Chapter 2 The First Rule

Part 1: The Morning After

Ivy didn't sleep.

Not really.

She lay in the middle of a bed so soft it made her feel like she might disappear inside it, the sheets untouched, her eyes wide and locked on the blinking red light above the door.

At some point, she closed them.

And when she opened them again, it was morning.

Sunlight poured through the massive windows, making the room look even more sterile, more unreal. There were no curtains, no privacy. Just glass and sky and the ache of disorientation in her spine.

She sat up slowly.

There was a tray waiting for her on the sleek gray desk. Eggs, toast, fruit. Perfectly plated. Next to it, a carafe of coffee and a folded note.

She eyed it warily.

Then crossed the room and opened it.

> Breakfast is at 9. Downstairs. Wear the clothes in the closet.

-K.S.

Her mouth twitched. No "Good morning." No "Welcome." Just an order signed with initials like a king sealing a decree.

She looked toward the closet.

It opened with a soft hiss when she approached. Inside, every item of clothing was black, white, or navy. Blouses. Slacks. Dresses. Everything her size.

There wasn't a single pair of jeans. No hoodie. No color. No... Ivy.

Still, she pulled on a black sleeveless blouse and matching high-waisted slacks, too tailored for comfort, and padded barefoot down the stairs.

The house was silent.

Too silent.

No music, no voices, just the soft hum of electricity and the echo of her own steps.

She found Knox at the kitchen island.

He was dressed in another black suit-no tie, again-but crisp and composed, his hands folded over a slim black tablet, a glass of water beside him.

He didn't look up when she entered.

But he did speak.

"Sit."

Ivy slid onto the stool across from him.

No good morning. No eye contact.

She cleared her throat. "Thanks for the closet full of... clones."

He looked up.

And said, "You'll wear only what's approved."

She blinked. "Seriously?"

"I'm not in the habit of having my name attached to distractions."

Ivy leaned back, arms crossing. "So I'm a distraction now?"

His gaze moved slowly down her body, then back up.

"That depends how well you follow the rules."

She should've been angry. Should've rolled her eyes, stormed off, something. But the way he looked at her-calm, unreadable, razor-sharp-made her pulse skip.

"Let's hear them, then," she said. "Your precious rules."

He slid the tablet across the table. The screen lit up with her name at the top.

Ivy Taylor - Public Engagement Protocol

There were ten items listed.

1. Be presentable at all times.

2. Speak only when appropriate.

3. Keep your personal history private.

4. Never contradict him in public.

5. No dating.

6. No unsanctioned photos or media posts.

7. Always take his calls.

8. Attend scheduled events without argument.

9. Maintain the illusion at all costs.

10. Never lie to him.

Ivy looked up slowly.

"That last one," she said. "Why does that one feel... different?"

Knox didn't blink.

"Because everyone else can lie to me," he said. "You can't."

"And if I do?"

His eyes finally met hers-sharp, quiet, dangerous.

"You won't."

She swallowed.

He stood, adjusted his cuffs. "You'll have dinner with me tonight. Eight o'clock. Black dress, heels. We have somewhere to be."

Then he turned and walked away, his voice floating back behind him.

"Don't be late."

---

Part 2: The Black Dress

Ivy stared at the screen long after Knox's footsteps disappeared.

She read the list again. Slowly. As if reading it twice might make it less absurd.

Never lie to him.

What the hell kind of rule was that from a man who built an entire life around lies? A fake relationship, a contract fiancée, a house full of glass and cameras-everything about him screamed deception. But she was the one forbidden to lie?

She pushed the tablet away and stood.

The rest of the day passed like a slow bleed. She wandered the house, trying to get her bearings, but every room looked like the last-cold elegance, black and white, all clean lines and silence. No family photos. No memories. No dust.

At one point, she passed a staff member in the hallway-a middle-aged woman in a slate gray uniform. The woman nodded politely and said, "Good morning, Ms. Soren."

Ivy froze.

She almost corrected her.

Almost.

Instead, she just nodded back and walked faster.

---

At 7:55, she stood in front of the closet, staring at the rows of carefully chosen clothes.

She found the dress.

Black. Strapless. Sleek and dangerously tight, with a thigh slit that screamed red carpet. It clung to her like a secret. She slipped it on, then paused at the vanity-slicking on lipstick, curling her lashes, adding just enough shine to her lips to fake confidence.

No jewelry. There hadn't been any in the drawers.

She didn't bother to ask if that was part of the image.

When she stepped out into the hallway, she hesitated.

A camera sat above the guest wing door, blinking again.

He's watching.

Her heels clicked softly as she descended the staircase.

Knox was already by the door.

His eyes scanned her slowly-no change in expression, but the pause was long enough to feel like a touch.

"Turn," he said.

She raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"I want to see the back."

She should've told him to go to hell. But instead, she turned-slowly, deliberately-and faced forward again.

He said nothing.

But his jaw tightened.

She had no idea if that was approval or disapproval. Probably both. With him, it was always both.

"Ready?" he asked, already opening the door.

