the rules of the devil, Shen Zhiwei. Break them, and you will regret it.”
She rose abruptly, chair scraping against the marble. “Fine. You want me to follow your rules? Then I’ll follow them. But don’t expect me to bow.”
His eyes glinted. “You already have. When you signed your name.”
Her throat closed around the retort she wanted to spit back.
He stood, tall and commanding, and strode past her. But as he reached the door, he paused.
“Dinner tonight,” he said without turning. “Surprise me.”
And then he was gone, leaving her alone in the gilded hall, her heart pounding, her hands trembling.
She hated him. She feared him.
And yet, buried deep beneath the fury and the fear, something else stirred—something far more dangerous.
- Writer
