Chapter 2: The Rules of Being His Wife
The sun had barely risen, yet Aria was already awake. She curled on the edge of the oversized guest bed, her wedding dress bunched awkwardly around her knees. She hadn't dared to change, afraid of overstepping. After all, this wasn't her home.
She wasn't even sure if she was a wife or a prisoner.
Her eyes stung from crying, but no more tears came. Just numb silence.
The massive mansion was dead quiet. No signs of staff, no breakfast aroma, no warmth.
Just like Leon Valen.
She peeled off the gown, shivering in the cold morning air as she folded it neatly and placed it on the velvet ottoman. Beneath the layers of lace and luxury, she felt stripped of everything: her dignity, her identity.
Her freedom.
When Aria finally mustered the courage to step into the hallway, she found herself surrounded by marble, glass, and silence. No portraits, no flowers, no color.
Just empty space.
Cold, modern, loveless.
The entire house was designed like Leon—impossibly perfect on the outside but emotionally barren on the inside.
She followed the quiet humming of electronics until she reached the main lounge. He was already there.
Leon Valen.
Wearing a crisp black shirt, sleeves rolled just enough to show his watch and the veins on his forearms. He sat at the dining table, sipping coffee like it was a weapon, phone in hand, face unreadable.
He didn't even look at her.
"Sit," he said, voice low and sharp.
She sat.
He set his phone down and finally raised his eyes. They were cold, calculating.
"There are rules."
Her spine straightened involuntarily.
He slid a sleek file across the table. "Read this carefully. Sign it."
Aria's trembling fingers opened the folder. The title at the top screamed louder than any vow they had exchanged yesterday:
**Marriage Contract Agreement, Between Leon Valen & Aria Greystone (Temporary Substitution)**
She looked up, chest tightening. "You already had this prepared?"
"I anticipated your sister might run. I didn't expect her to be a coward, but I always prepare for worst-case scenarios," he said casually. "And now you're here. A mistake I intend to manage—legally and emotionally."
Aria's hands shook as she skimmed through the document.
Clause 1: No physical contact without mutual consent.
Clause 2:No public affection unless for media appearances.
Clause 3: No interference in Leon Valen's personal or business affairs.
Clause 4: The marriage shall last exactly six months unless terminated earlier by Leon Valen.
Clause 5: Under no circumstance shall Aria Greystone develop a romantic attachment or make emotional demands.
Her throat went dry.
This wasn't a marriage. This was a six-month sentence.
Her voice came out quieter than she intended. "Clause five… you want me to promise I won't fall in love with you?"
Leon leaned forward, a bitter smirk on his lips. "You're not *her.* So no, I don't worry about love. I worry about *distractions.*"
She blinked hard. "What happens after six months?"
"I'll annul the marriage, and you'll disappear. No money, no title, no trace." He tapped the paper. "Sign it. Or walk out that door and deal with the world tearing your family apart."
Aria looked down at the pen.
Her heart screamed to run. But her mind, her loyalty, knew the damage already done. Her father's company would collapse without Leon's investment. Her family's reputation would be shredded. Her mother wouldn't forgive her.
She picked up the pen.
And signed.
The days blurred into a schedule Aria hadn't chosen.
A robotic routine filled with appearances, meetings, and carefully rehearsed smiles.
They had breakfast at the same table but never spoke more than five words. They attended a charity ball together, where Leon held her waist like a possession, not a partner. Paparazzi followed them like wolves, feeding on the lie of their fairy tale marriage.
But inside the mansion, they lived in opposite worlds.
Leon stayed in his study or penthouse office until late every night. Aria was left to wander the halls like a ghost bride, wearing dresses she didn't pick and a ring that felt more like a shackle.
He was cold.
But worse, he was careful.
He never yelled, never touched her, never even looked at her longer than necessary.
That restraint hurt more than cruelty.
It was like she didn't exist.
A week after the wedding, the first crack formed.
It happened at a dinner party hosted by one of Leon's business partners.
Aria had prepared all day—hair curled, a navy-blue gown hugging her figure, makeup applied carefully to mask the dark circles under her eyes.
She entered the ballroom by his side, heels clicking in perfect rhythm with his polished shoes. Cameras flashed, glasses clinked, whispers swirled.
"She's beautiful, but isn't that the *other* Greystone girl?"
"She's the backup bride, right?"
"I heard the elder one cheated—scandalous."
Aria smiled through it all. Silent. Poised. Perfect.
But inside, she burned.
Leon said nothing to defend her.
He acted like the whispers didn't exist—like she didn't exist.
Until she slipped.
A photographer called her name too suddenly, and Aria's heel caught on the edge of a rug. She stumbled forward—
—and Leon caught her.
Firm hands, a sudden grip around her waist. Their bodies too close, too fast. Her breath hitched as her hands instinctively pressed against his chest.
His eyes met hers.
Not cold, not mocking.
Just silent.
And then he dropped his hands.
"You should be more careful," he muttered, stepping away.
But his voice had changed. A little tighter. A little more human.
Later that night, back at the mansion, Aria walked toward the guest room but found it locked.
Confused, she turned around and almost ran into Leon.
He looked exhausted. Tie loosened, jacket off, sleeves rolled again.
"Your things have been moved," he said quietly.
Her brows furrowed. "To where?"
"To the master bedroom."
She blinked. "But the contract—"
He interrupted, voice cool. "We'll keep the rules. The room is big enough. Just stay out of my way."
Aria opened her mouth, then closed it. Fighting would only make things worse.
She stepped inside the master suite.
It was breathtaking.
A soft king-sized bed near the window, floor-to-ceiling curtains, an antique piano in the corner. Everything smelled like him—cologne, leather, power.
She placed her hands on the bedpost and closed her eyes.
This was her life now.
A marriage built on betrayal.
A contract inked in desperation.
And a man who hated her but wouldn't let her go.
**Somewhere deep inside her, a voice whispered:**
*He doesn't love you. He never will.*
*But what happens when he begins to feel something, and it's already too late?*
To be continued.....