The sleek black car glided to a halt in front of the towering mansion in Chelsea, a testament to unimaginable wealth and icy detachment. As the car doors locked with a soft click, Malcolm Sterling shifted in his seat and handed a set of crisp papers to Lucia Scott without sparing her a glance.

Her eyes skimmed the documents as a wave of irritation rolled over her. Bold letters at the top read, "Seven Rules for Our Arrangement." Skimming the neatly numbered list, her lips curled into a tight line as she fought back the urge to curse.

Rule 1: Do not step into my private quarters.

Rule 2: Speak only when necessary in my presence.

Rule 3: Maintain appearances for my family.

Rule 4: Do not meddle in my business.

Rule 5: Keep out of my personal affairs.

Rule 6: Respect the terms of this marriage.

Rule 7: Do not fall in love with me.

Lucia rolled her eyes. The audacity of this man. Do not fall in love with him? As if I'd ever want to! She bit her tongue, stifling the retort bubbling on her lips.

"Seriously?" she muttered under her breath, clenching the papers tightly.

Without waiting for her response, Malcolm opened the car door, stepping out with the casual arrogance of a man who had the world at his feet. His sharp suit and meticulously styled hair gleamed under the dim evening light, but his cold demeanor soured the sight.

Lucia's jaw tightened. He didn't even look back, let alone offer to help her out of the car.

Gritting her teeth, she tossed the papers onto the seat beside her, threw the car door open, and stepped out—her oversized wedding gown billowing around her like a cumbersome storm cloud.

The driver, an older man with a stiff posture, moved to the trunk. Lucia thought nothing of it as she began walking toward the grand staircase leading to the house.

"Ma'am," the driver called, halting her mid-step. "You haven't packed your luggage yet."

Lucia turned slowly, her confusion morphing into disbelief. "Excuse me?"

The driver straightened, avoiding her gaze. "Master instructed that you handle your own belongings, ma'am."

She laughed humorlessly. "Oh, did he now? What do you think the servants in this oversized palace are for?"

The driver hesitated before replying, "No one in the house is permitted to assist you."

Lucia's nails dug into her palms as she processed the insult. The nerve! Her pride wouldn't allow her to argue further. With an icy glare, she marched toward the trunk, hoisting out her two heavy suitcases and nearly stumbling under their weight.

Struggling with her wedding dress and the luggage, she trudged up the mansion's steps. The sprawling staircase was a thing of beauty—ornate marble with golden railings—but it felt like a cruel joke as her arms screamed in protest.

Sweat clung to her temples by the time she reached the grand double doors. She pushed one open with her shoulder, her breath ragged.

Inside, the air was cool and pristine, the foyer glistening with chandeliers and polished floors. But the magnificence of the place did little to soothe her temper.

An elderly woman in a black-and-white uniform approached her. "Welcome, madam," she said, her tone professional but kind. "I'm Brenda, the butler. Allow me to escort you to your room."

Lucia didn't bother correcting her title. She was in no mood to play the part of the gracious bride.

Brenda led her through winding hallways to a wing that felt like the forgotten part of the house. The walls were bare, the lighting dim, and the air carried a faint chill. It was worlds apart from the opulence of the rest of the mansion.

"Your room, madam," Brenda said, opening a door at the end of the hallway.

Lucia stepped inside to find a modest space—clean but utterly devoid of warmth. A single bed, a wardrobe, and a small vanity greeted her. The room felt more like servant's quarters than the suite of a billionaire's wife.

"I'll let you freshen up," Brenda added. "Dinner will be served in two hours."

Lucia nodded stiffly. She didn't trust her voice not to betray the storm brewing inside her.

Once alone, she let out a bitter laugh. "This is what my parents wanted for me? What a joke."

She changed into a simple dress and brushed out her hair, taking her time as she debated whether to attend dinner at all. But skipping dinner would mean letting Malcolm think he'd won.

Determined, she descended the grand staircase two hours later, her steps echoing through the silent house.

The dining room was just as cold and extravagant as the rest of the mansion. Malcolm sat at the head of the long table, a plate of food already in front of him. He didn't bother looking up as she entered.

Lucia chose the seat farthest from him, pulling it out with deliberate defiance before sitting down. She ignored the ache in her arms from hauling luggage and focused on the steaming dishes laid out before her.

She had just lifted her fork when Malcolm's voice cut through the room.

"Have you signed the papers?"

Her grip tightened on the utensil. She slowly set it down and met his gaze with a glare.

"I haven't decided yet," she said coolly.

His eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. "There's nothing to decide. Sign them."

"Or what?" she challenged, leaning back in her chair.

Malcolm smirked, though it didn't reach his eyes. "You'll find out soon enough."

Lucia's stomach churned with a mix of anger and unease, but she refused to let him see her falter.

"Let me make something clear," she said, her voice steady despite the fire in her chest. "I may have agreed to this marriage because of my parents' wishes, but that doesn't mean I'll be your puppet. I won't bow to your ridiculous rules."

For a fleeting moment, Malcolm's expression softened, almost as if her defiance amused him. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by his usual icy mask.

"You'll do well to remember who you're dealing with, Lucia," he said, his tone low and dangerous.

Lucia didn't flinch. "And you'll do well to remember that I'd rather kiss a monkey than fall in love with you."

Silence hung heavy between them, the tension crackling like a live wire. Malcolm stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor.

"Enjoy your meal," he said curtly before walking out of the room, leaving her alone with her simmering fury.

Lucia clenched her fists, vowing to herself that she wouldn't let him break her.