Rosie screamed herself awake.
Her body jerked upright, breath tearing from her chest as though she had been dragged from deep water. Sweat clung to her skin, her hair damp against her face. The room was dark, silent but the sound of her mother's voice still rang in her ears.
Rosie…
She swung her legs off the bed, heart pounding violently.
"No," she whispered. "No, no, no."
Her hands trembled as she pressed them to her chest, forcing herself to breathe. The dream clung to her like smoke—her mother reaching out, eyes dull, fingers slipping from Rosie's grasp.
Don't leave me.
The clock on the wall read 5:02 a.m.
Rosie didn't hesitate.
She jumped up and rushed into the bathroom, splashing cold water on her face, scrubbing her skin as though she could wash the fear away. She didn't bother choosing clothes—just threw on the first thing she could grab: a loose shirt, trousers, sandals. Half-dressed, hair unbrushed, pulse racing.
She had to see Lucifiana.
She had to know where her mother was.
Rosie yanked the door open and ran.
She barely made it past the corridor before two guards stepped into her path.
"Mrs. Watt," one of them said sharply. "Please return to your room."
"Move," Rosie snapped, trying to push past them.
They didn't budge.
"Mrs. Smith has been informed," the other guard said, already lifting his communicator.
Rosie spun, fury igniting instantly.
"Informed of what?" she shouted. "That I'm leaving my prison cell?"
Minutes later, Mrs. Smith appeared, calm as ever, dressed immaculately, as though chaos didn't exist in her world.
"You cannot leave the house before Mr. Watt," she said firmly.
Rosie laughed—short, broken.
"My mother might be dying," Rosie said. "Your rules can wait."
"They cannot," Mrs. Smith replied. "This is one of the house's primary rules."
Rosie's eyes burned.
"Then give me the car keys."
She turned sharply to the nearest driver. "Hand them over."
The man hesitated.
Rosie stepped closer, her voice dropping into something dangerous.
"Give them to me now."
No one moved.
Her control snapped.
"You heartless bastards!" she screamed. "Is this what you're paid for—to trap people?"
Still nothing.
Rosie stormed toward the front door.
Another guard blocked her instantly.
That was when it hit her.
Nothing in this house would move unless he allowed it.
Adrian Watt.
Rosie turned on her heel and ran not back to her room, but down the opposite corridor, toward the east wing. Toward the forbidden section of the house.
No one expected it.
She reached the door at the end of the hall and shoved it open without knocking.
The room was flooded with early morning light.
And Adrian Watt stood there.
He had just stepped out of the bathroom, towel in hand, clearly mid-preparation to leave. For a split second, time froze.
Rosie's brain shut down.
Her breath caught painfully in her throat.
Then instinct took over.
She screamed, spun around, and bolted back out, slamming the door behind her. She ran all the way to her room, locked it, and collapsed against the wall, heart hammering like it might break through her ribs.
"Oh my God," she whispered. "Oh my God."
Her face burned.
Her hands shook violently.
She slid down to the floor, pressing her palms over her eyes.
What had she done?
Across the hall, Adrian Watt stood completely still.
Shock crossed his face—real, unguarded shock.
No one barged into his space.
No one dared.
Not business partners. Not politicians. Not Amelia.
And yet his wife—his silent, contract-bound wife—had stormed into his room like a hurricane.
Adrian exhaled slowly.
Interesting.
Later that morning, Rosie sat rigidly on the edge of her bed when a knock sounded.
This time, she opened the door carefully.
Mrs. Smith stood there.
"You are requested in the study," she said.
Rosie swallowed.
Requested.
Not summoned.
That alone felt dangerous.
She followed Mrs. Smith in silence, every step heavy with tension. The study door opened, and there he was—fully dressed now, suit sharp, expression unreadable.
Adrian Watt didn't look at her immediately.
"Leave us," he said calmly.
Mrs. Smith exited.
Silence fell.
Rosie stood stiffly, refusing to speak first.
Adrian finally turned.
"You broke three rules this morning," he said.
Rosie lifted her chin. "My mother."
That was all she said.
Something shifted in his eyes just briefly.
"You don't storm into my room," Adrian said evenly.
"You don't lock people in cages either," Rosie shot back.
The air snapped.
He studied her—really studied her—for the first time. No fear. No pleading. Just raw defiance wrapped in exhaustion.
"Why were you leaving?" he asked.
"To see Lucifiana," Rosie said. "Because I don't know where my mother is, and no one here will answer me."
Adrian paused.
"Your mother is stable," he said.
Rosie's breath hitched.
"You're lying," she said immediately.
"I don't lie," Adrian replied. "I verify."
He picked up his phone and tapped the screen once, handing it to her.
A medical report.
Recently.
Rosie scanned it, hands shaking.Her knees nearly gave out.
"She's alive," Rosie whispered.
"Yes," Adrian said.
Tears filled her eyes—but she wiped them away angrily.
"You don't get to control me with silence," she said. "If this marriage is a contract, then act like it. Don't cage me."
Adrian leaned back against his desk.
"You want freedom?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Then follow the rules," he said coldly.
Rosie laughed bitterly.
"You make rules so no one gets close to you," she said. "That's not power. That's fear."
For the first time, Adrian smiled.
It didn't reach his eyes.
"You're bold," he said. "Dangerously so."
"You married me," Rosie replied. "Deal with it.".
"You'll be escorted to see Lucifiana," Adrian said finally. "Today."
Rosie froze.
"You're serious?"
"Don't make me repeat myself."
She nodded once.
As she turned to leave, his voice stopped her.
"And Rosie?"
She turned back.
"Don't ever barge into my room again."
She met his gaze, unflinching.
"Then don't lock me in a nightmare."
She walked out.
Adrian watched the door long after it closed.
For the first time in years, something unfamiliar stirred in his chest.
Not anger.
Interest.