EPISODE 3: THE RULES OF THE MANSION
967 Words
The drive back to the Thorne estate was unbearably quiet.
The adrenaline from the wedding had disappeared.
The cameras.
The applause.
The performance.
Gone.
What remained was reality.
I sat beside Silas in the back of the limousine and stared out at the rain streaking across the windows.
Mrs Silas Thorne.
The title felt strange.
Heavy.
Like something borrowed from someone else’s life.
Silas barely acknowledged my existence. He worked on his tablet while messages appeared and disappeared across the screen.
Business.
Always business.
If anyone saw us now, they would never believe the man who kissed me in front of the cameras hadn’t spoken a single personal word to me afterwards.
Eventually, the gates opened.
The estate appeared.
Tall.
Elegant.
Cold.
The mansion stretched across the property like a kingdom built for someone who trusted architecture more than people.
Glass.
Stone.
Steel.
Perfect.
Empty.
The car stopped.
Silas stepped out first.
I followed.
The front doors opened before we reached them.
Inside stood the housekeeper.
Mrs. Gable.
She looked to be in her late fifties with sharp eyes and controlled movements.
She offered a small nod.
“Welcome home, Madam.”
Home.
The word felt unfamiliar.
Silas handed her his coat.
“Show her to the master suite.”
His voice remained calm.
“Make sure she has everything she requires.”
Then he added
“And do not disturb me tonight.”
Without another glance
He walked away.
His footsteps disappeared into another wing of the house.
Mrs Gable turned to me.
“This way.”
I followed.
We climbed a sweeping staircase and moved through long hallways decorated with expensive artwork.
Everything looked beautiful.
Nothing felt lived in.
No photographs.
No signs of family.
No signs of memories.
Just perfection.
Mrs Gable opened double doors.
“This will be your room.”
Your room.
Not your room together.
Not your suite.
Interesting.
She left.
I stepped inside.
The room was enormous.
Dark charcoal walls.
Soft lighting.
Massive windows overlooking rain-soaked gardens.
Luxury everywhere.
But something felt wrong.
It looked staged.
Like nobody actually slept here.
I walked to the window.
Rain blurred the world outside.
For a moment
I forgot why I was here.
Then my phone vibrated.
Unknown Number.
My stomach tightened.
I opened the message.
The transfer is complete. He suspects nothing.
I stared.
Then slowly released the breath I had been holding.
Good.
The flash drive wasn’t my only move.
Earlier that day
during asset transfers and legal documentation—
I had quietly embedded access markers into a private channel connected to internal systems.
Nothing obvious.
Nothing illegal by appearance.
Just enough.
A doorway.
One I could use later.
If everything worked
I would eventually see what happened behind closed doors.
I locked my phone.
One move completed.
Many left.
An hour passed.
I changed out of the wedding dress.
The silence became uncomfortable.
Then—
three knocks.
Not Mrs Gable.
The door opened.
Silas entered.
Without permission.
Without apology.
His jacket was gone.
His white shirt sleeves rolled upward.
Collar loosened.
He looked less like a CEO and more like something dangerous pretending to be civilised.
He walked toward the wet bar.
Poured himself a drink.
Didn’t offer me one.
“I trust the accommodations are acceptable.”
I crossed my arms.
“They’re fine.”
He nodded once.
Then turned.
“We have a gala on Friday.”
His voice stayed calm.
“The press will attend.”
He took a sip.
“You’ll wear the jewellery prepared for you.”
Another sip.
“You’ll speak when necessary.”
Then his eyes settled on me.
“And you’ll look like a woman deeply in love with her husband.”
I stared at him.
Then slowly stood.
Walked toward him.
Stopped close enough to see the tension in his jaw.
“And if I don’t?”
Silence.
Then
movement.
Fast.
Too fast.
One second, he stood across from me.
The next
I was backed lightly against the bar.
His hand lifted.
He moved a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
The touch felt deliberate.
Controlled.
His eyes remained fixed on mine.
When he spoke
His voice was low.
Dangerously calm.
“Then your father learns what happens to people who make mistakes around me.”
I didn’t move.
He continued quietly.
“You agreed to this.”
His gaze darkened.
“We have one year.”
His fingers disappeared.
“You can make this easy.”
A pause.
“Or unforgettable.”
The room felt smaller.
But I refused to look away.
So I smiled.
Small.
Controlled.
“And if I’m not interested in comfort?”
Something changed.
His eyes held mine longer than expected.
Not anger.
Recognition.
Like he had expected, fear.
And found resistance.
Interesting.
He stepped back.
Finished his drink.
Set the glass down.
Then walked toward the door.
Before leaving
He stopped.
Without turning
He said:
“One more thing.”
I waited.
“This room is yours.”
A pause.
“My room is down the hall.”
I blinked.
He continued
“We maintain appearances.”
Then quieter
“But I don’t share space.”
The door opened.
He looked back briefly.
“Sleep well, wife.”
The word carried something impossible to read.
Mockery.
Distance.
Or warning.
Then he disappeared.
The door shut.
Silence returned.
I leaned against the bar.
My pulse refused to slow.
This wasn’t what I expected.
Silas wasn’t careless.
He wasn’t emotional.
Everything he did had purpose.
That made him dangerous.
But people with control always had blind spots.
And I intended to find his.
I looked around the enormous room.
The mansion.
The silence.
The rules.
I understood now.
This wasn’t a marriage.
This was a battlefield.
And tomorrow
The game truly began.
End of Episode 3
- Writer
