Contract Marriage with the Don

The Don's Rules

The Moretti estate was a world Elena had only seen in films and movies. High arched ceilings loomed above her, glittering chandeliers cast golden light across marble floors, and every wall was adorned with oil paintings that seemed older than her entire family history, expensive too. It was breathtaking-yet suffocating.

This wasn't a home. It was a palace. A fortress. And now, her prison.

Adrian Moretti strode ahead without looking back, his long strides commanding the space like he had been born to rule it. Two guards peeled off to stand near the entrance, their silence unnerving. Elena followed behind, her every step echoing against the polished marble. She hugged her trembling hands close to her chest, trying not to look as lost as she felt.

When they reached a wide hallway lined with heavy oak doors, Adrian finally paused. He turned, those dark eyes landing on her again. The intensity of his gaze made her spine stiffen.

"This way," he said, pushing open a door.

Elena hesitated before stepping inside. The room was luxurious, larger than her family's entire living room. A canopy bed dressed in silk dominated the space, while velvet drapes framed tall windows that looked out onto manicured gardens. A faint scent of expensive cologne lingered in the air-his scent.

Her stomach tightened. This was his bedroom.

Adrian stepped inside after her, closing the door with a soft click that sounded louder than a gunshot in her ears. He shrugged off his suit jacket, draping it across a chair, and unbuttoned his cuffs with deliberate ease. The air seemed to thicken with each casual movement he made.

Elena's pulse raced. "Why am I here?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He glanced at her, his expression unreadable. "Because you are my wife now. And this-" he gestured around the room, "-is your new reality."

Her throat tightened. "You forced me into this. You don't even know me."

For a moment, his jaw ticked, a muscle flexing near his temple. Then he stepped closer, and Elena instinctively retreated until her back brushed the edge of the bed. He stopped just inches away, towering over her, the faint shadow of stubble roughening his sharp jawline.

"I know enough," Adrian murmured. "I know you're loyal to your family. I know you'd sacrifice yourself to protect them. That tells me more about you than you realize."

Her breath hitched. His words cut deep, and she hated that he was right.

Adrian leaned down slightly, his voice dropping to a low growl. "But make no mistake, Elena. I don't need love. I need loyalty. As long as you understand that, we won't have a problem."

Her hands clenched at her sides. "And if I don't?"

A dark smile curved his lips, chilling her more than any threat. "Then you'll learn quickly what it means to defy me."

The weight of his authority pressed down on her. He didn't shout. He didn't need to. His calm, controlled tone was scarier than rage could ever be.

He straightened, breaking the suffocating closeness, and walked toward a cabinet. Pulling out a crystal glass, he poured himself a drink, the amber liquid catching the light. "There are rules, Elena," he said, his back to her. "You'll follow them if you value your entire family."

Her voice trembled. "Rules?"

He turned, glass in hand, his gaze sharp as a blade. "Rule one: you belong to me. No secrets, no lies. Rule two: you don't leave this house without my permission. Rule three: you will play the role of my wife in public-flawlessly. If you embarrass me, you'll regret it."

Elena swallowed hard, anger mixing with fear. "So I'm your possession now? Your... pawn?"

He stepped closer, setting his drink aside. His hand reached up, brushing lightly under her chin, tilting her face upward until she was forced to meet his eyes.

"No," he said softly, almost dangerously soft. "A pawn is disposable. You, Elena, are far more valuable than that. But don't confuse value with freedom."

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her heart warring between defiance and dread.

When he finally released her, she stumbled back, her legs weak. He didn't move to help her, only watching with that unreadable expression that made her skin prickle.

"I'll have someone bring you clothes," Adrian said at last, his tone shifting back to businesslike. "Dinner is at eight. Be at my side."

With that, he picked up his glass and strode out, leaving her in the oppressive silence of the room.

Elena sank onto the edge of the bed, burying her face in her hands. The silk sheets beneath her fingers felt like chains.

Her father had sold her to the devil himself. And the worst part was... a small, treacherous part of her heart beat faster every time Adrian looked at her.