Chapter 2 The Rules of the Mansion

Aura lay stiff beneath the covers, her breath shallow as silence crept back into the room like smoke.

She hadn't imagined it.

The door had clicked.

And someone had whispered just beyond it- someone who clearly didn't believe she belonged here.

She won't last the week.

The words echoed in her mind as she slipped from the bed and crept toward the door on bare feet. She tested the handle. It didn't move.

Is Locked.

From the outside.

A cold trickle of fear slid down her spine. Was it a precaution? A punishment? Or simply a message? That in this house, even her freedom to come and go had been revoked.

She pressed her ear to the wood. Nothing. Whoever had spoken was gone.

Back in bed, Aura didn't sleep. The whispers, the lock, Dante's silence-they wrapped around her like chains.

When morning light finally poured through the high windows, she sat up with bleary eyes. Her wedding gown had been removed at night. In its place, someone had left a pale silk robe folded neatly over a velvet bench. She hadn't stirred. How had they come in? How close had they gotten?

A soft knock rattled her nerves. Before she could answer, the door opened. A woman in a crisp navy uniform stepped inside, carrying a tray with a teapot, bread, and something warm that smelled faintly of cinnamon.

"Good morning, Signora Moretti," the woman said politely, her dark hair pulled into a tight bun. "I'm Renata. I've been assigned as your personal maid."

Aura blinked. "Did you... Lock the door last night?"

Renata paused mid-step, then offered a practised smile. "It's standard for security. Signor Moretti's orders. Breakfast?"

Aura didn't answer, but her stomach betrayed her with a growl. She sat silently as Renata placed the tray before her, poured the tea, and then opened the grand wardrobe beside the fireplace.

Inside hung an array of designer dresses in muted tones. No bright colours. No patterns. Everything looked expensive. Controlled.

"Shower, then dress. The household orientation begins at ten," Renata said, motioning to a black dress with lace sleeves. "You'll meet Mrs. Cosmo. She handles the estate's schedules and discipline."

"Discipline?" Aura asked, a sharp note in her voice.

Renata's eyes flicked toward her. "Rules are taken seriously here."

Aura nodded slowly, unsure whether she was being warned or threatened.

By ten, she stood in the grand hallway below, dressed and polished, her hair tucked neatly behind her ears. The mansion loomed around her like a museum of forgotten things- cold, vast, and utterly silent.

A woman with hawk-like features and a pearl-chained clipboard appeared beside her.

"You're late," she said briskly.

"It's ten exactly," Aura replied, glancing at the grandfather clock.

The woman raised an unimpressed brow. "Signor Moretti expects early, not punctual. I am Mrs. Cossimo. Follow me."

They walked down hallways flanked with tall windows, their footfalls swallowed by thick rugs.

"Rule One," Mrs. Cossimo said without looking at her, "You do not enter the West Wing without explicit permission."

"Why?"

Mrs. Cossimo turned sharply. "Because no one does. Next question?"

Aura bit her tongue.

"Rule Two: Meals are served at strict times. Breakfast, seven. Lunch, one. Dinner, eight. You are expected to attend if summoned. If not, you will eat in your quarters."

"Summoned?"

"Yes. You are Signor Moretti's wife, but your presence is conditional."

Aura frowned. "Conditional on what?"

"On his mood," she replied coolly.

They passed a long corridor filled with oil portraits- men with the same sharp cheekbones and cold, dark eyes. The Moretti lineage.

"Rule Three: Staff do not answer personal questions. Do not ask. Surveillance is constant. Every hallway, every room, except bedrooms and bathrooms. You are watched for your safety."

Aura glanced at a security camera tucked into the ceiling's corner. The red light blinked steadily. For her safety-or for their control?

"Rule Four: No outside communication without clearance. Phones are provided. Monitored. Letters screened."

Aura's heart dropped. Her phone was still in her confiscated after the ceremony. "So I'm cut off from everyone?"

"You are protected," Mrs. Cossimo said with forced emphasis. "This is not a prison, Signora Moretti. It is your home."

Aura stopped walking. "Prisons have rules. Homes have choices."

Mrs. Cossimo turned, her expression unreadable. "And choices come with consequences."

Before Aura could respond, a door opened at the far end of the corridor. Dante.

His presence sucked the air from the space.

He didn't speak. Just looked at her. That cold gaze-measuring, dissecting. But something flickered there. A hesitation. A tension. A warning.

"Aura," he said at last, voice low and unreadable. "You're needed in the east salon."

Mrs. Cossimo stiffened. "That wasn't on the schedule."

"It is now," he replied.

Aura followed, unsure if she was walking toward a conversation or an execution.

The east salon was dimly lit, its windows draped with heavy gold curtains. A grand piano sat in one corner. A roaring fireplace bathed the room in shadows.

Dante closed the door behind them.

He stood in silence, then motioned for her to sit. But she didn't.

"I heard a voice last night," she said. "Outside my door. Someone said I wouldn't last the week."

His jaw ticked, but he said nothing.

"You locked me in."

"You were vulnerable," he said, simply.

"Or trapped."

He stepped closer. "This house is full of wolves, Aura. You think I am the worst one. No! But I'm the only one keeping them from tearing you apart."

She stared up at him. "Then tell me the truth. Why me? Why this marriage?"

Dante's eyes darkened. "Because you're not just a bride. You're a message."

"To whom?"

He didn't answer.

Instead, he handed her a sealed envelope. Brown, Thick. Heavy.

Inside, she found a photograph.

A man's face.

And beneath it, one word scrawled in red ink:

"Next."

Immediately, Aura's blood ran cold. "What is this?"

Dante's voice was a whisper of steel. "That is the name of the man who dies if you disobey the rules."