The rain from the night before had left the city washed clean, but the air inside Adrian's penthouse was anything but fresh. It was tense, suffocating, thick with the remnants of the conversation they hadn't finished.
Zara sat at the breakfast island, fingers curled loosely around a mug of untouched coffee. The steam had long dissipated, leaving it cold. Across from her, Adrian leaned back in his chair, perfectly composed in his black shirt and tailored trousers, flipping through something on his tablet as though she weren't even there.
He hadn't said a word to her since the elevator ride up last night. Not after the gala. Not after the kiss that wasn't love but had been designed to look like it.
Zara broke the silence first."So this is how it's going to be? Silence?" Her tone was calm, but her eyes were sharp.
Adrian didn't look up. "Silence is better than lies."
Her jaw tightened. "You mean the lie you forced me to participate in?"
Finally, he set the tablet down. The faintest of smiles tugged at the corner of his lips, but there was nothing warm about it. "It wasn't a lie. It was a performance. And you played your role beautifully."
Zara pushed her mug away. "I'm not here to be your puppet."
"No," Adrian said, rising slowly from his chair, "you're here because you signed a contract. And in this… arrangement, there are rules."
The way he said rules made the hair on her neck prickle. She didn't respond, watching instead as he walked to the built-in wine rack—absurd for this hour of the morning—and poured himself a glass of deep red.
He turned back to her. "Rule one," he began, swirling the wine casually, "what we do in public stays in public. You don't question my motives, you don't break character, and you certainly don't embarrass me."
Zara let out a short, humorless laugh. "And what if I do?"
Adrian's gaze darkened, the shift so subtle yet so dangerous that her laughter died instantly. "Then I will embarrass you in ways you can't recover from."
Silence fell again, but this time it was heavier.
She straightened her back, refusing to cower. "Rule two?"
He set his wineglass down, his movements deliberate. "Rule two—you don't disappear without telling me where you're going. This city eats people alive. And you…" His eyes raked over her slowly. "You're far too tempting a target."
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "You mean I'm far too useful to lose."
"That too," he admitted without hesitation.
Zara forced herself not to flinch. This was the man she was tied to. Cold. Calculated. Always in control. But she couldn't afford to show him her unease.
"And rule three?" she asked, meeting his eyes.
He stepped closer, so close she could smell the faint scent of cedar and something darker—like power itself. "Rule three," he said softly, "is the most important. In private, you can hate me all you want. You can curse me under your breath. But you will never walk away from me until I say this deal is over."
Zara's pulse thudded in her ears. "And if I break that rule?"
He leaned down, his voice a dangerous whisper. "Then you'll learn exactly why they call me ruthless."
That morning marked the start of the game.
The problem was, Zara didn't yet know all the pieces on the board. She spent the next two days observing Adrian in silence, noticing the way he navigated meetings like a man who was always three moves ahead. He never raised his voice, but people listened. He never threatened openly, but people obeyed.
And everywhere they went together, the world watched them with hungry eyes.
By the third evening, she thought she'd gotten the hang of his rules—until she broke one without even meaning to.
It happened at a charity auction for one of the city's most exclusive hospitals. She was seated beside Adrian, their hands intertwined for the cameras, when her phone buzzed with a message from her best friend, Mia.
Emergency. Need to talk. Now.
Zara's stomach twisted. She excused herself with a polite smile, slipping away to the side corridor.
"Mia?" she whispered into the phone. "What's wrong?"
Mia's voice trembled. "Zara, someone's digging into your past. They've been asking questions—about your old job, about—"
A shadow fell over her. She turned, and there he was. Adrian. Watching her like a predator catching his prey mid-escape.
He plucked the phone from her hand, ending the call without a word.
"You broke rule two," he said quietly.
"I stepped away for a phone call," she shot back.
"You stepped away without telling me," he corrected. His tone wasn't angry—it was worse. It was calm. Icy.
When they returned to the table, his hand was still in hers, his smile still picture-perfect. But under the table, his grip was like steel.
That night, Adrian didn't lecture her. He didn't raise his voice. He simply reminded her of something far more unsettling.
As she walked toward the guest room, he called after her."Zara."
She stopped.
"Rule four," he said, his voice low, "is unspoken. You've already learned it tonight."
She turned slightly. "And what's that?"
He smiled faintly. "Never give me a reason to remind you why you can't win."
From that night on, Zara realized something chilling—Adrian's rules weren't just about control. They were about survival. His world was full of traps, and he was making sure she didn't step into one without his permission.
But there was one problem.
Zara had her own rules.
And unlike Adrian, she had no intention of playing fair.
Adrian's eyes bored into Zara's with an intensity that made her want to look away—but she didn't. Not anymore. She wasn't the same woman from the gala who thought she could dance around him and walk away unscathed. She knew better now.
"You're learning fast," Adrian said, leaning back in his chair. "But you're still thinking like someone who wants to survive, not win."
Zara arched a brow, gripping the edge of the table. "And what do you call this? A chess match?"
"Not chess." His voice dropped, almost amused. "Chess has rules. This doesn't."
The air between them thickened. The faint hum of the city outside the penthouse windows was the only sound for a moment, like the world itself was holding its breath to hear what came next.
"Then maybe," Zara said evenly, "it's time I stop playing your game and start playing mine."
His gaze sharpened. "You think you have one?"
She leaned forward, elbows on the table, closing the distance between them until she could smell his cologne—woodsy, dark, intoxicating. "Everyone has a game, Adrian. Some of us are just better at hiding the rules."
The corner of his mouth twitched, but it wasn't a smile—it was more like a warning signal. "Careful, Zara. The last person who tried to change my rules… disappeared from the board entirely."
Her pulse quickened, but she didn't flinch. "Then I guess I'll have to make sure I'm too valuable to remove."
The meal arrived, carried by a silent server who seemed intent on pretending he couldn't feel the tension in the room. They ate in silence for a few moments, every clink of cutlery a quiet punctuation to the unspoken battle raging between them.
When the server left, Adrian set his fork down, fingers steepling together. "Here's the first rule you need to understand: I don't lose."
Zara cut into her salmon, deliberately slow. "And here's the first thing you need to understand about me: I don't back down."
That earned her a smirk. "Good. I wouldn't want this to be boring."
The Second Rule came later that night, when they returned to the apartment.
Adrian didn't head straight to the bedroom. Instead, he poured himself a drink, ice clinking against glass. "Rule two," he said, swirling the amber liquid, "trust no one. Not even me."
She raised a brow, standing near the window. "That's a strange thing to say to someone you've bound to a contract."
"It's exactly the kind of thing I need to say," he replied. "You don't know me, Zara. You only know the parts I allow you to see. And that's exactly how I intend to keep it."
She studied him. The way he leaned casually against the counter, the way his words sounded like truth but also like a challenge. "Then you should know something too," she said. "I don't trust easily. And I've survived enough to know that trusting the wrong person can be fatal."
His gaze flickered—approval? amusement?—before he took a slow sip of his drink. "Maybe you'll last longer than I thought."
By the time they reached the Third Rule, Zara had stopped thinking of the contract as just a temporary arrangement. The air between them had shifted. It wasn't just about pretending for the cameras anymore—it was about outmaneuvering each other in ways neither of them could quite name.
And the most dangerous part? Every now and then, she caught herself enjoying it.