Three: “Everyone Follows Rules”
1232 Words
I didn’t sleep.
Not really.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw my father sliding that folder across the table. Heard Adrian’s voice in my ear.
He offered you.
By the time sunlight crept through the curtains, I was wide awake and furious.
Good.
Anger was easier than everything else.
I shoved the blankets off and swung my legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the unfamiliar weight of the room around me. For a second, I just sat there, grounding myself.
This wasn’t my home.
This wasn’t my life.
And I was not staying here.
A soft knock sounded at the door before I could move.
I didn’t answer.
It opened anyway.
“Breakfast is downstairs,” Sofia said, stepping inside like she had every right to be there. “Mr. Russo expects you.”
“Then he can come get me.”
Her expression didn’t change. “He won’t.”
“Great. Then I guess he’ll be disappointed.”
A pause.
Then, calmly—“You don’t want to disappoint him.”
I stood slowly. “I think I do.”
Something flickered in her eyes. Not quite amusement. Not quite warning.
“He doesn’t repeat himself,” she said.
“And I don’t take orders.”
For a second, we just looked at each other.
Then she nodded once, like she’d made a decision.
“I’ll give you ten minutes.”
The door closed behind her.
I exhaled sharply.
Ten minutes.
Ten minutes before I had to face him again.
I crossed the room, grabbed the clothes laid out for me, and changed quickly. Simple. Clean. Nothing that felt like me. Of course not.
Even the wardrobe here was controlled.
Everything about this place was controlled.
By him.
I pushed that thought down and left the room before I could talk myself out of it.
⸻
The dining room was exactly what I expected.
Long table. Dark wood. Too many chairs for one person.
Too much space.
Too much silence.
Adrian sat at the far end like he owned the air itself.
Which—apparently—he did.
He didn’t look up when I walked in.
Didn’t acknowledge me at all.
Which irritated me more than if he had.
I pulled out the chair across from him and sat down harder than necessary.
“Good morning,” I said flatly.
He turned a page in the file in front of him.
“Sit.”
My jaw tightened. “I am sitting.”
His eyes lifted slowly.
And just like that, the room shifted.
It was ridiculous how much impact one look could have.
“Then we’re already making progress,” he said.
I glared at him. “I’m not here to play whatever game you think this is.”
“No,” he agreed. “You’re here because your father failed.”
The words hit—but I refused to let them show.
“Then deal with him,” I shot back. “Not me.”
“I am.”
My fingers curled against the table.
“By locking me in your house?”
“By keeping what he gave me.”
I leaned forward, anger burning hot and fast. “I’m not a thing.”
His gaze didn’t waver.
“No,” Adrian said. “You’re leverage.”
The word landed heavier than collateral had.
More deliberate.
More personal.
I swallowed hard. “For what?”
He closed the file in front of him and set it aside.
Finally.
Full attention.
“You ask a lot of questions for someone who hasn’t earned answers.”
“Maybe if you stopped talking like a cryptic villain—”
“Eat.”
The interruption was sharp.
Not loud.
Not yelled.
But final.
I froze.
The tray in front of me—coffee, fruit, something warm I hadn’t bothered to look at—suddenly felt like part of the same control.
“I’m not hungry.”
Adrian reached for his own cup, taking a slow sip before setting it down again.
“Then this will be a long day for you.”
I stared at him.
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” he said calmly, “you don’t get to refuse everything and expect comfort in return.”
Comfort.
I almost laughed.
“You think this is comfortable?”
“I think,” he said, “you haven’t decided what kind of situation you’re in yet.”
My pulse kicked up.
“And what kind is that?”
His gaze held mine.
“The kind where you learn quickly.”
A chill slid down my spine.
“Or?”
He leaned back slightly in his chair, studying me.
“Or you make things harder than they need to be.”
There it was again.
Not a threat.
Not exactly.
But close enough.
I pushed my chair back slightly. “I’m not playing along with this.”
“You already are.”
“I’m not—”
“You got dressed,” he said. “You came downstairs. You’re sitting at my table.”
Each word landed like a step closing in.
“You’re participating.”
My throat tightened.
“I’m surviving,” I snapped.
Something in his expression shifted.
Just barely.
“Good,” Adrian said. “Then you understand the stakes.”
I hated that part of me did.
I hated that part of me was already adjusting.
I grabbed the fork in front of me, more out of defiance than hunger, and stabbed a piece of fruit.
“There,” I said. “Happy?”
“No.”
Of course not.
I took a bite anyway.
He watched me for a second longer, then stood.
The sudden movement pulled my attention up instantly.
“Finish eating,” he said.
“And then what?”
He straightened his jacket, expression unreadable.
“Then you learn the rules.”
I set the fork down slowly.
“I don’t follow rules.”
He stepped around the table, stopping beside me instead of across from me this time.
Too close.
Always too close.
“Everyone follows rules,” Adrian said quietly. “They just don’t always get to choose them.”
I tilted my chin up, refusing to look away.
“I’m not everyone.”
For a second—
just a second—
something almost like approval flickered in his eyes.
Then it was gone.
“Finish your breakfast, Elara.”
His voice dropped just slightly.
“Because after this—”
My pulse stuttered.
“After this, you don’t get to pretend you don’t understand what you are here.”
The words settled heavy in my chest.
I held his gaze, searching for something—anything—that would give me clarity.
All I found was certainty.
Cold. Absolute. Unshakable.
He turned and walked toward the door.
Then paused.
Just long enough to say—
“You have five minutes.”
And then he was gone.
I stared down at the plate in front of me, appetite completely gone now.
Five minutes.
Five minutes before he decided what came next.
Before I found out what kind of “rules” a man like Adrian Russo thought I’d follow.
Before I figured out exactly how trapped I really was.
My grip tightened around the fork.
Because one thing was already clear—
I wasn’t going down quietly.
- Writer
