Chapter 10: Under His Rule

Lily stood in the center of the penthouse, aware of every inch of space between her and Anthony—and of how easily he could close it.

The morning air was still thick with the tension of their last conversation.

She had asked what he expected from her.

He had said everything.

And yet, she still wasn't sure what that meant.

"What are these rules you keep talking about?" she asked, folding her arms, as if that would shield her from his gaze.

Anthony took a sip of his coffee, unbothered. "You'll learn them as we go."

Her frustration spiked. "And if I don't like them?"

A dark, knowing smirk curled his lips. "Then I'll make you like them."

Heat curled low in her stomach.

His voice wasn't just a warning—it was a promise.

And somehow, that was worse.

Lily should have known Anthony wouldn't let her test his patience for long.

That night, she had barely settled into her room when there was a knock at her door.

She hesitated before opening it—a mistake.

Because the second she did, he was there.

Anthony leaned against the doorway, sleeves rolled up, his dark eyes unreadable. But the tension in the air was thick, electric.

"I don't like being kept waiting," he murmured.

Lily's fingers tightened on the door handle. "For what?"

He stepped inside, slow and deliberate, until the space between them was nonexistent.

"You're mine now, Lily. You sleep in my bed."

Her pulse skipped.

No warning. No hesitation.

Just a declaration that left no room for argument.

The bedroom was dimly lit, golden light pooling across the silk sheets of his bed.

Lily stood frozen near the door, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her fingertips.

She shouldn't be here.

She shouldn't want to be here.

Anthony watched her from where he sat on the edge of the mattress, his expression unreadable.

"This is part of the deal," he said simply. "You knew that."

Lily swallowed. "You didn't say I had to—"

His brow lifted. "I don't force women, Lily."

Her breath came quicker, her pulse hammering at her throat.

He was so close now.

She could feel his heat, the quiet, controlled power radiating off him.

"Then why?" she whispered.

His fingers lifted, ghosting over her jawline, then lower—over the column of her throat.

"Because I want you here," he murmured, his voice like velvet.

His touch barely there, but devastating all the same.

"And I think you want to be here too."

Her breath hitched.

Because he was right.

And that scared her more than anything else.