Owned by the devil I loved

chapter 3 : the rules he sets

The morning light crept through the tall curtains, barely illuminating the room. I woke to the unfamiliar silence of a mansion that felt more like a fortress than a home. Every corner, every shadow, seemed to watch me.

I swallowed, trying to steady my racing heart. Last night had changed everything. Lucien had claimed me—verbally, physically, mentally. The memory of his hand brushing my hair, the way his eyes had traced me as if I were both dangerous and precious, made my pulse thunder.

I pulled the sheets closer around me. I didn’t want to get up. I didn’t want to face him, the house, the rules. But I had no choice.

When I stepped out of my room, the hallway was empty, silent, and pristine. Polished floors reflected my own pale face, a face that seemed too small for this enormous house, too insignificant for the world Lucien inhabited.

A soft click echoed from behind a door, and I froze. A moment later, a man in a black suit appeared, bowing respectfully.

“Breakfast, Miss,” he said, placing a tray on the table in the small sitting area just off the hall.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my hands trembling slightly.

The man left without another word. My fingers hovered over the food, but I couldn’t eat. My mind was filled with him—Lucien. What rules would he set today? Would he finally touch me again?

I hadn’t waited long before the sound of his boots on marble floors announced his presence.

“Up,” he said, standing in the doorway. His voice was calm, almost casual, but it carried the weight of command.

I stood immediately. My hands pressed together in front of me, as if I could shield myself from his scrutiny.

“Breakfast,” he said, motioning toward the tray. “Eat.”

I obeyed silently, taking small bites while his gaze followed my every move. It was unnerving. Every time my eyes met his, I felt like I was being stripped bare.

Finally, he spoke:

“Rule one: You do not leave this house without me. You will not answer the phone. You will not check social media. Nothing happens outside of this house that does not go through me.”

“I understand,” I whispered.

He tilted his head, studying me with an intensity that made me shiver. “Good. Rule two: You do not speak about me. To anyone. Ever.”

“I—yes.”

“Rule three,” he said, leaning closer. The air between us felt charged, almost electric. “You do not tempt me. You do not give me reasons to lose control. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I whispered, barely able to breathe.

“Good,” he said, stepping back. “Now finish your breakfast. Then we walk.”

I followed him through corridors that twisted and turned like a maze. Every room we passed was more luxurious than the last: libraries with dark wood, chandeliers glinting like ice, and hallways lined with priceless paintings. But despite the beauty, I felt trapped.

We arrived at a small gym.

“You train?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“You will,” he said simply, handing me a set of workout clothes.

“Why—”

“Because you are mine. You will be capable, or you will be useless to me. There is no in-between.”

I hesitated, swallowing the lump in my throat. His words were not cruel—they were truth. But the implication made my stomach knot with fear and something else I refused to name.

Later, after training—or rather, after trying to follow his harsh, efficient instructions—he led me into a room that looked like an office. Heavy curtains blocked the light, and the smell of leather and paper filled the air.

He gestured to a chair.

“Sit.”

I obeyed, my legs trembling slightly.

He leaned against the desk, arms crossed, watching me. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

“You’re restless,” he observed finally.

“I’m not used to—”

“Not used to being under control?” His voice was calm but dangerous, like a storm barely held at bay.

“Yes,” I admitted.

“That will change.”

I tried to hide my shiver, but he saw it anyway. He walked closer, slow, deliberate. Each step echoed in the empty office like a drumbeat in my chest.

“You’re learning, whether you like it or not,” he whispered. His hand reached out, brushing my shoulder—not aggressively, but enough to make my pulse spike. “Fear, obedience, desire—they are all intertwined now. And you will learn to control them… eventually.”

I swallowed hard, unsure if I wanted to run or melt into him.

The day passed with rules, lessons, and small tests of obedience. He was everywhere I went: in the kitchen, observing me silently; in the library, standing just outside the doorway; in the training room, correcting my every movement with precise, sharp words.

I began to notice the way he watched me. Not just the body—though that part was undeniable—but the subtle things: my hesitation before speaking, the fear in my eyes, the small defiance when I resisted. Each reaction fascinated him, and the more he watched, the more my skin seemed to prickle under his gaze.

By evening, I was exhausted, both physically and mentally. My muscles ached from training, my mind spun from trying to anticipate his rules and reactions, and my heart… my heart kept racing at the memory of the way he had touched me, the way he had looked at me.

I retreated to my room, thinking I could hide from him, only to hear the familiar sound of boots echoing down the hall.

“You’re thinking about me,” he said as he appeared in the doorway.

“I—no,” I stammered.

He stepped inside, closer than I wanted him to be. “Yes, you are. And it’s useless to lie. I can see everything. Every fear, every desire, every thought that betrays you.”

I swallowed, heat creeping through me despite my exhaustion. My body betrayed me again, and I hated it.

He bent slightly, his voice low and rough. “Do you understand what it means to belong to me?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Good.” He straightened, backing away slightly, but the tension remained, thick as the air before a storm. “Tomorrow, you’ll begin the second test. Be ready.”

And with that, he was gone.

I sank onto the edge of the bed, trembling, exhausted, and painfully aware of one terrifying truth:

Being under his roof, under his rules, under his gaze… was nothing like being safe.

It was intoxicating.

And I was already addicted.