Chapter 4 Rules of the house

The morning came like a slow, heavy drumbeat, filling the vast rooms of the Vale estate with a silence that felt oppressive.

I woke in the enormous bed, the silk sheets slipping off my shoulders, the morning light streaking across the marble floor. The room smelled faintly of polished wood and fresh linen-a stark contrast to the chaos that had taken over my mind. My heart still thumped from last night's meal, from Dominic's words, from the weight of a contract that bound me tighter than chains.

I dressed quickly, choosing the only set of decent clothes the maid had left in my closet-a simple black dress. Functional, inoffensive, unremarkable. It was my armor, though fragile, against a world that didn't care for my comfort.

Downstairs, the estate was already alive with quiet activity. Servants moved like shadows, silent and efficient. The walls whispered of wealth and authority, the floors shone with perfection, and the air seemed to hum with tension I could feel in my bones.

And then I saw him.

Dominic Vale, already dressed in his tailored suit, standing in the main hall. His hands rested casually behind his back, his posture perfect, his presence commanding. The moment I entered, his gaze locked on me, and I felt small, like a piece of furniture he was inspecting rather than a human being.

"Good morning," he said, voice calm. No warmth. No friendliness. Just control.

"Good morning," I replied, my voice quiet, careful.

"Breakfast is at eight," he said. "I expect punctuality. Late arrivals will have consequences."

I blinked. "Consequences?"

He didn't answer. He merely tilted his head slightly, and the implication was enough. I nodded, swallowing the panic rising in my chest.

The day unfolded like a careful choreography of rules I didn't understand.

No wandering through the estate without permission.

No speaking unless spoken to.

No touching anything not assigned to me.

No question left unanswered.

I realized quickly that this mansion was more than walls and furniture-it was a labyrinth of surveillance, power, and intimidation. Every room had a purpose. Every servant had an assigned watch. Every shadow had a meaning.

At breakfast, the table was a silent battlefield. I sat across from Dominic, who didn't acknowledge me beyond a single, piercing glance. A maid placed a tray in front of me, and I ate mechanically, trying to ignore the way his eyes followed me with calculated intensity.

"You'll need to learn the household hierarchy," he said finally, his tone casual, yet sharp enough to make me flinch. "Who to speak to, who to avoid, and when to remain invisible."

I nodded. "Yes."

He seemed satisfied with the answer, though I could see the faintest curve of a smile at the corner of his mouth-a predator toying with its prey.

The morning passed in a blur of introductions, rules, and silent instructions. I learned the names of staff who moved with ghostlike precision. I learned the boundaries I was expected to respect. I learned, slowly and painfully, that every corner of the mansion existed to remind me of how little control I had.

By midday, I felt drained, my mind buzzing from the constant vigilance required just to exist in this place without committing a visible offense.

I wandered the hallways cautiously, as if the walls themselves might judge me. Each room held a secret: a library filled with leather-bound books, a study cluttered with papers that hinted at power, a music room where no one played the keys yet the scent of polish lingered. Every detail screamed wealth, authority, and ownership.

I paused before a large painting in the hallway-a portrait of Dominic. It was striking, almost cruelly perfect. The eyes in the portrait seemed to follow me as I moved, a reminder that he was everywhere, even when he wasn't.

I touched the edge of the frame lightly, then pulled back. Property. He treated everything in this house, including me, like property.

Hours later, Dominic appeared again, as silent and imposing as the morning. He led me to the library, a massive room with floor-to-ceiling shelves, rich mahogany, and leather chairs.

"Sit," he said.

I obeyed. My back straightened, my hands folded in my lap.

He walked slowly around the room, eyes scanning shelves as if he were not only assessing me, but the entire space. Then he stopped, standing directly in front of me.

"Your education ends where mine begins," he said. "Every lesson, every rule you must learn quickly, or you'll find the consequences unpleasant."

I clenched my hands in my lap. "I will learn," I said, trying to mask the tremor in my voice.

"Good," he replied, his gaze sharp. "Because mistakes are not tolerated in this household. Obedience is rewarded. Resistance is... managed."

I swallowed. The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

"You have one choice," he said quietly, almost kindly. "Comply and protect your sister, or defy and watch her suffer. Every action you take affects her life, not just your own."

Tears prickled at the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I wouldn't give him that satisfaction. I wouldn't show weakness-not yet.

He nodded once and left the room, his footsteps echoing down the hall like a reminder of my cage.

I sat there, alone, feeling the enormity of the day pressing on me. Every rule, every expectation, every glance from Dominic was a test. And I wasn't sure I could pass.

By evening, I understood one thing clearly: survival in this house would require more than courage. It would require strategy, patience, and constant vigilance. Every smile, every word, every movement had to be carefully measured.

And every second, I was reminded of the life waiting for me outside-the life of my sister, Mia, who depended on me. Her survival was tied to my endurance. My defiance could cost her everything.

For the first time since signing the contract, I understood fully that this was no ordinary captivity. This was a war. And I was fighting for something more than myself.

Tomorrow, I would begin learning the rules in earnest. I would navigate the labyrinth of the mansion, its staff, and its master. And I would do so knowing that one misstep could cost not only my pride, but my sister's life.

Because in the Vale estate, power was absolute, and love-or hatred-was irrelevant. Only survival mattered.