Page 4 — The Rules of His World (Full Chapter)
The days that followed blurred into a rhythm Eli didn't fully understand. Adrian had taken him in, but not into his world — not completely.
There were rules. Always rules.
"No wandering the upper floor," Adrian had said one morning, his tone smooth but final. "Don't answer the phone if it rings. And never, under any circumstance, open the door after midnight."
Eli had wanted to ask why, but the question stuck in his throat. There was something in Adrian's eyes — something that warned him not to push too far.
Still, curiosity was a stubborn thing.
He explored when Adrian was gone, walking the quiet halls lined with expensive art and old secrets. Everything was pristine, controlled — like the man himself. But behind the elegance, Eli felt something heavier, something almost alive in the silence. As if the walls had seen things they weren't allowed to tell.
He found a locked room near the end of the corridor — the only one he wasn't supposed to touch. The door was black, the handle gold, cold under his fingers.
When he tried it, it didn't budge.
"What are you doing?"
Eli spun around. Adrian stood behind him, his expression unreadable — too calm to be harmless.
"I… I was just looking," Eli stammered. "I didn't—"
Adrian's voice dropped, soft but dangerous. "There are places in this house you don't belong."
Eli swallowed hard. "Then show me where I do."
For a moment, Adrian said nothing. His gaze lingered on Eli's face, the trembling in his voice, the defiance that shouldn't have been there but was. Then, slowly, his expression shifted — not anger, but something darker.
"Fine," he said quietly. "You want to understand? Then understand this."
He stepped closer until the air between them felt thin. "My world isn't built for people like you, Eli. It's made of power, control, and choices that don't forgive weakness."
Eli held his gaze. "Then maybe you shouldn't have brought me into it."
Adrian's eyes flashed, a mix of frustration and something dangerously close to admiration. "You think I had a choice?"
Silence stretched between them — the kind that burns. Then Adrian turned away, his voice quieter but laced with emotion he didn't want to show.
"Dinner will be at eight. Don't be late again."
He walked away before Eli could respond, leaving the boy standing alone in the dim hallway.
But Eli couldn't shake the feeling that Adrian wasn't angry at him — he was angry at himself, for letting someone like Eli exist in a place meant for ghosts.
Later that night, when the clock struck midnight, Eli heard footsteps in the hall — slow, deliberate, too heavy to be Adrian's.
The handle of his door turned once.
Then stopped.
He sat frozen in bed, breath held, as silence returned. But deep down, he knew the truth — Adrian's world had rules for a reason.
And now, Eli had just broken the first one.
---
The following morning, the world outside was pale and gray. The storm had passed, but the air still felt heavy with it. Eli found Adrian in the kitchen, dressed sharply as always, reading the morning paper as though nothing in the world could touch him.
"Sleep well?" Adrian asked without looking up.
Eli hesitated. "There were footsteps last night."
That got Adrian's attention. He set the paper down slowly, eyes lifting to meet his. "You heard them."
Eli nodded. "Someone tried the door."
For a long moment, Adrian didn't speak. Then he rose from his chair, crossing the room until he stood just in front of Eli. "You didn't open it, did you?"
"No," Eli whispered. "But I wanted to."
Adrian's jaw tightened, the muscle there flickering. "Don't. Ever. Want that again."
His tone wasn't harsh, but it carried the kind of weight that pressed down on the chest. The kind that said whatever lived behind that door — or in the dark halls of the house — wasn't meant for anyone human.
Eli's voice trembled. "What's out there?"
Adrian looked away. "Not what. Who."
The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. Eli wanted to ask more, but Adrian's eyes — cold and guarded — silenced him.
Adrian exhaled and turned, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "You shouldn't have been here, Eli. You should have left the first night."
"Then why didn't you make me?" The question slipped out before Eli could stop it.
Adrian froze. Then, slowly, he turned back to him. "Because I don't make mistakes twice."
There was something in his voice — regret, perhaps, or longing. Eli couldn't tell. But when Adrian walked away again, Eli felt the ache of an answer he would never get.
---
That night, the rule pressed on him like a weight. Don't open the door.
