THE WIFE HE CHOSE TWICE

RULES OF THE HOUSE

My first night at Blackwell Manor didn’t feel like a new beginning. It felt like picking up where I’d left off. It was a bizarre sense of familiarity, as if my surroundings were echoing memories my brain hadn’t quite accessed yet. It made no sense, but the thought refused to leave me.

The bedroom provided for me wasn’t cozy; it was sterile. Everything about it felt carefully curated, as if someone had scrubbed away anything that didn’t fit their vision of a "provisional life." I sat on the mattress, trying to calm my racing thoughts, but my mind kept circling back to Ethan’s words.

What was I used to? Knowing him? Trusting him? Was there a life I lived before that I’ve completely forgotten? Rubbing my temples, I tried to push the questions away, but they were impossible to silence.

A knock echoed against the door. It wasn't loud or demanding it was methodical.

"Who is it?" I asked.

"Staff," a woman replied. "I’m here to drop off your itinerary."

I frowned. A schedule? I opened the door to find a woman in crisp attire holding a folder. She avoided my eyes, which immediately struck me as odd.

"A schedule for what?" I questioned.

"For your duration here," she stated simply.

"My duration?" I repeated.

She paused, just a fraction of a second too long. "Yes. While you are in residence." Her tone sounded practiced, as if she were choosing her words with extreme caution. I took the folder and opened it. My heart sank.

Every minute of my day was accounted for. Wake up times, meals, periods for study even "free time" was dictated. My grip tightened on the paper.

"This is absurd," I said.

The woman remained stone faced. "Mr. Blackwell’s orders."

"He decided my entire daily routine?"

She didn't offer an immediate response, which confirmed my suspicion.

"I never agreed to this," I snapped.

"You agreed to the terms," she replied politely. "Structure is part of the agreement."

Structure. That word seemed to be the foundation of this entire place. I closed the folder. "Where is he?"

Her gaze shifted. "He is occupied with work."

Of course. He wasn't here to explain himself; he was hidden away, maintaining his distance while pulling all the strings.

Instead of returning to my room, I wandered the hallways. The house was unnervingly still during the day. I walked past paintings I didn't recognize faces of strangers. Yet, the way they were hung felt intentional. They weren't just decorations; it felt like they were watching me. I stopped, a prickle of unease washing over me. I wasn't just being hosted; I was being monitored.

Heavy footsteps approached from behind. I turned to see Ethan.

"You’re wandering," he noted.

"That's what people do when they're in a house," I countered.

He stood silent for a moment. "This house requires you to respect the boundaries."

"You mean the rules," I said, narrowing my eyes.

"Yes."

I folded my arms. "I’m not a guest, am I?"

His expression changed. It wasn’t a denial; it was a form of acknowledgment. "You are," he said plainly. But the way he said it made it sound less like a title and more like a restriction. I was a temporary, controlled variable in his world.

"I want the truth," I said.

Ethan waited, his patience feeling calculated.

"Why me?" I asked.

A long silence followed.

"I already told you," he said softly.

I stepped toward him. "No, you didn't."

He held my gaze, his expression unreadable. "That is the only answer I can provide."

"That isn't an answer at all."

"To me, it is."

The words hung in the air, heavy and unresolved, leaving me with nothing but more questions.

---

As I studied him, something felt off today. It wasn't in his words, but in the way he was holding himself back. Every interaction with me required effort, controlled effort.

"You're tense," I blurted out before I could stop myself.

A flicker passed through his eyes, followed by a simple "I'm fine." I knew that wasn't what I said, and the silence that followed told me he did too.

"Ethan, you notice things too quickly," he remarked. It sounded less like criticism and more like concern or warning.

I frowned. "Is that a problem?"

He glanced away for a fraction of a second, just long enough to matter. When he turned back, all he said was, "It can be."

That answer unsettled me more than it should have, implying something underneath the surface, something unstable. I stepped back, saying, "You keep talking like I'm going to break something just by asking questions."

"You're not going to break anything," he replied quietly, but then added, "You might uncover it."

The last sentence lingered in the air, making me uncomfortable. Not because it was vague, but because it sounded intentional.

Just then, a distant door closed somewhere deep in the house, and Ethan's posture shifted immediately. He looked alert, controlled, always controlled.

"I have to go," he said, not explaining where.

He started to leave, but I called out, "Ethan, if I wasn't supposed to question anything here, why bring me here at all?"

He stopped short of the door, but didn't turn back fully. "Because you already belong in it."

Then he was gone, leaving me with a question that didn't feel like an answer. It felt like confirmation of something I hadn't discovered yet something I might not be able to escape once I did.