CHAPTER THREE — SEVEN RULES
Sleep refused to come.
Emilia lay on the thin mattress of her tiny apartment, staring at the cracked ceiling while the city murmured far beneath her window. The black folder Ares had given her sat beside her pillow like a silent threat. She kept reaching for it, touching it, pulling her hand away, then reaching again.
She felt like she was balancing on the edge of a cliff—and the wind had just shifted.
She should have read the rules immediately.
She should have prepared.
She should have done something.
Instead she'd spent two hours replaying everything Ares Donovan had said. Every word. Every expression. The heat of his proximity. The coldness in his eyes when she asked the wrong question. The softness that slipped through for half a second when he looked at her too long.
He terrified her.
He intrigued her.
He confused her.
He was offering her everything she needed… for a price she didn't understand yet.
With a shaky inhale, Emilia finally pushed herself upright and pulled the black folder into her lap. Her fingers trembled slightly as she flipped it open, revealing seven neatly typed rules.
Seven guidelines for surviving the next six months.
Seven ways Ares intended to control her world.
She swallowed hard and began to read.
---
Rule #1 — You do not lie to me.
Ares's voice echoed inside her mind.
"Rule number one, Emilia: you do not lie to me."
His eyes had been so sharp, as if he could peel the truth off her skin. That rule was dangerous. It meant he'd watch her closely. It meant he didn't tolerate even the smallest deception.
It meant he expected honesty… first from her, not himself.
---
Rule #2 — You obey instructions at events and appearances.
Straightforward. High society demanded precision.
But "obey" made her chest tighten.
---
Rule #3 — You do not leave without permission during arranged hours.
Her brows drew together.
Arranged hours?
Permission?
What exactly was she signing herself into?
---
Rule #4 — You do not involve anyone in our arrangement.
No friends.
No family.
No confidants.
No witnesses.
She felt the rule settle heavily onto her shoulders.
---
Rule #5 — You must maintain the appearance of closeness with me.
Her pulse stumbled.
Closeness.
That could mean anything.
A hand on his arm.
A touch at his back.
Sitting too close at dinners.
Acting like someone who belonged in his orbit.
Someone he wanted.
Her cheeks warmed.
She took a slow breath before reading the next line.
---
Rule #6 — You will stay in Donovan Tower for the duration of the arrangement.
Emilia froze.
Ares hadn't mentioned this. Not once.
She was going to live in his building?
Six months.
Under his roof.
Under his watch.
Her tiny apartment suddenly felt like a memory she was losing too quickly.
---
Rule #7 — If you are in danger, you come to me first. Always.
This one felt different.
Not cold.
Not strategic.
Protective.
Too protective.
Why would someone like Ares Donovan think she'd be in danger?
And why had he written that line with such emphasis?
Before she could overthink it, a sudden knock on her door made her jump violently.
She held her breath.
Another knock, harder this time.
Her heart climbed into her throat.
"Emilia Hart?" a deep voice called from the hall.
She rose slowly, her palms sweating as she approached the door. When she opened it, she found a tall man in a crisp black suit standing there. He held a sealed envelope marked with the Donovan crest.
"For you, miss," he said, offering it without emotion.
"What is—?"
"Instructions," he said. "Good night."
He walked away before she could say another word.
Terror prickled at her spine.
She shut the door. Locked it. Then tore the envelope open with trembling fingers.
Inside was a single card.
Elegant. Minimal.
You have one hour.
Pack one bag.
Be ready. — A.D.
Her stomach dropped.
T-tonight? He wants me tonight?
She stared at the card again, pulse pounding.
No time to mentally prepare.
No time to say goodbye to her life.
No time to think.
He wanted her to move now.
Her mind raced as she grabbed her backpack and began stuffing whatever she could grab—two tops, jeans, toiletries, her one decent pair of heels, and the old worn journal she never went anywhere without.
She paused at her mirror.
Her mother's smiling face was taped there—a fading photograph she kept close. Emilia ran a thumb over the curled edges before peeling it off and slipping it into her journal.
