MARRIED TO ESCAPE

*Chapter 2: The Rules*

*Chapter 2: The Rules*

I didn’t sleep that night.

The room Damian gave me was bigger than my old room, the kitchen, and the bathroom combined. White bed. White sheets. No photos. No warmth.

Just like him.

500k allowance. A credit card. A phone.

And 3 rules written on a note by my bed:

*RULES OF THIS MARRIAGE*

1. *You are my wife in public only.*

2. *No questions about my work. No questions about me.*

3. *Do not fall in love with me.*

That last one made me laugh. Bitter.

Like I would fall in love with the man who bought me.

The next morning at 6am, there was a knock.

"Miss. Mr. Cole said to get ready for school."

School.

I’m in my 3rd year of Business Administration. Final year next session. Or I was... until my stepmom pulled me out to "work at home".

I grabbed my bag. Old one. Faded.

Downstairs, Damian was waiting by a black SUV. Two men in suits stood by the doors. Security.

He looked at my bag. Then at me. His jaw ticked.

"Get in," he said.

The ride was silent. He was taking ME to school.

We pulled up to Babcock University. Students were walking in with backpacks, laughing, taking buses.

And then my SUV pulled in.

Everyone stared.

Damian got out first, opened my door. "I’ll pick you by 4pm. Don’t talk to strangers."

"Yes, Damian," I whispered.

I walked into class and heard it immediately.

"Is that Crystal Peters?"

"Why is she coming in a Bentley?"

"Who was that man?"

My stepsisters Tasha and Linda were in my department.

Tasha stood up the second she saw me.

"Well well. Look who thinks she’s rich now," she sneered. "Stepmom sold you off, didn’t she?"

I didn’t answer. I sat down and opened my book.

After class, the SUV was waiting. Damian was on his phone, but he looked up when he saw me.

"Problem?" he asked.

"My stepsisters."

His eyes went cold. "Get in."

On the way home, he finally spoke. "From now on, security follows you to class. No one touches you."

"Why do you care?" I asked quietly.

He didn’t answer.

That night I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about Papa. About the last day in the hospital.

I was 18. Crying by his bed.

"Crystal," he’d whispered, so weak. "Be strong, baby. I love you."

He never said Damian’s name. He never told me about any promise.

He died thinking I had nobody.

But Damian knew.

The next day I went to the library in his house. In the corner, a small box. Old. Dusty.

Inside: a newspaper clipping.

*HOUSE FIRE CLAIMS LIFE OF MRS. PETERS. BABY DAUGHTER SAVED BY NEIGHBOR BOY, 10.*

There was a photo. A burning house.

And in one corner, a little boy holding a baby.

10 year old Damian. And me.

My hands started shaking.

The door opened behind me.

"Put that down."

Damian.

"You knew," I whispered. "My dad made you promise to take care of me... and you never told me."

His face was stone. But his eyes were furious. And tired. And guilty.

"I was 10," he said quietly. "He made me promise. I tried to find you after... after the funeral. But your stepmom had already taken you. By the time I had money and power, you were 18 and I thought—"

He stopped. Swallowed.

"You thought what?" I asked, tears falling.

"That it was too late." His voice cracked. "So I bought you. Because it was the only way I could keep the promise."

My heart broke.

"Rule 2," he said, turning away. "No questions."

He walked out.

But before the door closed, I heard it.

"I’m sorry I was late, Crystal."