Unwritten Rules

Sienna had never seen so many rooms in her life. And not one of them felt like hers.

The penthouse was absurd. Glass walls that showed off the entire city, marble floors that clicked under her heels, and a kitchen that looked like no one had ever cooked in it. Everything screamed money. Precision. Perfection.

But none of it felt lived in.

Not even Alexander.

He moved through the space like a ghost who'd memorized every corner. He didn't touch things—he commanded them. Remote-controlled curtains. Voice-activated lights. Security systems with codes longer than her old phone number.

She sat on the edge of the leather couch, watching him across the room as he undid his cufflinks. The silence between them wasn't angry today. Just present.

"I'm ordering dinner," he said without looking up. "You eat sushi?"

"I'm not picky."

"I didn't ask if you were picky. I asked if you eat sushi."

"Yes."

He nodded once and turned away to speak into a tablet.

Sienna ran her fingers along the edge of the couch, still trying to place this feeling in her chest. It wasn't fear anymore. It wasn't rage either.

It was... adjustment.

---

Dinner arrived fifteen minutes later.

Not on plates. In boxes, set neatly in two trays, each labeled with the restaurant's logo—probably the kind of place you had to book six months in advance.

They ate on the long dining table near the windows. It could seat twelve. Only two chairs were pulled out.

He used chopsticks with practiced ease.

Sienna watched him for a moment, then reached for the soy sauce.

"I got a message from your assistant today," she said.

"About?"

"A media schedule. Interviews. Photos. A joint charity project you're launching in a few weeks."

"You'll be briefed on all of it tomorrow."

She nodded slowly. "Right. Because I'm your... wife."

His eyes flicked up. "Is that sarcasm or a reminder?"

"Just trying to figure out what I'm supposed to be when the cameras aren't around."

He set his chopsticks down. "You're supposed to follow the terms."

"Which are?"

"No scandals. No contact with the press unless cleared. No public arguments. You maintain the image."

"And behind closed doors?"

He leaned back. "You stay out of my way. I'll stay out of yours."

Sienna stared at him. "So we live in the same space... like strangers."

"Like business partners."

She gave a bitter laugh. "This is the most depressing version of marriage I've ever heard."

"You signed up for it."

"No, you bought me into it."

His jaw tightened.

But he didn't deny it.

---

Later that night, she wandered through the hallway, barefoot, trying to remember which door led to the guest bedroom she was supposed to sleep in. The place was too large, too quiet.

She found the right room eventually. Soft lights. Neutral walls. A bed that had never been touched. Her suitcase had been unpacked already. Clothes neatly hung. Shoes lined up.

Her life is arranged like props on a shelf.

She sat on the edge of the bed and looked at herself in the vanity mirror.

Still here. Still with her real face. But something had changed in her eyes.

She no longer looked like the girl who'd walked into this deal thinking she could stay numb.

She looked like someone trying very hard not to break.

---

The next morning, she found herself at the kitchen island, coffee in hand, staring at the city skyline.

Alexander walked in, dressed sharp as ever. Navy suit, no tie, phone already in hand.

"You've got a stylist coming at ten," he said, scrolling. "You'll be fitted for the gala next week."

Sienna sipped her coffee. "Gala?"

"Annual tech fundraiser. All the partners will be there."

"And you want to parade your fake wife through another crowd?"

He looked up then. "You're not just for show."

"Wow. Romantic."

"I mean it. There are rules in this world. You either play or get played. I need you to learn the difference."

She narrowed her eyes. "Are you giving me a warning?"

"I'm giving you a chance."

"To what?"

"To get used to this. The sooner you stop fighting it, the easier it gets."

She studied him carefully. "You ever get tired of living like this?"

"Like what?"

"Like everything's a performance."

He tilted his head. "Better to perform than fall."

---

The stylist came and went. Three hours. Dozens of dresses. Heels. Accessories. Even perfume.

Sienna stood like a mannequin as a team of two worked on her.

By the time they left, she had two garment bags hanging by her door and a pounding headache.

She flopped onto the bed and stared at the ceiling.

It was still mid-afternoon, and she had nothing to do. Nowhere to go. No one to talk to.

Not a single friend could call her without risking headlines.

Not even a text from her sister, who had stopped responding the day the wedding photos went viral.

This life was golden. Shiny. Expensive.

But it was also isolating.

And maybe that was the real price.

---

That night, she ran into Alexander again in the kitchen.

He was making a drink.

No staff. No noise.

Just him in a black shirt, sleeves rolled, bottle in hand.

She paused in the doorway. "Didn't expect to see you here."

He didn't look up. "I live here."

"Barely."

He poured another glass. "Want one?"

"Sure."

He handed her the drink and leaned against the counter.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then she asked, "What do your friends think about all this?"

"I don't have friends."

She raised a brow. "Seriously?"

"I have allies. Associates. Investors. No friends."

"Is that... by choice?"

He shrugged. "Trust is expensive."

Sienna sipped her drink. "So is silence."

They looked at each other.

Something passed between them then. Not attraction. Not quite.

Just... recognition.

Of two people living behind masks.

He broke the moment first. "If you're smart, you'll keep your circle small."

She tilted her head. "And if I'm not?"

He smirked. "Then this city will eat you alive."

---

That night, as she lay in bed, she realized something.

Alexander Knight wasn't cruel for the sake of it.

He wasn't trying to ruin her.

He was just protecting himself.

With armor so thick, no one could reach him.

Not even his wife.

And maybe, just maybe, that was what made this arrangement so dangerous.

Because beneath all the wealth and contracts and silent rules… he was still human.

And humans always break—eventually.