But the more he tried to ignore it, the louder it felt — the creak of the hallway, the whisper of the wind, the faint hum of something just beyond the wall.
He sat up in bed, staring at the door handle glowing faintly in the light from the city outside. The clock ticked — 11:59.
Then midnight.
He heard it again — the footsteps. Soft this time, slower, as if whoever it was didn't want to be heard.
"Eli…"
The voice was faint, broken — familiar.
He froze. It was his brother's voice. The one he hadn't heard since the accident.
"Eli, open the door."
His throat went dry. He knew it wasn't possible. His brother was dead. He had buried him. He had seen the grave. And yet… that voice — soft, pleading, just as he remembered — filled the silence between the ticking seconds.
Eli reached for the handle. His hand trembled inches away from it.
"Eli, please…"
He flinched — and the sound of a shattering glass made him jerk around. Adrian stood by the doorway, eyes dark, shirt half undone as if he'd rushed there.
"Don't." The word was a command, low and edged with fear.
Eli's breath shook. "It sounded like—"
"I don't care what it sounded like." Adrian's voice rose for the first time, breaking through the calm that usually surrounded him. "When I say don't open the door, you listen."
Eli's eyes burned, tears he hadn't realized forming. "Why are you doing this? What are you keeping from me?"
Adrian stepped forward, closing the distance between them in two strides. "You want to know?" he hissed. "Then understand something — this house remembers. Every loss, every lie, every mistake I've ever made. You heard that voice because it knows you now. It's trying to take what's mine."
Eli shook his head. "Yours? I'm not—"
"Yes," Adrian said sharply, grabbing Eli's wrist. His touch wasn't cruel, but desperate. "You are. You walked into my world, and it doesn't let go of what enters."
Eli stared at him — the man who was supposed to be in control, now trembling under the weight of something invisible. "You're afraid," he whispered.
Adrian's eyes flickered, that controlled calm cracking for just a second. "Not of it. Of losing control."
For a long moment, neither spoke. Adrian's grip loosened, his gaze lingering on Eli's face — the fear, the confusion, the raw trust that shouldn't have existed but did.
Then, softer, he said, "You shouldn't have come into my life."
Eli managed a shaky breath. "Then why did you let me stay?"
Adrian's hand fell away. "Because I wanted to see what it felt like to be human again."
The words hung in the air — quiet, devastating, and real.
---
The days that followed shifted like the tide — calm on the surface, but with an undertow that threatened to pull them both under. Adrian grew distant, but not cold; protective in ways that made Eli's heart ache. He moved like a man constantly fighting something unseen — something inside himself.
Sometimes, Eli would catch him staring across the room, expression unreadable, as if memorizing him. Sometimes, Adrian's hand would brush his shoulder — too brief, too careful — before he turned away.
One night, Eli found himself on the balcony, watching the city shimmer below. Adrian joined him, silent as always. The air between them was cool, electric.
"I keep thinking about that voice," Eli said softly. "It sounded so real."
Adrian didn't look at him. "The past always sounds real when it wants you to believe it."
Eli turned to face him. "You talk like you've heard it too."
Adrian's lips curved faintly, but there was no humor in it. "I have. Many times."
"What does it want?"
He finally met Eli's eyes. "Me."
The words sent a chill through him. Eli swallowed. "Then why do I hear it?"
Adrian stepped closer, his voice low. "Because you matter to me. And in this house, anything that matters becomes a target."
Eli's breath caught. The confession was quiet, but it changed everything — the way Adrian looked at him, the way the city lights painted gold over the sharp lines of his face.
For the first time, Eli saw not the untouchable man, but the one beneath — haunted, longing, trapped by the very world he ruled.
He took a small step closer. "Then stop pretending you don't care."
Adrian's hand brushed his cheek — slow, deliberate, trembling. "Care is dangerous, Eli."
"So am I," he whispered.
For a heartbeat, they stood there — the air between them thin and alive, charged with everything they hadn't said. Then Adrian leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Then maybe," he murmured, "we deserve each other."
---
That night, the house stayed quiet. No footsteps. No whispers.
But outside, the storm began again — and somewhere in the dark, the locked black door clicked once.
Waiting.