Chapter 4 Stranger's Rules

Emily🌹

Morning crept in.

Soft. Pale. A whisper of light bleeding through sheer curtains. Shadows stretched long across the floor, delicate but unrelenting.

I blinked. The sheets felt too crisp, too foreign. My mind fogged, slow to catch up.

Then it hit me.

Marco. The mansion. Last night.

I shot upright. The room didn't change. It didn't shift back into something familiar. Reality stayed exactly where it was-cold, silent, inescapable.

I was still here.

Still his.

A knock. Soft but sharp enough to startle me.

Before I could answer, the door creaked open.

A woman stepped inside.

Young-early twenties, maybe. Dark hair. Delicate features. A face that echoed Marco's but lacked his hardness.

His sister.

She smiled like we were old friends. Warm. Easy. Too easy.

"You're awake." She stepped in without hesitation as if the space already belonged to her.

She softened. "You must be Emily. I'm Camellia-Marco's sister."

Marco's sister.

The words barely registered before my pulse spiked, a sharp, involuntary reaction. My muscles tensed, my fingers curling against the sheets.

Her gaze swept over me. Not like Marco's-nothing sharp, nothing cold. No peeling me apart, no searching for weaknesses to exploit.

Different.

Curious. Almost... warm.

Then-without hesitation-she dropped onto the bed beside me.

Close. Too close.

Like it was normal.

Like I was normal.

Like I belonged here.

The mattress dipped beneath her weight, the space between us shrinking to something almost intimate. She didn't seem to notice my rigid posture, the way my breath had caught in my throat. Or if she did, she didn't care.

Instead, she tucked her legs under her, completely at ease, her dark eyes studying me like I was some fascinating puzzle she was determined to solve.

"I've been waiting to meet you," she said, tilting her head, her smile soft but knowing. "Marco didn't tell us much, but I had a feeling you'd be interesting."

Interesting.

I swallowed hard, my mind scrambling for something to say, some way to respond. But nothing came.

Because nothing about this was normal.

I was in a stranger's house. In a stranger's bed. Trapped in a life I didn't choose.

And here she was-smiling, speaking to me like we were old friends.

My silence didn't seem to faze her. If anything, it amused her.

"You're quiet," she noted, her voice light. "That's okay. I talk enough for both of us."

Something flickered inside me-something close to amusement.

But it was gone just as fast, swallowed by everything else.

The fear. The uncertainty. The sheer wrongness of being here.

Camellia must have sensed it because her expression softened.

"I know this must be overwhelming," she said, voice gentle now. "But you're not alone here."

A lump formed in my throat.

Alone.

That's exactly how I felt.

Her hand reached for mine, warm fingers brushing against my skin. A brief squeeze-soft, reassuring.

Then she pulled back, standing with effortless grace.

"Come on," she said. "You should meet the rest of the family."

I hesitated.

But refusing wouldn't change anything.

So I swallowed the lump in my throat, pushed back the weight of hesitation, and slowly slid out of bed.

Camellia beamed. "Great. Let's go before Marco decides to drag you out himself."

I stiffened. Instinct. Wariness. Don't trust too quickly.

I swallowed. Forced my legs to move.

Because staying here, wrapped in the illusion of safety, wasn't an option.

She led the way.

-

The house. The emptiness. The weight of it all.

Marble floors. High ceilings. Dark wood. Everything is calculated for power, not warmth.

Not a home. A statement. A fortress. A cage.

Camellia walked beside me, her voice filling the space Marco's silence left behind.

Summer over winter. Marco never lets her get a cat. Some story about her brother being impossible before coffee.

I barely listened.

Too aware of the eyes.

The staff. Watching. Judging. Measuring.

Curious. Some... disapproving.

Like her.

Near the staircase.

Hair in a severe bun. Uniform perfect. Posture stiff.

I met her gaze. Hold it.

A flicker of something on her lips.

Not a smile.

Then she turned and disappeared.

A chill curled in my stomach.

Camellia noticed. "Don't mind Bianca," she said lightly. "She thinks she runs the place."

I said nothing.

But the unease remained.

I said nothing.

She kept going.

"Matteo's different. More easygoing, but only when he wants to be. And my parents? You'll meet them soon."

My chest tightened.

Marco's parents.

I hadn't even thought about them. What would they think of me?

Camellia glanced over, reading my expression too easily. "Don't worry. They'll like you."

I doubted that.

Another turn. Another hallway. Everything looked the same.

I could get lost here. Maybe that was the point.

Camellia's hand brushed my arm. A silent reassurance.

I didn't know if I believed it.

---

The dining room.

Bright. Elegant. The scent of coffee and fresh bread clinging to the air.

Marco sat at the head of the long table.

Unbothered.

Fingers tapping against the chair's arm.

He didn't look up.

But I felt him.

His presence filled the room, thick and suffocating.

Camellia slipped into a seat. "Good morning."

Marco hummed in response. Lifted his cup.

I hesitated near the doorway.

Then, I noticed him.

A man sat at the table.

Not a stranger. Not familiar.

Dark hair, sharp features. A resemblance to Marco, but less severe. Younger.

He watched me. Not unfriendly. Not welcoming. Just... watching.

I forced myself forward, taking the seat Camellia gestured to. Across from him.

With Marco at the head.

Too exposed.

Camellia, either unaware or purposefully ignoring the tension, grabbed a croissant. "Emily, this is my brother."

A pause.

Then, like an afterthought, "Matteo."

I swallowed. "Hi."

A beat of silence.

Then, a single word. "Welcome."

It didn't feel like one.

Before I could respond, Marco spoke.

"I assume you slept well."

Not a question.

I turned to him. Hands clenched under the table. "Does it matter?"

Camellia made a small sound. Amusement? Worry?

Matteo raised a brow.

Marco's lips twitched. Not quite a smirk. "No," he said. "It doesn't."

A slow burn crawled up my spine.

Marco leaned back in his chair.

The atmosphere shifted.

Camellia still. Matteo's fingers drummed against the table.

Something was coming.

Marco's voice dropped. Calm. Even. Deceptive.

"There are rules in this house."

Everything inside me coiled tight.

"You'll follow them. You'll respect my household."

He met my gaze. Something dangerous flickering beneath the surface.

"Your life here depends on how well you behave."

A warning. No- a reminder.

I swallowed. Refused to break eye contact.

Don't let him see you break.

Marco smirked slightly.

Satisfied.

Then, as if nothing had happened, he returned to his coffee.

Conversation resumed.

But I barely heard it.

Because the truth was clear.

This wasn't just a new life.

It was survival.

And I was already losing.