The rain had started just after midnight, a slow, steady drizzle that painted the windows with silver streaks. From the penthouse living room, Isabella could hear the muted hum of the city below a sound that should have been comforting, but tonight it only heightened her unease.
She was curled up on the couch, a book open in her lap but unread. Every few minutes, her gaze would drift to the clock on the wall.
It was almost midnight.
Adrian still wasn't home.
She told herself it didn't matter. He was a busy man CEO, businessman, whatever else he was. His time wasn't hers to command. But the truth was, she couldn't stop replaying the conversation they'd had that morning, his voice sharp with authority: You will stay out of my business. Completely.
The sound of the elevator broke her thoughts.
A moment later, Adrian stepped into the room. He was still in the same charcoal suit he had worn earlier, but the tie was gone, his shirt collar open. There was something different about him an edge, a residual tension in the way he moved, like he had just walked out of a battlefield.
In his hand was a slim black folder.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asked, his tone almost casual.
"I wasn't trying to," she replied, closing the book. "You're late."
"Business." He crossed the room and set the folder on the coffee table between them. "Speaking of which… we need to settle something."
She frowned at the folder. "What's that?"
"Your contract."
"My… what?"
"Our marriage was sudden, Isabella," he said, his voice calm but cool. "It was also strategic. And like any strategic arrangement, it comes with terms—rules that protect both parties."
She stared at him. "A contract? You married me, and now you're giving me a contract?"
"It's not negotiable," he said simply.
Something about the finality in his tone made her chest tighten. Still, she reached for the folder, flipping it open. Inside was a document printed on thick, expensive paper, his signature already at the bottom in bold black ink.
Her eyes moved to the first line:
MARRIAGE AGREEMENTBetween Adrian Kane and Isabella Moretti Kane
Effective immediately and binding until mutually dissolved or otherwise terminated under the following conditions:
The clauses were short, precise, and utterly suffocating.
Clause 1: The Wife shall not interfere, inquire, or participate in the Husband's business dealings.Clause 2: The Wife shall maintain the public image of a content and devoted spouse.Clause 3: The Wife shall reside in the Kane Penthouse unless given written permission to travel.Clause 4: The Wife shall attend social, business, or political events at the Husband's request.Clause 5: The Wife shall not engage in romantic or intimate relationships outside the marriage.Clause 6: In the event of divorce before a period of three years, the Wife forfeits all financial support.
At the bottom, in smaller print, was a final statement:
Failure to adhere to any clause may result in consequences deemed necessary by the Husband.
Isabella looked up from the document, her throat dry. "This is… insane."
"It's practical," Adrian countered.
"It's control," she snapped. "You're not marrying a woman, Adrian, you're hiring an actress."
His eyes narrowed. "If that's the role you think you're playing, then play it well. You agreed to this marriage to save your family. That's the deal. This contract ensures there are no misunderstandings."
She pushed the folder toward him. "No misunderstandings? You're basically telling me I'm your property."
"I'm telling you that in my world, people die when there are no rules," he said, his voice suddenly sharper.
The silence that followed was heavy. Rain pattered harder against the glass.
"Is that supposed to scare me?" she asked finally.
His gaze held hers. "It's supposed to keep you alive."
She sat back, her pulse pounding. There was something about the way he said it not as a threat, but as a certainty. It was the tone of a man who had seen enough to know exactly how dangerous the world could be.
But still, the weight of the clauses pressed against her chest like chains.
"Three years," she murmured. "And if I survive that long?"
His jaw tightened. "Then we'll talk about freedom."
She stared at the pen he placed on the table, sleek and silver. He didn't push it toward her, didn't demand she sign immediately. But the message was clear—sign, or the marriage ends, and with it, her father's safety and the fragile shield this arrangement had given them.
Her hands trembled as she picked up the pen.
The scratch of ink on paper was loud in the quiet room.
When she finished, she slid the contract back into the folder and closed it. "Happy?" she asked, her voice flat.
Adrian picked it up, his expression unreadable. "Satisfied."
He stood, heading for the hallway, but paused at the doorway. "Remember, Isabella these rules aren't just for me. They're for you. Break them, and the consequences won't come from me alone."
And then he was gone, leaving her with the echo of his words and the sound of the rain.
She leaned back on the couch, staring at the ceiling. She had agreed to this marriage with her eyes open or so she thought. But now she was beginning to realize that Adrian Kane's world wasn't just cold and calculated.
It was dangerous.
And she had just signed her name to it in black ink.
Isabella sat alone long after Adrian had gone, the black folder still lying on the table like a silent accusation.
She traced her fingers over the cover, as if expecting it to burn her. The weight of what she had signed pressed on her shoulders, heavier than she had anticipated. Three years. Three years of living under his shadow, playing the perfect wife, keeping her mouth shut no matter what she saw or suspected.
Her mind replayed his words It's supposed to keep you alive.
Alive from what? Or… from whom?
She knew Adrian was powerful, wealthy, and ruthlessly efficient in business. But she was beginning to suspect there was another side to him entirely a side steeped in shadows, deals, and dangers she couldn't yet name.
Her phone buzzed on the table, startling her. It was a message from an unknown number:
Be ready at 7 p.m. tomorrow. Wear something elegant.
There was no name attached, but she didn't need one.
It was him.
Isabella set the phone down and sighed, sinking deeper into the couch cushions. She hated that her pulse quickened not from excitement, but from an uneasy anticipation. Whatever tomorrow's event was, it wasn't going to be a normal dinner date.
She stood, walking to the tall windows. The city glittered below, every light a tiny world moving on without her. Somewhere down there, her father was safe for now because of the man she had just tied herself to.
A man who wrote contracts like chains.
A man who kept warning her about rules and consequences.
A man she was starting to fear… and, despite herself, wonder about.
The rain slowed, leaving streaks on the glass. Isabella pressed her palm against the cool surface, staring at her own reflection.
Tomorrow, she would step into his world for the first time.
And something told her… the rules were just the beginning.