My Scary Husband Actually Loves Me Like Crazy

The sleek black car drove through the towering gates of the Blackwell estate, passing along the winding driveway surrounded by carefully manicured gardens and darkened stone statues, each one casting a haunting shadow across the path. Isabella sat rigidly in her seat, her fingers clenched so tightly that her knuckles were white. Every fiber of her being was on edge, the silence between her and Adrian thicker than the surrounding fog.

As the car rolled to a stop, Isabella's gaze lifted to the imposing structure that was the Blackwell Mansion. Her family's estate had once seemed grand, but this—this was something else entirely. The mansion stood like a fortress, its towering walls an endless array of gothic arches and darkened glass. It looked more like a kingdom than a home, every inch of it exuding wealth, power, and an air of untouchable coldness. She felt like an outsider here, and she had no doubt Adrian preferred it that way.

The driver opened her door, and she stepped out, her gaze sweeping over the vast entrance and intricate carvings that decorated the mansion's façade. But the beauty of it all felt distant, hollow. Before she could take another step, Adrian's voice, cold and clipped, snapped her back to reality.

"Come inside. There are things you need to understand before you take one more step here."

She followed him inside, every nerve in her body screaming at her to run, but her feet remained rooted to the polished marble floor as they entered the grand foyer. He led her into a quiet, darkened parlor, where he finally turned to face her, his gaze sharp and unwavering.

"Now that you're here, there are certain rules you will follow without question," he began, his voice devoid of warmth or mercy. "Failure to do so will result in consequences you would be wise to avoid."

He took a step closer, his gaze never leaving hers as he laid down his commands, one by one.

"Rule number one," he said, his voice low and chilling. "You will not allow any other man to look at you, nor will you speak to any of them without my permission. If you disobey, there will be death—swift and brutal." He snapped his fingers, and one of his guards, who had been stationed by the door, approached.

Without warning, Adrian drew a gun and fired four shots into the guard's chest, splattering blood across the floor and onto Isabella. She froze, unable to move as the blood stained her dress and skin, her breath coming in shallow, panicked gasps. Adrian's voice cut through her shock like ice.

"Consider that your first lesson," he said. "If you allow any man to even think he has the right to look at you, I won't hesitate to deal with them—and you—just as swiftly."

Isabella trembled, tears stinging her eyes, but she forced herself to stay silent, fearing what another display of disobedience might provoke.

"Rule number two," he continued, his expression dark and unyielding. "You will give me an heir. Nothing less than perfection will do, and I expect you to fulfill this duty without complaint. Fail, and you will wish you hadn't."

Isabella swallowed hard, her fear mounting with each word. She wanted to protest, to say something, but the look in his eyes kept her silent.

"Rule number three," he went on, his gaze turning to a steely edge, "you are not to let any of the maids mistreat you. If I hear of you being bullied or disrespected, you will be punished. This is my home, and I will not tolerate weakness from the woman I bought."

The word "bought" sent a cold shiver down her spine, a brutal reminder of the contract she had unwillingly entered. She nodded, forcing herself to remain still despite the whirlwind of emotions raging inside her.

"Rule number four," he continued, his voice dropping lower, "you are forbidden to leave this house unless I grant you permission. Any attempt to defy this will be met with consequences. There will be no second chances, Isabella. My patience has limits."

The way he said her name was almost a threat, each syllable laced with disdain. She nodded again, barely able to keep herself from breaking down.

"Rule number five," Adrian said, taking another step closer until there was barely any space between them, "you are not my wife. You are my possession, a slave I purchased for ten billion dollars. You will be obedient, useful, and silent. Do you understand?"

She wanted to scream, to run, but his gaze held her captive. She could do nothing but nod, the last remnants of hope crumbling within her.

Adrian's lips twisted into a faint, humorless smile. "Good. Now, the rest." He continued, his voice even colder, each rule a further reminder of her helplessness.

"Rule number six. You will call me 'Master' from now on. I am the only one you will answer to. No one else has the right to command you, and I expect you to remember that."

Her heart pounded in her chest, each word like a brand on her soul. The idea of calling him "Master" felt degrading, but one look at his face told her that protest would only bring pain.

"Rule number seven," he continued, "you will not keep secrets from me. Any attempt to hide anything, no matter how small, will result in punishment. I own every part of you now—body, mind, and soul."

"Rule number eight," he said, his gaze hardening, "you will show no emotion in public. I expect you to be as cold and composed as I am, or else the punishment will be severe. Weakness is unacceptable."

The weight of his expectations was suffocating, and Isabella could feel herself trembling as he continued.

"Rule number nine," he went on, his voice taking on an edge of finality, "you will eat with me at every meal. I want to make sure you're taking care of yourself because you are mine to maintain, like anything else I own."

And then came the final rule, the one that sealed her fate completely.

"Rule number ten. You will remember, at every moment, that your purpose here is to serve me. If you defy me, you will suffer, and you will regret it."

Adrian's hand suddenly reached out, gripping her chin and forcing her to look up into his eyes. His gaze was cold, but his touch was a reminder of the power he held over her, a cruel contrast to the warmth she craved. He leaned closer, his breath hot against her skin as he whispered in her ear, his voice a dark promise.

"You are my possession, Isabella. You are to obey me without question, to serve me without complaint. And you will call me 'Master' as a reminder of your place. Is that clear?"

Her lips trembled, but she forced herself to respond, her voice barely a whisper. "Yes, Master."

He released her, stepping back with a look of satisfaction. "Good," he said. "Now, remember—each of these rules is a line you are forbidden to cross. If you fail, there will be consequences, and I will show no mercy."

The chilling finality in his words made her blood run cold. She was trapped, bound to a man who seemed as heartless as the stone walls around her. She felt her soul shrinking beneath his gaze, the last flickers of her hope dying out. As she looked around the cold, oppressive mansion, she realized that escape was no longer an option. Her life was his now, every breath, every movement, every thought owned by the man who called himself her Master.