Elena’s POV

The paper sat between us like a loaded gun. My eyes skimmed the words, but nothing settled. My chest was too tight, my fingers too cold. I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath until the ache in my ribs forced me to let it out.

Rules. That’s what he called them.

I thought it would be something simple. Don’t run, don’t scream, don’t try to stab him in the back while he’s sleeping. But no. Line after line, neat letters, black ink, each one more twisted than the last. My stomach twisted with every word I read.

If I broke a plate or anything I’d go without food for the day.

I wasn’t allowed anywhere near Marco’s room. Even hearing his name written down made my throat close.

If I tried to escape, fifteen whips. And tied in the cold like some animal until my body gave out.

Talking back? Spankings. His hand. Until I remembered my place.

Any kind of relationship, even eye contact that lingered too long, with his men… brutal consequences. My blood ran cold at the way he’d said that word brutal.

I swallowed hard, my lips pressing together, but the rules didn’t stop there.

I was supposed to wake before him every morning, prepare his bath and clothes like some servant from another century. If food was brought to him, I had to taste it first. The realization hit like ice water he didn’t trust anyone else with his life, but he trusted me to be the shield. Me. The one he hated most.

At night, before bed, I was to prepare his room too lay out the sheets, make it warm, comfortable, cozy. Cozy. As if there was anything cozy about this place. I was to make it ready for him, then vanish back to my own cage.

Every rule pressed against me like another chain. I couldn’t even lift my eyes from the paper.

He didn’t wait for me to argue. He didn’t give me the chance. A flick of his hand and two of his men opened the door to a place I hadn’t noticed before.

The punishment room.

I didn’t want to step in. My legs moved anyway. The air was colder here, heavier. I could smell leather before I even saw it. And when I did, my knees nearly buckled.

Chains hanging on the walls, cuffs glinting like cruel jewelry. Whips coiled neatly, waiting. Gags. Collars. A bar with straps I didn’t want to imagine being spread across. And worse—things I didn’t even have names for. Shiny clamps, metal rings, tools of control disguised as polished steel.

My skin crawled. My palms dampened.

I tried to look anywhere else, but everywhere my eyes landed was worse. I couldn’t stop imagining. What he would do. What he could do. My body bent over that cold table, leather biting into my wrists, his hand slamming down on me over and over until the sting became unbearable. My mouth stuffed with fabric or metal so no one could hear me.

I shivered.

The worst part? My mind wouldn’t stop filling in the blanks. I pictured myself locked in those cuffs, spread open, his gaze hard, unyielding. My heartbeat stuttered between terror and something else I couldn’t name, something I hated myself for.

“Elena.” His voice cut through my thoughts, sharp, grounding.

I flinched, dragging my eyes back to him.

“This is where consequences live,” he said, quiet, steady. Like he wasn’t talking about torture but about gravity, or time. “Break a rule, and you’ll end up here.”

I nodded quickly, though my throat was too tight to form words.

He didn’t stay to watch my reaction. He didn’t need to. He turned, leaving me in that cold room with shadows and chains, the door closing behind him like a sentence being carried out.

And I stood there trembling, my fists clenched, the image of every rule carved into my mind.