She zipped the bag and stood in the center of her small apartment.
The peeling wallpaper.
The crack in the ceiling.
The tiny kitchenette where she'd cried countless nights.
Her mattress on the floor.
This place had been her struggle.
Her beginning.
Her burden.
And she was about to leave it for a man she barely knew… but who already owned too many pieces of her future.
A sharp knock echoed from the front of the building—short, authoritative.
The driver.
Emilia's heart hammered as she slung her bag over her shoulder and stepped out of her apartment for the last time.
---
THE CAR
The sleek black car waiting at the curb looked expensive enough to belong in a movie. The driver opened the back door with a respectful bow.
"Miss Hart."
She slid inside, and her breath caught.
The interior smelled of leather, cedar, and something distinctly Ares—clean and cold, like winter air and secrets.
The door closed, shutting her away from her old world.
The city lights blurred past the windows as they drove.
Faster.
Deeper into the glittering parts of the city she'd only ever seen from afar.
And all she could think was:
What am I doing? What does he want with me? What is he not telling me?
---
DONOVAN TOWER
After twenty minutes, the car pulled into a private road lined with security lights. Donovan Tower rose above the skyline like a blade of glass and steel, its highest floors disappearing into low clouds.
Her throat tightened.
This wasn't just wealth.
This was power.
Real, crushing power.
The car descended into a private underground garage, and the driver led her to a secured elevator.
"This keycard is for you," he said, handing her a sleek black card. "It grants access to the penthouse floors only."
Penthouse.
Her stomach twisted.
Penthouse meant him.
Penthouse meant proximity.
Penthouse meant she was entering a world she had no map for.
The elevator ride felt like an eternity. Each passing floor made her pulse race harder.
Then the doors slid open.
And Ares was standing right there.
Waiting for her.
---
ARES
His suit jacket was undone, his sleeves rolled back slightly, his hair tousled in a way that made him look expensive and dangerous. But his eyes—
Those sharp, stormy eyes locked onto her instantly.
"You're late," he said.
Her breath caught. "The driver— he arrived in twenty minutes, I—"
"Excuses," Ares said quietly. "But we'll work on your timing."
Her cheeks warmed with embarrassment. "I'm not used to this."
"You will be."
His gaze dropped to the small bag in her hand.
"That's all you brought?"
"Yes," she whispered.
"Good," he said. "Travel light. It keeps things simple."
He stepped closer.
Every inch he closed felt like a trap she was willingly falling into.
"Follow me," he said.
His tone brooked no argument.
He led her down the quiet hallway, stopping at a door with a biometric lock. He pressed his thumb to the scanner.
The door clicked open.
And Emilia inhaled sharply.
---
THE ROOM
It was enormous.
A private suite with marble floors, soft gold lighting, and a panoramic view of the city stretching endlessly beyond the glass wall. A king-sized bed stood against one wall, and a door led to a walk-in closet bigger than her entire apartment bedroom.
"This will be your room," Ares said.
"Your room?" she repeated.
"For now."
"For now?" she echoed, confused.
Ares's eyes met hers.
"When the arrangement requires it, you'll move to the main suite."
Her pulse stuttered.
The main suite.
His suite.
"And when will that be?" she whispered.
"When I decide," Ares said simply.
He stepped closer. Close enough for her to feel the heat from his body.
"Tomorrow at eight, we begin. There's a schedule in the drawer. Review it."
"O-okay."
Ares watched her for a long, unreadable moment.
Then his voice lowered.
"Tonight… you adjust to the fact that your life is no longer separate from mine."
The words slid over her like silk and steel.
Her breath caught.
Ares stepped back.
"Get some sleep," he said. "Tomorrow changes everything."
And then—
The door clicked shut.
Leaving Emilia alone in a beautiful room… in a tower she never imagined entering… in a life she had never asked for.
She stood frozen, her heart pounding in a rhythm she couldn't control.
Because the truth hit her all at once:
She wasn't just stepping into Ares's world.
She was stepping into his secrets.
And Ares Donovan…
wasn't going to let her go.