Rules of the Game

"The most dangerous contracts were the ones never written on paper."

Lyra awoke to silence—an unnerving kind of quiet that pressed in from all sides.

The east wing of Dominic's estate was spacious and stark. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in the early light, but there were no soft details, no photos, no clutter. Not even a trace of who Dominic Velasco really was.

Just the echo of wealth, curated to perfection.

She rose, wrapped in a silk robe, and found a leather-bound folder on the coffee table in the sitting room. Inside was a document titled:

"Clause Addendum: Marital Agreement Conditions"

She snorted.

He really had drafted extra rules.

Later that morning, over coffee and silence in the dining hall, she dropped the folder onto the table between them.

"No falling in love?" she read aloud, her voice laced with dry amusement. "Isn't that a little dramatic, Mr. Velasco?"

Dominic didn't even look up from his tablet. "It's practical."

Lyra took a sip from her cup. "You don't believe love is a liability. You believe it's a myth."

He met her gaze then—sharp and unreadable. "Prove me wrong."

She leaned back, arching a brow. "Oh, I won't. Love died with the last name I buried."

A flicker crossed his expression.

Interest? Curiosity? Something unspoken?

He didn't press. Instead, he turned a page and said, "Clause six still stands."

Lyra grinned. "No falling in love. No secrets. No scandals. No touching unless required. Got it."

She paused.

"Shame. You seemed like you'd be good at breaking rules."

Dominic looked at her then, the faintest edge to his voice. "And you seem like someone who lives to rewrite them."

She stood, heels clicking against marble.

"Don't worry," she said over her shoulder. "I'll be the perfect wife."

Later, in her study, Lyra opened her encrypted drive and scanned the list of names she had built over the last five years.

Every person who had played a role in her downfall.

Every account. Every company. Every hidden transaction.

They thought she was playing pretend.

But she was setting the stage.

Dominic was a tool. A shield.

But he wasn't her enemy.

Not yet.

That evening, Lucas brought her an itinerary.

Public appearances. Investment summits. Foundation launches.

"You'll be attending Dominic's quarterly press dinner next week," he said. "And a gala after that. He wants you present."

Lyra didn't look up from her tea. "Is that a command or a request?"

Lucas, ever composed, said, "A requirement. From both the board… and the public."

She smiled. "Tell Mr. Velasco I'll wear something lethal."

Night fell.

Lyra wandered out onto the balcony again, her bare feet touching cold stone.

The city glittered beneath her like a kingdom at her feet.

But she didn't want to rule it.

She wanted to burn down the throne that had once cast her out.

Behind her, the door opened.

Dominic's voice was quiet.

"You shouldn't stand out here barefoot. The floor's freezing."

She didn't turn. "I like the cold. It reminds me I'm still alive."

A long silence stretched between them.

Then he said, "You keep your secrets well."

She finally turned to face him.

"You keep yours better."

They had written the rules together. But neither of them had any intention of playing fair.