After the wedding, the house was completely silent.
No music.
No laughter.
Just an unfamiliar stillness that pressed against my chest.
The house was large—too large.
And yet, at that moment, it felt painfully empty.
As if I had walked into someone else's life without permission,
occupying a space that was never meant to be mine.
I stood in the middle of the room when he appeared in front of me.
The same cold expression.
The same serious eyes that revealed nothing.
"Come here," he said.
My heart began to pound loudly, as if it was afraid of the silence.
He pointed toward the table, where a glass of water and a file were placed neatly, as if even objects were expected to follow rules in this house.
"There are certain rules regarding this marriage," he said, getting straight to the point.
Rules.
I already knew this marriage would never be normal.
"Rule number one," he said,
"you are not allowed to enter my room without permission."
I stayed quiet.
"Rule number two—
you will not interfere in my work, my meetings, or my life."
There was authority in his voice,
the same tone one might use in an office—
controlled, distant, final.
"Rule number three," he paused briefly,
"this marriage exists only for the outside world.
In public, we will be the perfect couple.
Behind closed doors,
we remain strangers."
I nodded slowly.
"You won't lack anything," he continued.
"You'll have everything you need.
Just don't have expectations."
He looked at me then,
as if trying to read my reaction—
or perhaps confirm that I understood exactly what I was agreeing to.
"Do you want to say something?" he asked.
"I just need one thing," I said, gathering my courage.
"My family must remain safe."
He replied without hesitation,
"As long as you are my wife,
your family is my responsibility."
The sentence was short,
but it carried a promise.
After that, he fell silent.
The only sound in the room was the air conditioner humming softly.
"My room is separate," he said finally.
"If there's any problem, call the staff."
With that, he turned around.
The sound of the door closing struck my heart harder than I expected.
Was this what a wedding night was supposed to feel like?
I sat down on the bed.
Today, I was a wife—
but without a husband.
Tears welled up in my eyes,
but I stopped them from falling.
This wasn't my choice.
It was my compulsion.
I walked into the bathroom, splashed water on my face, and looked at myself in the mirror.
A bride.
But there was no glow in my eyes—
only exhaustion.
That night, sleep refused to come.
Every rule replayed in my mind.
No love.
No expectations.
No questions.
And yet, one thing felt strange.
The colder he appeared,
the more controlled he seemed.
As if he, too, was bound by rules of his own.
The next morning, when I woke up, there was a note on the table.
Breakfast is downstairs.
The driver will take you shopping.
That was all.
No name.
No signature.
But I knew.
This—
this was his way of showing care.
Maybe this marriage was just a contract.
But the story wasn't going to end here.
The rules had been set.
Now the only question was—
which rule would break first?
This marriage had rules.
And somehow,
I felt them loosening already... Next chapter