Rules of the devils house
1487 Words
Chapter Four
Rules of the Devil’s House
The mansion felt quieter in the morning, but not in a peaceful way. It was the kind of silence that reminded Isabella she didn’t belong here, like the house itself was waiting for her to make a mistake so it could swallow her whole. She had woken up earlier than everyone else, mostly because she hadn’t really slept at all. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw iron gates locking behind her, her father’s trembling signature, and Dante’s calm expression as if he had not just turned her entire life upside down.
When she finally forced herself out of bed, the room still looked too expensive to feel real. The bed sheets were soft enough to make her angry, the curtains were heavy silk that moved slightly with the air conditioning, and even the floor beneath her feet felt warmer than it should have. Everything in this house screamed money. Power. Control. The kind of life she had never asked for and never wanted.
She changed into one of the outfits Maria had left for her the day before, not because she accepted it, but because her old clothes had been quietly removed without her permission. That alone irritated her more than anything. It wasn’t just that she was here; it was the way they acted like she was already part of this place, like her choices didn’t matter anymore.
Downstairs, the house was already awake.
Staff moved quietly through the halls, polishing marble surfaces and adjusting flowers that didn’t need adjusting. When Isabella entered the main corridor, a few of them paused just long enough to look at her before quickly lowering their eyes again. It was subtle, but she noticed. Everyone here knew who she was. Everyone here knew she didn’t belong.
Maria appeared almost instantly, as if she had been waiting.
“You’re up early,” she said gently, offering a warm smile that felt almost unnatural in a place like this.
“I didn’t have much of a choice,” Isabella replied flatly.
Maria didn’t react to the attitude. Instead, she gestured toward the dining area. “Breakfast is ready. The Boss prefers everyone eats in the morning.”
“I’m not his staff,” Isabella muttered under her breath, but she followed anyway because refusing food wouldn’t change anything except make her weaker.
The dining room was enormous, with a long polished table that looked like it belonged in a palace rather than a home. One end was already set with plates of food she couldn’t even identify. Fresh fruit, pastries, eggs prepared in different styles, juice in crystal glasses. She sat far away from the head of the table out of instinct, choosing the seat closest to the window.
She barely touched anything.
Maria stayed nearby for a while before eventually leaving her alone, and that was when Isabella finally noticed him.
Dante.
He was standing at the entrance of the dining room, watching her in silence. She didn’t know how long he had been there. He was dressed differently from the night before, still formal but less intimidating in a black shirt with rolled sleeves. It didn’t make him look softer. If anything, it made him look more dangerous, like someone who didn’t need a suit to remind people who he was.
“You’re avoiding food,” he said simply.
“I’m not hungry.”
“That wasn’t a suggestion.”
She let out a short laugh without humor. “Are you always this controlling, or am I special?”
His eyes didn’t change. “Eat.”
Something about the way he said it made it clear it wasn’t a request. Isabella picked up a fork, more out of annoyance than obedience, and stabbed at the food without enthusiasm.
“Happy?” she asked.
“No.”
She glared at him, but he had already moved past her reaction. He walked toward the head of the table and poured himself coffee, completely unfazed by the tension he created just by existing in the same space.
“You’re going to have security assigned to you today,” he said after a moment.
“I don’t need babysitters.”
“They’re not babysitters.”
“Then what are they?”
“Protection.”
She leaned back in her chair. “From what? Your enemies or your guilt?”
For the first time that morning, something flickered in his expression. Not anger exactly. More like irritation at the fact that she wasn’t easy to ignore.
“From people who don’t ask questions before they take what they want,” he said calmly.
“And you’re different?”
The silence that followed wasn’t an answer, but it was close enough.
She pushed her plate away, appetite completely gone now. “When do I get to leave this place?”
“You don’t.”
“I wasn’t asking for permission.”
Dante took a slow sip of his coffee, watching her over the rim of the cup. “You can leave the house under supervision. You can’t leave the protection perimeter.”
“Protection,” she repeated, shaking her head. “You keep using that word like it makes everything okay.”
“It’s accurate.”
“No, it’s convenient.”
He didn’t respond, and that silence irritated her more than anything else he had said.
She stood abruptly, pushing her chair back with more force than necessary. “I’m done here.”
Dante didn’t stop her.
That was what made her angrier.
He didn’t chase. Didn’t argue. Didn’t even pretend to care.
So she walked out.
The halls felt longer on the way back, the mansion suddenly colder despite the morning warmth. She passed staff who immediately looked away, as if making eye contact with her was forbidden. It made her feel less like a guest and more like something placed temporarily inside a cage.
She found herself wandering without direction until she noticed a set of double doors slightly ajar at the end of a quieter corridor. There was no one around. No guards. No footsteps.
Curiosity got the better of her.
She pushed the door open.
The room inside was unlike the rest of the house. Less decorative. More functional. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with documents and heavy volumes. A large desk sat in the center, covered in neatly stacked files. It felt like power lived here.
She stepped inside without thinking.
“What are you doing here?”
Dante’s voice came from behind her.
She turned too quickly, heart jumping slightly despite herself. He was closer than she expected, standing just inside the doorway now, eyes immediately scanning the room and then settling on her.
“I didn’t know this room was forbidden,” she said, recovering quickly.
“It is.”
“Then maybe lock it properly.”
His gaze sharpened slightly. “Leave.”
She crossed her arms. “Or what?”
There was a pause.
Not dramatic. Not loud.
Just heavy.
“You’re testing limits,” he said finally.
“I’m adjusting to prison rules.”
“This isn’t a prison.”
She laughed softly. “It feels like one.”
Dante stepped further into the room, and suddenly the space felt smaller. Not because he was physically close, but because everything about him demanded attention without effort.
“You don’t understand what you’re involved in,” he said quietly.
“Then explain it.”
“I don’t owe you explanations.”
“Of course you don’t,” she snapped. “Because I’m just part of a contract, right?”
Something in his jaw tightened.
Before either of them could say anything else, a knock echoed from the hallway.
Maria’s voice followed. “Boss, the meeting has started.”
Dante didn’t look away from Isabella.
“I’ll deal with this later,” he said finally, before turning and leaving the room.
The door closed behind him.
And for the first time since arriving, Isabella felt something other than anger.
Frustration that he could walk away so easily.
Like she wasn’t worth finishing the conversation for.
She stood there in the quiet office for a few seconds longer, breathing unevenly, before suddenly turning and walking out faster than before.
By the time she reached her room, her hands were shaking slightly.
She shut the door behind her without locking it, leaned against it for a moment, then finally exhaled.
She didn’t understand him.
And that was the most dangerous part.
Because a man like Dante Moretti didn’t stay confusing for long.
He either became predictable.
Or he became something you couldn’t escape.
And Isabella wasn’t sure which scared her more.
She crossed the room quickly, kicked off her shoes, and climbed onto the bed, pulling the blanket over herself like it could shut the world out.
Outside, the mansion kept breathing.
And somewhere inside it, Dante Moretti was still watching.
- Writer
