Chapter 2 – The CEO’s Rules

Morning sunlight spilled into the Han mansion like liquid gold, chasing away the ghosts of last night’s storm. The house was silent — too silent. Even the maids moved like shadows, careful not to disturb the new Mrs. Han.

Sophia woke up early, long before anyone else. Her wedding dress had been replaced by a simple silk robe, her hair unpinned. She stood by the window, staring at the endless gardens stretching out below — perfect, symmetrical, lifeless.

So this was her new world. Beautiful, but hollow.

She turned when a soft knock came at the door.

“Madam, breakfast will be served in the east dining room,” the maid said. “Mr. Han requested your presence.”

Requested. Not invited.

Sophia managed a polite smile. “Tell him I’ll be there.”

The east dining room was the size of a hotel lobby. A long glass table gleamed under the chandelier, set for two. Ethan was already there — crisp gray suit, wristwatch gleaming, tablet in hand. He didn’t even look up as she entered.

“Good morning,” Sophia said, her voice soft but steady.

“Sit,” he said without looking at her.

She sat across from him, folding her hands neatly in her lap. The silence stretched on until she couldn’t stand it. “You wanted to see me?”

He finally looked up. His eyes, cold as winter, met hers.

“I wanted to clarify the terms of our arrangement.”

Sophia’s heart sank a little. “Arrangement.” The word stung every time.

He slid a folder across the table. Inside were several typed pages — his rules, the same ones she had read last night. But now, they had more.

“Read them,” Ethan said.

Sophia’s eyes scanned the pages:

Rule 1: Attend public events as my spouse when required.

Rule 2: No emotional displays in front of the media.

Rule 3: No personal interference in Han Corp’s operations.

Rule 4: Maintain discretion. Our private life remains our own.

Rule 5: Do not question my decisions — business or personal.

She looked up, biting her lip. “And what if I break one of these rules, Mr. Han?”

His gaze hardened. “Then you’ll find this marriage far more difficult than it already is.”

Sophia let out a faint laugh — not from amusement, but disbelief. “You really think you can run a marriage like a corporation, don’t you?”

“I run everything like a corporation,” Ethan replied smoothly. “That’s why I win.”

“Then you must be very lonely,” she said quietly.

His hand froze midair, fingers tightening slightly on his coffee cup. The air between them changed — something invisible but sharp.

“Careful, Mrs. Han,” he said finally. “You’re walking on thin ice.”

“Maybe,” she whispered, “but at least I’m walking.”

They ate in silence after that. Ethan scrolled through market reports on his tablet while Sophia pushed her breakfast around her plate. Her thoughts were miles away — her father’s health, the debt collectors, the humiliation of yesterday.

Still, she forced herself to lift her chin. She would not let Ethan Han see her break.

When breakfast ended, Ethan rose from his seat. “You’ll be escorted to a media briefing tomorrow. The public needs to see our ‘union.’ Dress appropriately. Our stylists will arrive at noon.”

Sophia looked up at him. “And what will you be doing, Mr. Han?”

“Running an empire,” he said flatly, buttoning his jacket.

She watched him leave, his tall figure disappearing through the double doors. The room felt colder the moment he was gone.

Later that afternoon, Sophia wandered through the mansion, exploring hallways lined with old Han family portraits. Every ancestor wore the same expression — proud, stoic, untouchable. Just like him.

She found herself in the garden — a quiet, peaceful space filled with white lilies and a koi pond. As she leaned closer, she noticed an older woman sitting under a pavilion, knitting softly.

“Mrs. Han?” Sophia asked hesitantly.

The woman smiled gently. “Ah, you must be Sophia.” She gestured for her to sit. “I’m Mrs. Han — Ethan’s mother.”

Sophia blinked. “I thought you were living abroad?”

“I returned last week,” Mrs. Han said. “My son… forgot to mention, perhaps.” Her tone was warm but knowing. “You’re a brave girl, Sophia Lin. Marrying into this family isn’t easy.”

Sophia lowered her eyes. “It wasn’t exactly a choice.”

“I know,” Mrs. Han said softly. “But sometimes, choices come later — in how we carry the burdens we didn’t ask for.”

Her words lingered long after Sophia left the garden.

By evening, Ethan was back home — the sound of his black car echoing in the courtyard. Sophia waited in the living room, determined to speak to him. When he entered, his tie was loosened, his expression unreadable.

“We need to talk,” she said, stepping forward.

He raised an eyebrow. “About?”

“This marriage,” she said, her tone firm. “You may think I’m just here because of a contract, but I’m not your enemy, Ethan. I’m not Luna. I’m not anyone from your past. I don’t deserve your cruelty.”

Something flickered in his eyes at the mention of Luna’s name. His voice dropped dangerously low. “You know nothing about my past, Sophia.”

“Then tell me,” she said, meeting his gaze. “Tell me why you hate me before you even know me.”

He took a slow step forward, closing the space between them. She could smell his cologne — clean, sharp, intoxicating.

“This isn’t hate,” he said quietly. “This is control.”

“And what happens,” she whispered, “when control starts to feel like punishment?”

Ethan’s jaw tightened. For a heartbeat, he looked like he might actually answer. Instead, he stepped back. “Don’t mistake tolerance for affection.”

“Then don’t mistake silence for weakness,” she shot back.

Their eyes locked — fire against ice, neither willing to yield.

Finally, Ethan turned away. “You’ll learn soon enough, Mrs. Han. This house doesn’t reward emotion.”

He walked out, leaving her standing alone as the clock ticked softly in the distance.

That night, Sophia stood on the balcony again, watching the rain begin to fall — softer this time, more forgiving. Somewhere deep inside, she felt something she couldn’t explain.

Not fear. Not hatred. Something else.

“Ethan Han,” she whispered to the night. “You built walls around your heart… but one day, I’ll walk through them.”

Inside, in his private study, Ethan poured himself a glass of whiskey, staring at the contract folder on his desk. His reflection in the glass seemed like a stranger.

“She’s not like the others,” he muttered under his breath. “Aniya… she’s dangerous.”

He didn’t know it yet, but he was right.

Because for the first time in years, something in him — something buried under power, money, and bitterness — had begun to thaw.

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