Chapter 2: Rules of the Marriage
1108 Words
Chapter 2: Rules of the Marriage
The moment the last guest left, the performance ended.
No more smiles for the cameras, no more pretending, no more lies.
Axton loosened his tie as he stepped out of the limousine and looked up at Blackwell Manor. The massive estate stood against the night sky like a fortress. Three stories of marble, glass, and power.
Home.
Or at least it used to feel like one. Now, it was simply another reminder of everything he had built after Lyra Hale destroyed his life.
The car door on the other side opened, Lyra stepped out slowly. For a second, she simply stared at the manor.
The wedding dress that had looked stunning beneath the church lights now seemed too heavy for her. Exhaustion shadowed her face.
Good.
She should be uncomfortable.
This marriage wasn't supposed to be easy, it was supposed to remind her every day of what she had done.
Axton walked past her without offering a hand. The servants immediately opened the doors.
"Welcome home, Mr. and Mrs. Blackwell."
The title sounded strange.
Mrs. Blackwell.
Five years ago he would have given anything to hear those words, tonight they tasted bitter.
Lyra followed him inside.
The grand foyer stretched above them with crystal chandeliers and sweeping staircases.
She glanced around quietly.
No excitement, no admiration, no greed.
Nothing.
Axton found that oddly irritating, most women would have been impressed, most women would have looked around like they'd won a prize.
Lyra simply looked tired.
As if she had lost something instead. He pushed the thought away, he didn't care how she felt, he shouldn't care.
"Follow me."
Without waiting for an answer, he headed upstairs.
Her footsteps echoed behind him, the sound awakened memories he had spent years trying to bury.
Late-night walks, shared laughter, plans for the future, promises.
Lies.
His jaw tightened.
Never again. He stopped outside the master suite and opened the door.
The room was larger than most apartments, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city, dark wood furniture filled the space.
Everything had been prepared exactly as instructed. A second bedroom connected through a private sitting room. The room that would belong to Lyra.
Axton entered first.
She remained near the doorway.
As if she wasn't sure whether she was welcome.
The irony almost made him laugh, this was what she wanted, wasn't it? She had agreed to marry him.
Now she looked like she wanted to run.
Axton poured himself a drink.
The burn of whiskey settled his nerves. Then he turned toward her.
"We need to establish a few things."
Lyra nodded immediately.
No argument, no hesitation.
Just acceptance.
Again, it irritated him.
He wanted resistance, he wanted anger, he wanted some sign that she remembered what she had done.
Instead she stood there quietly, waiting. Like a prisoner hearing her sentence.
Axton set down his glass.
"Rule number one." His voice echoed through the room.
"You live here. Starting tonight. Blackwell Manor is your home now."
She nodded. “Understood."
No complaints, no questions.
Axton continued. "You'll attend every public event I require. Galas. Charity functions. Corporate dinners."
Another nod. “Fine."
His eyes narrowed.
Fine?
That was it?
"People will believe this marriage is real," he said sharply. "You'll smile for the cameras and play the role."
"I understand."
Still calm, still obedient.
The response annoyed him far more than it should have.
"Rule number three." He folded his arms.
"You stay out of my business affairs."
She looked directly at him.
For the first time, there was something behind her eyes. Not defiance.
Pain.
"I never wanted your company."
The words were soft, yet they landed harder than expected.
Axton's expression hardened. "Good."
Silence filled the room. Outside, rain began tapping against the windows, a storm was rolling in.
Appropriate.
"Rule number four."
This one mattered most. The reason he had agreed to this arrangement in the first place.
His gaze locked onto hers. "You will not expect affection from me."
Something flickered across her face.
Gone almost instantly.
But he saw it, awound reopening.
Good.
Maybe she deserved that pain.
"There will be no romance.” His voice remained cold.
"No love."
The word lingered between them.
Dangerous, unwanted, a memory.
"No husband-and-wife fantasies. We share a name and public appearances. Nothing else."
Lyra lowered her eyes. For several seconds, she said nothing, then she nodded. “Okay."
That was all.
Okay.
No tears, no pleading, no attempt to change his mind. Just acceptance.
Something inside Axton twisted unexpectedly.
Why wasn't she fighting him?
Why wasn't she defending herself?
Why wasn't she acting like the woman who had betrayed him?
Instead she looked…. Defeated.
The realization unsettled him, five years.
For five years he had imagined this moment, he had imagined making her regret everything. He had imagined seeing guilt written all over her face. Butt standing here now, he saw something else.
Exhaustion, sadness, loneliness.
As if life had already punished her long before he got the chance.
The thought angered him, because it made no sense. She was the villain.
Wasn't she?
Axton looked away first.
"Good." His voice sounded rougher than intended. “You can settle in."
Lyra nodded once more.
No argument, no emotion, nothing.
Axton hated it, he turned toward the door. This conversation was over.
The rules were established, everything was exactly as planned, so why did victory feel so hollow?
He reached the hallway before something made him pause. A sound, small, barely audible.
A shaky breath.
Slowly, he glanced back through the partially open doorway.
Lyra stood alone beside the window, her shoulders trembled, one hand covered her mouth, the other wiped quickly across her cheek.
A tear, then another, she turned away immediately, clearly believing no one could see her. As though she was determined to cry in private.
Axton froze.
For years he had imagined Lyra Hale as many things. Manipulative, selfish, heartless, guilty.
But broken? Never.
Yet the woman standing in that room didn't look like someone celebrating a victory. She looked like someone barely holding herself together, his chest tightened unexpectedly. A feeling he immediately rejected.
No.
He wasn't falling for this. Not again.
People cried, people lied.
And Lyra had always been good at making people believe her. Hadn't she?
Axton stared for one more second before forcing himself to walk away, the hallway stretched endlessly before him.
His footsteps echoed against the marble floors, but for the first time in five years, doubt followed him.
Because the woman crying behind that door looked far more broken than guilty. And suddenly, Axton wasn't sure which possibility frightened him more.
- Writer
