CHAPTER 4 — The Penthouse Rules
2001 Words
Mara followed the silent, stone-faced assistant down a private corridor that looked nothing like the rest of Kane Tower. This was a restricted wing—quiet, heavily secured, every door protected with biometric locks. Mara’s stomach twisted, the reality finally sinking in.
She had signed the contract.
She had accepted the money.
And now she belonged here.
They reached a private elevator, and the assistant pressed his thumb against a scanner before stepping aside.
“Mr. Kane is waiting upstairs,” he said. “Do not keep him waiting.”
A shiver ran down Mara’s spine. She stepped into the elevator, and the doors closed with a soft hiss. There was no music—only the low hum of machinery carrying her straight into the lion’s den.
When the doors opened, she stepped into a penthouse that did not look real. Floor-to-ceiling glass everywhere. A panoramic view of the entire city glowing beneath a midnight sky. Black marble floors polished to a mirror shine. Cold, elegant, intimidating—just like him.
And there he was.
Alexander Kane stood near the enormous window, hands in his pockets, posture rigid, expression carved out of stone. He didn’t turn when she entered. He didn’t welcome her. He simply existed like a fortress—tall, unmovable, and impossible to read.
“Come closer,” he said without looking at her.
Mara swallowed and stepped forward until she was a few feet behind him.
“The funds have been transferred to your account,” Alexander said, voice clipped. “You should receive confirmation from my finance department shortly.”
She blinked. “So soon?”
“You signed the contract.” He finally turned, his eyes cold, sharp. “There is no reason for delay.”
It wasn’t kindness. It wasn’t consideration.
It was efficiency—nothing more.
Mara nodded stiffly. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” he replied. “This is a transaction. Nothing more.”
The words stung more than she expected, but she forced her face to remain neutral.
Alexander walked past her, and she instinctively stepped back to avoid brushing against him. Even his presence felt dangerous—like standing too close to a blade.
“Before you settle in,” he said, “there are rules.”
Of course there were.
He gestured toward the dining area where a thin electronic tablet displayed a list.
“You will review and sign those tonight.”
Mara moved closer and scanned the screen.
RESIDENCY RULES
• You may not leave the penthouse without written approval.
• No visitors under any circumstances.
• No unauthorized communication with the press.
• Mandatory daily medical checkups.
• Disobeying any rule results in immediate termination of contract and full repayment of funds.
Mara’s heart plunged. “Immediate termination…? But the money has already—”
“Yes.” Alexander stepped behind her, his presence cold enough to chill her skin. “Which means you will not break any rules.”
Mara closed her eyes for a moment. She couldn’t afford to panic—not when her mother needed the tests. Not when everything depended on her surviving this.
“I understand,” she whispered.
Alexander circled the table and took a seat, his gaze settling on her with unnerving intensity. “Your room is down the hall. You will not enter my personal quarters. You will not wander. You will not touch anything that is not yours.”
His voice stayed calm, but it carried power—absolute authority.
Mara tensed. “I’m not here to steal your things.”
“You’re here to give me an heir,” he corrected calmly. “Everything else is irrelevant.”
Heat rose in her cheeks—anger, humiliation, fear. She hated how easily he stripped away her humanity, reducing her to nothing more than a contract.
Alexander picked up a folder from the table and handed it to her.
“These are your medical schedules for the week. You will attend every one. No excuses.”
She held the folder tightly. “Fine.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t say ‘fine’ to me.”
Mara’s head snapped up.
“What?” she whispered.
“You say, ‘Yes, Mr. Kane.’ That is the professional way to respond.”
Her heart hammered with a mixture of fury and disbelief. “You’re treating me like—”
“A liability,” he finished for her. “Because that is what you are until a successful pregnancy is confirmed.”
Her breath caught.
Cold. Ruthless. Soulless.
He was exactly what the contract warned her about.
Alexander rose from his chair. “You will adapt, Ms. Lopez. Your mother’s treatment depends on it.”
Her chest tightened painfully.
He didn’t know the details, but somehow he still hit the target.
Mara nodded slowly. “Yes, Mr. Kane.”
His expression didn’t soften—if anything, he looked satisfied she finally obeyed.
“Good. Your first appointment is tomorrow morning at seven. Do not be late.”
“Seven?” she blurted. “I—”
He raised a hand. “Don’t argue.”
Mara shut her mouth.
He turned away, dismissing her without another word.
But before she reached the hallway, he said quietly:
“Ms. Lopez.”
She froze.
His voice was low, commanding, dangerous.
“From tonight onward,” Alexander said without looking at her, “your life belongs to this penthouse.”
A chill crawled down her spine.
“And your body,” he added, “belongs to my heir.”
Mara’s breath trembled as she whispered, “Yes, Mr. Kane.”
Mara walked down the hallway with her heartbeat pounding in her skull. The penthouse was too quiet—so quiet it felt like the air itself was watching her. The corridor stretched long and dimly lit, the lights cold and soft, nothing warm or welcoming about any of it.
