CHAPTER THREE — THE RULES OF HER NEW LIFE
The interior of the Aurelius Mansion felt like an entirely different world.
Elara followed a few steps behind Damian, her small suitcase rolling quietly over marble floors. The hallways were wide and spotless, decorated with modern art pieces that looked priceless. Sunlight poured in through large windows, illuminating polished surfaces and highlighting the luxury she had never imagined touching.
She felt out of place.
Too ordinary.
Too fragile.
Damian walked ahead without looking back, his strides long and confident, as though he owned every breath of air inside the mansion.
He did.
"Stay close," he said suddenly, without turning. "This house is larger than it appears. It's easy to get lost."
She nodded even though he couldn't see her. "I'll try."
He stopped and finally faced her. His eyes—dark as polished obsidian—searched hers.
"Trying isn't enough here," he said. "You will follow the rules. Strictly."
A shiver ran through her spine. "What rules?"
His jaw flexed slightly, then he motioned toward a grand doorway.
"Come."
---
The room he led her into wasn't a bedroom or a living area.
It was a private study—massive bookshelves, a sleek desk, and a large window overlooking the estate gardens.
Damian walked behind the desk and sat, his posture straight, his expression unreadable.
"Sit."
Elara obeyed, lowering herself into a leather chair opposite him. Her heart pounded as she placed her hands on her lap.
Damian opened a folder.
Not the contract—another set of documents she hadn't seen yet.
"These are the guidelines," he said. "Your responsibilities. Your boundaries."
Her voice wavered. "I already signed the contract—"
"This is additional."
He slid the papers toward her. She hesitated, then lifted the first sheet.
Her throat tightened.
GUIDELINE ONE: NO CONTACT WITH CERTAIN PEOPLE FROM HER PAST.
Names she barely recognized. Others she knew too well.
Her father's former business associates—those whose downfall had twisted into Damian's story.
"Why these people?" she whispered.
"Because this marriage puts you under my protection," Damian said. "You cannot be connected to anyone who previously worked with the man who ruined my family."
His tone held no emotion, but the sharp edge beneath it felt like a blade.
Elara nodded softly. "Okay."
"Second," he continued, "your public image matters. As my contracted wife, you will attend all required events. You will dress appropriately, speak carefully, and follow my lead."
She clutched the papers tighter. "I understand."
Damian leaned back slightly, studying her with unnerving calm.
"Do you?"
Elara swallowed. "I'll do my best."
"Good."
His voice softened—but only by a fraction.
"You will also have access to the west wing. It is your private space. If you need anything, inform the staff assigned to you."
She blinked. "Staff?"
"Yes," he said. "You'll have a personal maid, a stylist, and a security detail."
Her breath caught. "Security?"
Damian's eyes hardened.
"I don't place people in dangerous situations without protection. My enemies will notice our marriage. Some may try to use you. Security is not optional."
A cold realization struck her.
This wasn't only about revenge.
This was about power.
Politics.
Rivalries she couldn't even imagine.
"Damian… what exactly am I stepping into?" she whispered.
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stood and walked to the window, hands clasped behind his back.
"You're stepping into a world that demands strength," he said quietly. "Loyalty. Silence."
Elara's fingers trembled slightly on the papers.
"And what about you?" she murmured.
"What do you demand?"
Damian turned slowly, his expression unreadable but his gaze sharp.
"I demand that you play your role," he said. "Perfectly."
Her heart skipped.
His voice was calm—but there was a storm beneath it.
He moved closer, stopping in front of her. Even though he wasn't touching her, his presence wrapped around her like a shadow.
"This marriage," he said quietly, "is a weapon. I cannot afford cracks in it."
Elara lifted her chin, trying to hold herself steady. "I won't fail."
A faint flicker passed through his eyes—approval, maybe. Or curiosity.
"Good," he said softly.
---
A knock sounded at the door.
Damian straightened. "Come in."
A woman stepped inside—middle-aged, with a warm face and neatly styled hair. She wore a professional uniform and carried a tablet.
"Mr. Aurelius," she said with a respectful bow, "I'm here for the introduction."
Damian gestured toward Elara. "This is Mrs. Gray."
Elara startled slightly at the title—Mrs. Gray.
His wife. Even if only by contract.
The woman smiled warmly. "Welcome, Miss—pardon, Mrs. Gray. I'm Lysa. I'll be your personal maid and assistant."
Elara stood quickly. "You don't have to call me that—"
"But I do," Lysa replied gently. "It's my job."
Elara's cheeks warmed.
Lysa continued, "If you need help adjusting, I'm here. Clothes, meals, scheduling—anything."
Damian stepped forward.
"Lysa, take her to the west wing. Show her the room, the closet arrangements, and the alert system."
"Yes, sir."
Damian turned to Elara.
"I have a meeting," he said. "When I return tonight, we will discuss tomorrow's appearance."
"Appearance?" she echoed.
He nodded.
"My engagement announcement."
Her breath vanished.
"We're—announcing it tomorrow?"
"Yes. The world needs to believe we're a couple."
Elara's heart raced. Hard.
Too fast.
Damian stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"Do not be afraid," he said. "Just follow my lead."
Afraid?
She was terrified.
He didn't touch her, but his gaze pinned her in place.
"Welcome to your new life," Damian murmured.
Then he walked out, leaving her to the echo of his words.
---
Lysa guided her through the house, explaining everything—from the hidden doors to the alarm panels, to the private dining rooms and guest areas.
But Elara barely heard any of it.
Her mind swirled with thoughts of tomorrow.
Of being beside Damian in front of cameras.
Of pretending to be loved by a man who didn't believe in the word.
When they reached the west wing, Lysa pushed open a set of double doors.
"This is your room, Mrs. Gray."
Elara froze.
The room was enormous.
Soft velvet curtains, a king-size bed, chandeliers, a private balcony overlooking the garden, and a closet larger than her entire apartment.
She stepped inside slowly, almost afraid to breathe.
"It's beautiful," she whispered.
"You deserve comfort," Lysa said kindly. "This life will be challenging. But not without its warmth."
Elara turned to her, voice trembling. "Do you think I can survive this?"
Lysa's expression softened.
"If you keep your heart steady," she said, "you can survive anything."
Elara exhaled shakily.
But as she looked around the luxurious room—
as she thought about Damian, his rules, his darkness—
she realized something.
Surviving wasn't the only challenge.
Eventually, she would need to understand the man she had married.
His secrets.
His pain.
His revenge.
And whether she wanted to or not…
it would pull her deeper into his world.
— END OF CHAPTER THREE —