Chapter 5 The Rules of Obedience

The car ride back to the penthouse was colder than the winter night outside.

Damien sat beside her, but his presence was as distant as ever. Not a word passed between them. Not after the kiss. Not after the show. Not even after the strange glimmer she'd seen in his eyes, the one that looked like admiration disguised as anger.

Isla stared out the window, her fingers clenched in her lap.

He had kissed her like a punishment.

And yet, what scared her wasn't the kiss itself. It was the way her body had reacted. The heat. The fire. The shame.

She hated him.

And somehow, she hated herself more for noticing how perfectly his mouth fit against hers.

When the elevator doors opened onto the top floor, Damien walked ahead without looking back.

She followed, still fuming, still unraveling the performance they'd just survived.

Inside the penthouse, the lights were dim, casting golden shadows along the sleek marble floors. Damien headed straight for the bar, poured himself a scotch, and downed it like water.

Isla hovered by the windows, arms crossed, heart hammering.

Finally, he turned to face her.

"We need to make a few things clear."

She folded her arms tighter. "I think I got the message loud and clear tonight."

"Not that message."

He walked to the sitting area and dropped a thick binder onto the coffee table with a heavy thud.

Isla didn't move.

He opened it.

Inside were documents. Tabs. Names. Her name. Surveillance reports. Photos.

"I had you followed for three weeks before the auction."

She stepped back. "You what?"

"I like to know what I'm buying."

Her blood ran cold.

There were photos of her walking to work. Leaving the bookstore she loved. Visiting her mother's grave. Talking to a friend who was no longer returning her calls.

"You spied on me," she breathed.

"I vetted you," he said coolly. "I needed to make sure you wouldn't self-destruct the moment I took you. I don't waste my time with liabilities."

She stared at him. "You're insane."

"And you're naive if you think this marriage is about anything other than control."

He shut the binder and stood tall.

"There are rules now, Isla. And you'll follow every one of them."

"Like hell I will."

He stepped closer, not touching her just close enough to make her pulse spike.

"Rule one," he said, his voice low. "No lies. If I ask you something, you answer. If you hide something from me, there will be consequences."

Her jaw tensed.

"Rule two," he continued. "You do not leave this penthouse without my permission. Not for lunch. Not for fresh air. Not even to scream."

"You can't keep me locked up like a prisoner-"

"I can," he cut in. "And I will."

She felt dizzy.

"This is illegal."

He arched a brow. "Then call the police. Tell them you willingly signed a marriage contract in exchange for wiping your father's debt. Tell them you've been showered in diamonds and escorted to charity galas in couture. See how fast they care."

Tears stung her eyes, but she didn't let them fall.

"Rule three," he said, voice quiet now. "You don't touch anything marked private. That includes my study, my phone, and anything locked."

"What are you hiding?" she snapped.

His eyes hardened. "Things that would break you."

The room felt colder than before.

Her fists trembled. "What happens if I break your rules?"

He didn't flinch.

"I make good on my threats."

They stared at each other across a chasm built from money and fury and silk.

She took a breath. "And what if I fight back?"

Damien's expression didn't change.

"I hope you do," he said. "It'll make this more fun."

She stormed to her room. Slammed the door. Collapsed onto the bed, her heart pounding.

She couldn't breathe.

She couldn't think.

She needed air.

She threw open the French doors to the balcony only to find thick glass behind them. Locked. Deadbolted.

She went to the front door. Locked.

Every window. Every possible exit.

Locked.

She was caged in diamonds.

An hour later, a soft knock came at her bedroom door.

Isla didn't answer.

A maid stepped in carefully, holding a silver tray.

"From Mr. Blackwood," she said.

Isla's eyes dropped to the tray.

A cup of hot tea.

A small slice of lemon tart.

And a single note on Damien's personal stationery.

"Calm down. You'll get used to the rules. Or you'll break against them. Either way, I win."

-D.B.

Isla stared at it for a long time.

Then, with a single motion, she flipped the tray, letting the cup shatter against the wall. The tea spilled like blood.

---

She didn't sleep that night.

She sat awake, curled against the headboard, every light in the room blazing, as if illumination might somehow keep the darkness of Damien Blackwood from seeping in.

But even under the glow of a thousand-dollar chandelier, she felt his grip.

His rules. His kiss. His power.

And something else-

Something terrifying.

Some part of her wasn't just afraid of being his prisoner.

Some part of her was afraid of wanting to be seen by him.