She paused outside the bedroom assigned to her. The door slid open automatically when she touched the panel, revealing a space too elegant for someone like her—soft cream bedding, a glass wall overlooking the city, polished floors, a walk-in closet bigger than her old apartment.
She stepped inside cautiously, like the room might bite.
This wasn’t comfort.
It was a cage dressed in luxury.
Mara dropped the folder onto the bed and let out a shaky breath. “What have you gotten yourself into, Mara?”
She ran her fingers through her hair, pacing. The contract felt heavier now, like invisible chains pulling at her wrists. The city lights glowed through the glass, taunting her with the freedom she no longer had.
A soft beep came from her phone.
BANK CREDIT ALERT:
Payment received — KANE GLOBAL FINANCE DIVISION.
Mara’s knees nearly gave out.
Her mother…
The hospital tests…
Everything she had been fighting for…
Finally, she could pay.
A tear almost slipped, but she wiped it so fast her cheek stung.
“No,” she whispered fiercely. “Don’t fall apart. Not here. Not because of him.”
She was in this penthouse for one reason only.
And she would get through this with her spine intact.
There was a sudden knock on the door.
Sharp. Hard. Not polite.
Mara stiffened. “What now?”
She opened the door to find one of the penthouse staff standing rigidly—a tall woman with a clipboard and an even colder expression than Alexander’s.
“Ms. Lopez,” she said. “I’m here to give you the night orientation.”
Mara blinked. “Night what?”
“Rules for movement inside the penthouse after 10 p.m.” The woman stepped inside without waiting. “Follow me.”
Mara’s jaw clenched, but she followed.
The woman stopped by a discreet silver panel near the hallway. “You are not permitted in the east wing at any time. That includes the office, gym, private lounge, and Mr. Kane’s personal suite.”
“I don’t want to go anywhere near him,” Mara muttered.
The woman didn’t react. “Good.”
She tapped another panel. “The kitchen is accessible between 6 a.m. and 9 p.m. Outside those hours, you must request access.”
Mara’s head snapped up. “I can’t even get a glass of water without permission?”
“That is correct.”
“This is insane.”
“It’s protocol,” the woman replied calmly.
Mara folded her arms. “His protocol is insane.”
Still no reaction. These people were trained well—emotionless, controlled, almost robotic.
“Your biometric access has been registered,” the woman continued. “Touch any panel in your allowed zones and it will open. Attempt to enter restricted areas and the system will deny you.”
“Is this a home or a prison?” Mara snapped.
The woman didn’t blink. “A controlled environment for the wellbeing of Mr. Kane’s future heir.”
Mara almost laughed—bitter, sharp. “Right. Because I’m just a womb to you people.”
The staff member finally looked at her, expression unreadable. “You are the surrogate. Nothing more.”
Mara felt that like a slap.
“Goodnight, Ms. Lopez,” the woman said, and walked away without a backward glance.
Mara stayed in the hallway for a moment, fists clenched, chest burning with humiliation and fury.
She turned back toward her room—but footsteps echoed behind her.
Slow. Heavy. Deliberate.
Mara froze.
She knew who it was before she turned.
Alexander Kane stood several feet away, watching her like she was something beneath glass—an exhibit in his perfectly controlled world. His sleeves were rolled up now, revealing the cut of lean muscle along his forearms. But there was nothing human in his expression. Only cold scrutiny.
“You’re awake,” he said.
“You knocked on my door,” she shot back.
He ignored that. “You wandered.”
“I did not wander,” she snapped. “Your robot woman gave me the ‘night orientation.’ I followed her.”
His gaze swept the corridor, then returned to her, colder. “Keep your voice down.”
“Why?” she challenged. “Will your penthouse break if I speak too loud?”
He closed the distance between them slowly, stopping just close enough to make the air thick, but not touching her.
“Because,” he said quietly, with dangerous calm, “I do not tolerate chaos in my home.”
Mara’s pulse stuttered.
“I’m not chaos,” she said.
“You are,” he replied without hesitation. “You talk too much. You argue too much. And you seem to forget your place far too easily.”
Her throat tightened with anger. “My place exists because you need something from me. Don’t pretend I’m here by choice.”
His eyes sharpened. “You are here by choice. You signed. You accepted the terms. And now you will follow them.”
She hated that he was right.
“You don’t have to treat me like an animal,” she muttered.
Alexander stared at her for a long moment—silent, cold, unreadable.
“I treat you,” he said slowly, “exactly as the contract dictates. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
The words cut deeper than insults.
He stepped back.
“You should sleep,” he said. “Tomorrow will be… long.”
Mara glared at him. “I don’t need your advice.”
“Good,” he said, already turning away.
“Because I wasn’t offering any.”
He walked off without another word, disappearing into the forbidden east wing.
Mara stood frozen, breathing hard, hating him with everything inside her.
Hating this penthouse.
Hating this arrangement.
Hating her own desperation.
She went back to her room and closed the door quietly.
The city lights blinked outside the glass, and for the first time, she realized:
This wasn’t going to be a contract.
It was going to be survival.
- Writer
