Chapter 2 — Rules of the Estate
Lonzo
The ticking of the clock on the far wall pressed into the silence like a metronome, steady and relentless. Tonight, its rhythm grated against my nerves. The air in my study felt heavier than usual, though I couldn’t decide if it was the looming tension or the weight of my own thoughts. My fingers rested on the Velvet Room Cipher Book, its smooth leather cover cool beneath my touch. I should have returned it to its hidden compartment by now, but my attention remained fixed on the security monitor embedded in the wall.
The grainy black-and-white feed displayed her—Alexia Dalton.
She perched on the edge of an armchair in the sitting room, her back impossibly straight, her knees bouncing with a restless energy that set my teeth on edge. Auburn hair spilled over her shoulders, catching the dim glow of the chandelier above her. She wasn’t looking at the camera, but her hazel eyes—shifting between green and gold in the light—betrayed her turmoil. Every line of her posture screamed frustration, defiance, and perhaps the faintest undercurrent of unease. She despised being here. Despised me.
That made two of us.
A soft knock interrupted my thoughts. “Enter,” I called, sharper than I intended.
Isabella stepped inside, her movements precise and composed, as always. Her sleek black hair was pulled into a pristine bun, and her sharp brown eyes carried a quiet intensity. “She’s settled in the sitting room,” she said, though I hardly needed the update. “Shall I go over the estate’s rules, or would you prefer to handle it personally?”
I leaned back, considering. Normally, I would have delegated this task to Isabella. She was thorough and capable, and her calm demeanor left little room for argument. But Alexia was different—a complication I hadn’t asked for, one that demanded a more direct approach. Her defiance was already evident, and I knew it would escalate if left unchecked. Better to confront it now, on my terms.
“I’ll handle it,” I said, rising from my chair. The obsidian signet ring on my finger felt heavier as I flexed my hand, the serpent-and-dagger crest catching the light. A physical reminder of the authority I wielded—and the burdens that came with it.
Isabella inclined her head, but something flickered in her gaze—curiosity, perhaps, or concern. It was gone before I could pin it down. “As you wish.”
She exited without another word, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor. I turned back to the monitor. Alexia had begun pacing now, her movements taut and deliberate. It was a small, futile rebellion, her attempt to assert control in a space where she had none. My lips curved into a brief smirk, though the amusement didn’t last. This arrangement was far from ideal for either of us, but it was necessary. Landon Moretti was a predator, and Alexia was the bait he couldn’t resist. Keeping her here disrupted my carefully ordered world, but it was the only way to ensure she didn’t fall into his hands.
Outside the study, the hallway was quiet, the cool marble amplifying the sound of my measured footsteps. The estate had been designed to silence not just sound but any trace of vulnerability. I didn’t rush—authority didn’t require haste.
When I entered the sitting room, Alexia stopped mid-pace and turned to face me. Her expression was guarded, her chin tilted at a defiant angle. Despite her petite frame, there was a stubborn resolve in her stance that made her seem taller. For a fleeting moment, I saw a glimmer of Emmanuel’s sharp focus, though hers burned differently—brighter, perhaps, and far more reckless.
“You’ve met my brother, I assume,” she said before I could speak, her tone sharp. “The one who decided to throw me to the wolves?”
I arched a brow, crossing the room with deliberate slowness. “If I were a wolf, Miss Dalton, you wouldn’t have lasted this long.” My voice was calm, every word precise, the edge undeniable. I stopped a few feet away, my hands clasped behind my back. “You’re here because you were a liability outside these walls. Remember that.”
Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t flinch. Good. At least she wasn’t entirely naive.
“There are rules,” I continued, my tone even but firm. “You will follow them without question. Your brother may have insisted on this arrangement, but now that you’re here, your safety falls under my protection. That means you follow my lead.”
She narrowed her eyes. “And what exactly does that entail? Should I curtsy next, or would a simple ‘sir’ suffice?”
The corner of my mouth twitched, though I quickly stifled the amusement. Defiance suited her, but she would learn soon enough that it had its limits. I stepped closer, my movements slow and deliberate, watching the way her breath hitched ever so slightly.
“You can call me whatever you like,” I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous softness, “so long as you remember that disobedience has consequences.”
Her lips parted, and for a moment, I thought she might challenge me. Instead, she crossed her arms, her fingers digging into the soft fabric of her sweater. “Fine,” she said, though the word bristled with reluctance. “What are these sacred rules, then?”
I let the silence stretch, watching as her confidence faltered just slightly. “You don’t leave the estate unless I permit it. You don’t roam unescorted. You don’t touch what doesn’t belong to you. And you don’t ask questions about matters you aren’t prepared to understand.”
“Prepared?” she echoed, her voice sharpening. “That’s rich coming from you. I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t ask you to play savior.”
“Good,” I said simply. “Because I’m not your savior.”
The words landed like a blow, and for a moment, the fire in her eyes dimmed. But it didn’t extinguish. She had steel in her spine, and I couldn’t decide if it annoyed me or intrigued me.
Without another word, I turned and made my way toward the door.
“Wait,” she called, her voice softer now. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”
I glanced over my shoulder. “I’m not in the habit of wasting words, Miss Dalton. But if you’d like to test me, you’ll find my patience shorter than you expect.”
Her mouth opened to retort, but she hesitated, thinking better of it. Smart girl.
*
Back in my study, I poured myself a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid swirling as I sank into the leather chair. The security feed still played on the monitor, though I didn’t bother looking at it. Alexia wouldn’t leave the sitting room—not yet. She was too clever to make a move before understanding the terrain.
Still, her presence unsettled me. Not because she was a threat—she wasn’t, at least not in the conventional sense—but because she was an anomaly. My world thrived on order, on carefully calculated moves and predictable outcomes. Alexia Dalton was a wildcard, her defiance and unpredictability an irritant I couldn’t ignore.
And yet, even as I stared into the amber depths of the glass, the image of her hazel eyes lingered in my mind, sharp and unyielding. There was something familiar in the way she burned against her circumstances, something that stirred a memory I had long buried.
The obsidian ring on my finger weighed heavily, grounding me in the present. The estate was a fortress, a testament to control and power. And yet, for the first time, I felt the faint, unsettling sense that the walls were closing in—not from external threats, but from the chaos Alexia Dalton brought with her.
