Chapter 2 The Bride's Rules

"You can live like a queen... or be caged like a prisoner. The choice is yours to make."

The next morning came dressed in gray. A thick curtain of clouds hung low over the Wolfe estate, muting the world into silence.

Calla sat at the vanity in her private suite, staring at her reflection.

Dark circles under her eyes. Pale lips. A woman with a ring she hadn't chosen on her finger, married to a man who hadn't even touched her, who hasn't even looked at her like she mattered but had somehow already invaded her mind.

She remembered the way Lucian had leaned in last night,so close, so devastatingly controlled.

He hadn't kissed her. And that was the worst part. She had wanted him to kiss her.

Because part of her had wanted him to.

Calla slammed the drawer shut.

This wasn't who she was.

She wouldn't fall into his hands like some broken girl with no spine. She'd made this deal to protect her family. Not to crave the monster who wore a suit like armor and looked at her like she was both his enemy and his weakness.

A knock sounded at the door. Firm. Two beats. Like everything in Lucian's world, measured and commanding.

Calla answered to find a tall woman in a sharply tailored black dress.

"Mrs. Wolfe," the woman said with a polite nod. "My name is Naomi. I'm Mr. Wolfe's personal assistant. I've been assigned to you for scheduling, wardrobe, public appearances, and... etiquette."

"Etiquette?" Calla raised a brow and almost laughed.

Naomi didn't smile. "Mr. Wolfe has provided a printed list of expectations. It includes dress code, behavior in formal settings, media responses, and acceptable language in public spaces."

Calla crossed her arms. "What happens if I don't follow this list?"

Naomi didn't flinch. "Then Mr. Wolfe handles it."

A chill ran down Calla's spine.

Naomi handed her a thick ivory folder. The front was stamped in gold:

"MRS. CALLA WOLFE – BRIDAL CONDUCT GUIDE"

Inside was an actual list-organized, bullet-pointed, signed at the bottom in Lucian Wolfe's ruthless signature.

THE RULES (selected excerpts):Appear at all scheduled public events unless physically Immobilized .

Do not speak to press directly unless approved.

Do not contradict Lucian Wolfe in meetings or social settings.

Maintain a composed and elegant demeanor at all times.

Access to personal phone and transport requires permission.

No alcohol, scandal, or behavior that disrespects the Wolfe name.

Under no circumstances attempt to leave the estate without clearance.

Calla flipped to the final page and blinked.she almost laughed.

Rule #12:

If you want to scream, wait until the door is closed.

Her stomach turned. "He really put that in writing."

Naomi gave a tight nod. "I'm to escort you to breakfast. He's waiting."

The dining room was silent except for the sound of Lucian's knife cutting through a perfectly poached egg.

He didn't look up when she entered. Just motioned to the chair across from him with the most dismissive flick of two fingers she'd ever seen.

Calla rolled her eyes and sat down stiffly.

Lucian spoke without glancing her way. "You're late."

"No one told me the schedule started at seven a.m."

His eyes lifted, finally meeting hers. Cool. Assessing.

"Consider this your first lesson."

He set his fork down with surgical precision. "Punctuality is respect. Disrespect is punished."

Calla's jaw tensed. "You going to send me to my room without dinner?"

Lucian's eyes darkened. "No. But if you want to see how I handle disobedience, keep going."

Her breath hitched.

He didn't yell. He didn't threaten.

He didn't need to.

She forced herself to eat. The silence between them was thick with unspoken tension.

Finally, she dared to ask, "Why me?"

Lucian didn't pretend to misunderstand. He set his glass down and leaned back, his fingers steepled.

"Because your father took everything from mine. Because your name,Hart-is dirt. And because marrying you gives me the final word in a war he started."

Her throat dried. "So I'm a trophy."

"No," he said flatly. "You're the weapon I forged out of his failures."

She rose from the table too fast, chair scraping against the polished wood.

"I'm not a weapon. And I'm not yours."

Lucian stood slowly, but when he spoke, his voice dropped an octave.

"You agreed to this. You signed the contract."

"To protect my brother!" she snapped. "To save my mother!"

"You knew the price," he said coldly. "Now pay it."

His hand gripped the back of her chair-not her, but close enough. The storm in his eyes was no longer silent.

"You live here. You wear my ring. You follow my rules. That's the cost of protection."

Calla's pulse thundered in her ears. "And if I don't?"

Lucian stepped forward, and this time, he was close enough to smell-sandalwood, musk, and the faintest trace of power.

"You'll learn what happens to those who break them."

His voice was so low she felt it in her chest.

Calla refused to back away.

For a second,just one dangerous second-neither of them moved. The air between them crackled. His breath grazed her lips.

Then, just as suddenly, Lucian turned away. "Be ready at seven tonight. Charity gala. You're on display."

He didn't look at her again as he walked out of the room.

She spent the rest of the day locked in her suite, flipping through the ridiculous conduct guide and fantasizing about burning it.

By late afternoon, her phone vibrated. A single text.

UNKNOWN: Wear the black dress in wardrobe. And Calla,don't embarrass me.

She nearly threw the phone across the room.

Instead, she went to the wardrobe.

The black dress was silk. Backless. Tight. Unapologetically seductive.

A wolf's idea of elegance.

She wore it anyway.

If he wanted a showpiece... fine.

But tonight, she would play her own game.

Nobody told her what to do.

As she stepped out of the limousine, cameras flashing, Lucian took her hand, pulled her close, and whispered into her ear-"Smile. You're mine now."