Chapter 2: Rules Of The House
1125 Words
I didn’t sleep.
How could I?
The bed was silk. The room was bigger than my father’s entire warehouse. And the door was locked.
From the outside.
I counted the hours by the sound of the rain on the stone walls. 3 AM. 4 AM. 5 AM. At 6, I gave up and sat by the window that didn’t open. The Romano estate looked like a prison dressed as a palace. Black gates. Armed men at every corner. No way out.
He’d said “for now.”
I hated that “for now.”
At 7:03 AM, the lock clicked.
I shot to my feet so fast my head spun. My back hit the wall on instinct. Defiant. Scared. Both at once.
It wasn’t Luca.
A woman in her fifties walked in with a tray. Gray uniform. Kind eyes. “Miss Moretti. I’m Elena. I run the house.”
She set the tray down. Eggs. Toast. Coffee. Fruit. More food than I’d seen in a week.
“Eat,” she said.
“I’m not hungry.”
Elena looked at me like I was a child lying about vegetables. “You will be. You’re in Mr. Romano’s house now. He doesn’t let his… guests… starve.”
Guests. Right.
“Can I leave?” I asked.
“No.” Simple. Honest.
“Can I call someone?”
“No.”
“Can I have the door unlocked?”
Her smile was sad. “Ask Mr. Romano.”
She left. The door clicked again.
I stared at the food. My stomach twisted. Hunger and fear were fighting. Hunger won. I ate everything. Because if I was going to be a prisoner, I wouldn’t be a weak one.
Ten minutes later, the door opened again.
Luca.
He’d changed. Black shirt. Black slacks. No jacket. His sleeves rolled up again, showing forearms and a thin silver watch. He looked less like a king and more like a man who’d been awake all night.
He carried nothing. No tray. No gun. Just himself.
And the room got smaller.
“Did you eat?” he asked. No ‘good morning’.
“Yes.” Defiant.
“Good.” He stepped in. The door stayed open behind him. Not locked. Yet. “Elena says you didn’t sleep.”
“How do you—”
“I have cameras.” He said it plain. No apology. “Sit.”
“I’m not a dog.”
His gray eyes narrowed. Just a fraction. “Sit, Aria.”
I didn’t.
For three seconds we stared. Me, barefoot, shaking, furious. Him, calm, dangerous, waiting.
Then my legs gave out. Not because he ordered me. Because I hadn’t slept, and I was terrified, and I was done pretending I wasn’t.
I sat on the edge of the bed. Hard.
His mouth twitched. Like he’d won something, but wouldn’t say it.
“Rule number three,” he said. “You will not go hungry. You will not be harmed. You will be kept safe.”
“Safe?” I laughed. It sounded broken. “You kidnapped me.”
“I collected collateral.” He corrected. “There is a difference.”
“Not to me.”
He tilted his head. Studying me again. Like I was a new kind of problem. “You’re angry.”
“Yes.”
“You’re scared.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re soft.”
That one hit. “What?”
“You ate everything on the plate,” he said quietly. “A truly hard woman would have thrown it at the wall to prove a point. You’re angry at me. But you’re not stupid. That’s… useful.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. So I said nothing.
He moved. Not toward me. To the window. He looked out at the rain.
“Your father has forty-seven hours left,” he said. “If he comes, you go. If he doesn’t…”
He didn’t finish. Again.
“Then what?” My voice was smaller now. Scared.
“Then you stay.” He turned back to me. “And we renegotiate the debt.”
My stomach dropped. “I’m not— I won’t—”
“I didn’t say s*x, Aria.” His voice was sharp. Cutting. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”
I flushed. Humiliated. Because he was right. My mind went there first. Because he was a man like him, and I was a girl with no power.
He saw it. His expression shifted. Less cold. More… something else.
“I keep my word,” he said. “You will not be touched unless you want to be. That is rule number four.”
I blinked. “You expect me to believe that?”
“No.” He was honest. Brutal. “I expect you to learn it.”
He stepped closer. I didn’t move back. Scared, yes. But defiant too. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
He stopped an arm’s length away. He pulled something from his pocket. A phone. New. Simple.
“For emergencies,” he said. “One number is saved. Mine. If you need Elena. If you’re sick. If the house is on fire.”
He held it out.
I didn’t take it. “So you can track me?”
“Yes.” No lie. “Take it.”
I stared at his hand. Big. Scar across the knuckles. The hand that ordered men with guns.
And I took it. Because I was scared. And because I was soft enough to need a way out, even if it was fake.
Our fingers brushed.
He didn’t pull away first. I did.
“Good girl,” he murmured.
I flinched. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not.” My voice shook. “I’m not yours. I’m not a pet. I’m—”
“Collateral,” he finished. “For now.”
He turned to leave.
“Wait.” The word slipped out before I could stop it. Soft.
He paused. Didn’t turn.
“Will you…” I swallowed. “Will you hurt me if he doesn’t come back?”
Now he turned. Slowly.
“No,” he said. “I won’t hurt you, Aria. But I won’t let you go either.”
That was worse. Somehow.
He walked out. The door stayed open.
Elena appeared a second later. “Mr. Romano says you may use the library. Or the garden. With an escort.”
An escort. A guard.
Prisoner with a view.
I looked down at the phone in my hand. One number.
Luca Romano.
My finger hovered over it.
I didn’t call.
But I didn’t delete it either.
And that scared me more than the locked door ever did
- Writer