"To fake my devotion for a bunch of rich people I don't know?" she said. "Born ready."

He glanced down at her hand. "You forgot the ring."

She blinked.

He reached into his jacket pocket and held out a box.

Inside: a diamond that didn't sparkle. It burned.

Ivy hesitated for half a second before slipping it on.

It was cold.

Heavy.

And fit her finger like it had been made for her.

Knox looked at her again-really looked-and for the first time, Ivy saw it:

Something dangerous behind his calm.

Not hunger.

Possession.

---

Part 3: The Dinner Party

The car was silent as they drove through the city.

Knox didn't speak. He rarely did unless necessary. Ivy sat with her hands folded in her lap, eyes fixed on the blur of streetlights through tinted glass, trying not to stare at his reflection in the window.

He looked composed. Effortlessly powerful. Like the car, the driver, the city itself existed purely to serve his momentum.

When they pulled up to the venue-a private rooftop restaurant in Tribeca-a valet opened the door. Ivy stepped out first.

The camera flashes hit instantly.

She blinked, caught off guard, but Knox was already beside her, slipping an arm around her waist.

His touch was firm. Proprietary.

She didn't lean in. Didn't have to. The way he held her said enough: Mine.

Inside, the restaurant was warm and golden, filled with soft music and sharper eyes. Wealth clung to the air like perfume. Everyone here knew who Knox Soren was. And none of them had ever seen him with a woman.

That made her prey.

As soon as they entered, whispers started. Not discreet ones. Real ones.

"Is that-?"

"That's her?"

"She looks so young."

Knox ignored all of it.

He led her to their table, near the center of the room, nodding to a few men in tailored suits along the way. Titans. CEOs. Faces she'd seen on magazine covers but never thought she'd be sitting across from.

Introductions were quick.

"Knox," one of them said, shaking his hand. "Didn't realize you had a weakness for... distractions."

Knox didn't even glance at Ivy.

"She's not a distraction," he said flatly. "She's mine."

That shut the man up.

They sat. Waiters poured wine. Dishes were placed without asking.

Ivy tried to play the part-smile, nod, sip slowly. But her eyes kept drifting to Knox's profile. Cold. Perfect. Unbothered.

He hadn't looked at her once since they sat.

Until a woman appeared.

Blonde. Dripping diamonds. Slinky red dress cut nearly to her hip. She leaned down between Knox and Ivy like she belonged there.

"Well, this is new," the woman purred, eyes flicking to Ivy. "Trading in code for curves?"

Ivy blinked.

Knox didn't respond.

The woman's hand grazed his shoulder.

Ivy didn't think. She placed her hand over Knox's under the table. Just a light touch. Just enough to say he's taken.

And something changed.

Knox turned.

His eyes dropped to where their skin touched.

Then rose-slow, steady-locking on Ivy's.

It wasn't affection in his gaze.

It was heat.

Possession.

The woman's laugh faltered.

"Well," she said lightly, "congratulations, I guess."

She walked off.

Knox leaned in.

"You didn't have to touch me," he said quietly.

"I didn't like her."

"That wasn't about her." His voice dropped to a thread. "That was about you."

Ivy opened her mouth.

He reached under the table and slid her hand into his.

Held it there.

Tight.

"Next time," he said softly, "don't make me pretend."

---

Part 4: The Car Ride

The silence in the car felt different this time.

Not the cool, sterile quiet of before. This one pulsed. Like something hot had been poured into the space between them and hadn't cooled yet.

Ivy stared out the window, watching the city blur past in streaks of gold and steel. Her hand still tingled where Knox had held it.

He hadn't let go for the rest of the dinner.

Even when it made eating awkward.

Even when people noticed.

Especially when people noticed.

Now, she could feel his gaze on her. He hadn't spoken since they got in, but she didn't need words to feel it. The pressure of it. The weight.

"You were quiet tonight," she said, not looking at him.

"I'm always quiet."

"Not like that."

He didn't answer.

She turned her head. "Are you mad I touched you?"

His voice was low. "You didn't touch me."

She blinked. "I-what?"

"You claimed me," he said. "There's a difference."

Her mouth went dry.

"I was just trying to-"

He cut her off. "Protect your role? Yes. I noticed."

He shifted in his seat. Loosened his cuffs. Then looked at her - directly, fully - and the car suddenly felt too small.

"Do you know why I picked you?" he asked.

"No," she said. "But I'm guessing it wasn't for my sparkling résumé."

He didn't smile.

"I picked you," he said, "because I thought you'd be manageable. Quiet. Desperate enough to follow rules."

"And now?" she asked.

He leaned closer.

And for the first time, she felt it - not just the chill he wore like armor, but the heat beneath it.

"Now I think I might've made a mistake."

Ivy's heart kicked. "Why?"

His eyes dropped to her lips.

Then back up.

"Because I keep wanting to break my own rules."

The car slowed.

They had arrived.

But neither of them moved.

"I should go inside," Ivy said softly.

Knox didn't blink. "You should."

She reached for the door handle.

His voice stopped her.

"But next time you put your hands on me," he said, "make sure you mean it."

---