Chapter 3 - THE RULES OF HAWTHORNE MANOR
The west wing of Hawthorne Manor was a fortress of dark mahogany paneling, towering velvet drapes, and antique crystal chandeliers that cast long, golden shadows across silent corridors.
Evelyn stood in the center of a massive master suite that looked more like a royal chamber than a bedroom. A four-poster bed draped in dark green silk sat against the far wall, facing an open stone fireplace where a low fire crackled softly.
An elderly woman with gray hair pulled into a tight, neat bun stepped forward, holding a silver tray with warm tea and fresh pastries.
"My name is Mrs. Gable, child," the woman said, her voice warm and maternal—a stark contrast to the cold atmosphere of the rest of the mansion. "I have been the head housekeeper here for forty years."
Evelyn looked at the woman warily, holding her arms tightly across her chest. She was still wearing the pale grey wedding dress, though she had taken off the gloves and veil.
"Did you know?" Evelyn asked quietly. "Did you know Nathaniel Hawthorne was dead?"
Mrs. Gable set the tray down on a small marble table and let out a gentle, sad sigh. "The old master passed six months ago, child. Young Master Julian had to keep it hidden. If the board of directors or the family's rivals in New York found out before his twenty-ninth birthday, the entire estate would have been liquidated under an old trust clause."
"So he bought a wife to fulfill the trust," Evelyn said bitterly, sitting down on the edge of the velvet armchair.
"He didn't just buy a wife, child," Mrs. Gable said gently, stepping closer and placing a warm blanket over Evelyn’s shoulders. "He chose you. Out of three dozen families who owed debts to the firm, Master Julian personally reviewed your file."
Evelyn looked up, surprised. "He looked at my file?"
"He watched you for two weeks," Mrs. Gable revealed softly. "He saw how you worked eighteen hours a day to keep your father fed. He saw how you cared for your community. He told Mr. Vale that he needed a woman with steel in her spine, not some fragile heiress who would crumble at the first sign of trouble."
Evelyn’s heart did a strange, erratic jump inside her chest. He chose me?
Before she could process the housekeeper’s words, the heavy double doors of the suite swung open.
Julian stepped into the room. He had removed his suit jacket, wearing only his crisp white dress shirt with the top button undone and the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He carried a leather-bound folder under his arm.
Mrs. Gable bowed her head respectfully and quickly slipped out of the room, closing the heavy doors behind her.
The silence returned instantly, heavy and charged with tension.
Julian walked over to the mahogany desk near the window, setting the folder down with a soft thud. He turned to face her, his silver eyes cold and calculating.
"There are three rules you will follow in this house, Evelyn," Julian stated, leaning his hips against the edge of the desk.
Evelyn sat up straight, pulling the blanket tight around herself like armor. "I'm listening."
"First," Julian held up one finger. "You do not enter the east wing under any circumstances. Those are my private quarters and my offices. My work stays there; your life stays here."
"Fine," she snapped. "I have no desire to be anywhere near you."
"Second," Julian continued, ignoring her bite. "When we leave this property—when we attend charity galas, board dinners, or public events—you are the devoted, loving wife of Julian Hawthorne. You will wear the jewels I provide, smile at the cameras, and never, under any circumstances, hint at the nature of our arrangement."
"And third?" Evelyn asked, her hazel eyes glaring into his.
Julian leaned forward slightly, his silver eyes flashing with a sudden, dark intensity that made her breath catch.
"Third," he murmured, his voice dropping into a low, commanding whisper. "You do not fall in love with me, Evelyn. Because when this contract ends in two years, you will receive fifty million dollars and your total freedom. But you will not receive my heart."
Evelyn felt a surge of hot, indignant anger burn through her veins. She stood up from the armchair, dropping the blanket, and stepped right up to him, stopping mere inches from his chest.
"Don't worry, Mr. Hawthorne," she hissed, looking directly into his striking silver eyes with absolute fierce defiance. "I would rather jump off the cliffs behind this mansion than ever waste a single drop of affection on a cold, manipulative monster like you."
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Julian did not flinch. Instead, a dark, slow smile spread across his handsome face. He reached out, his thumb gently smoothing over her lower lip, making her tremble despite her rage.
"Good," Julian whispered, his face inches from hers. "Keep that fire, little bird. You are going to need it."
