Morning arrived in the Watts mansion without warmth.
Rosie woke to silence so deep it felt unnatural. There were no distant sounds of traffic, no chatter from neighbors, no clatter of dishes from a modest kitchen. Instead, the mansion breathed quietly, like a sleeping giant that could awaken at any moment and swallow her whole.
She lay still on the massive bed, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling above her. For a moment, she forgot where she was. Then memory rushed back—cold, sharp, unforgiving.
The Watts mansion. The rules. The contract marriage.
Her body tensed immediately.
She reached for the clock on the bedside table. 6:12 a.m.
So he had already left.
That alone told her how carefully her life had been scheduled around a man she had yet to meet.
Rosie slowly sat up, her feet touching the plush carpet. The room was immaculate—too perfect, too untouched, as though no one truly lived here. Even the air smelled expensive.
A soft knock sounded on the door.
"Mrs. Watt?" Olivia's voice came through gently.
"You may come in," Rosie replied.
Olivia entered, followed closely by Eva, both dressed in crisp uniforms.
"Good morning," Olivia said. "Mrs. Smith asked us to inform you that today's schedule will begin shortly."
Rosie swallowed. "Schedule?"
"Yes, ma'am," Eva added quickly. "You are to prepare for breakfast, then accompany us to the boutique district. Mr. Watt has arranged for you to purchase new clothing and personal items."
Rosie frowned slightly. "Purchase… new clothing?"
"Yes," Olivia replied calmly. "Everything."
The word echoed.
Everything.
Rosie glanced down at herself—at the simple clothes she had brought from her old home. They suddenly felt small, insignificant, almost shameful in a place like this.
"I don't need much," Rosie said quietly. "Just the basics."
Eva smiled nervously. "In the Watts family, ma'am, basics are redefined."
After breakfast—silent, formal, and entirely overwhelming—Rosie was ushered into one of the family cars. The driver said nothing. The city passed by outside the tinted windows, but Rosie barely noticed.
Her mind was elsewhere.
This is part of the rules, she reminded herself. Learn them. Follow them. Survive.
The boutique district looked like something out of a dream—or a world she was never meant to belong to. Designer stores lined the streets, their glass fronts displaying clothes worth more than her entire wardrobe back home.
The moment she stepped inside the first store, the atmosphere shifted.
Employees bowed. Smiles widened. Whispers followed.
"That's her."
"Mr. Watt's wife."
"So young…"
Rosie felt exposed.
She was measured, examined, dressed, undressed, and redressed like a porcelain doll. Gowns, suits, casual wear, shoes, jewelry—everything was chosen with precision. Not once was she asked what she liked.
"This color suits Mrs. Watt," one attendant said.
"This cut reflects the Watts image," another added.
The Watts image.
By the time they reached the final boutique, Rosie felt drained. Her reflection in the mirror barely looked like her anymore. The elegant woman staring back wore a flawless dress, her hair styled perfectly, her posture refined.
She looked like someone powerful.
She didn't feel like it.
That was when Amelia appeared.
She entered the boutique as though she owned it, her heels clicking confidently against the marble floor. She was beautiful in a sharp, striking way—tall, slim, with carefully styled hair and eyes that held calculated interest.
Her gaze landed on Rosie instantly.
And hardened.
"So," Amelia said smoothly, walking closer. "This is her."
Rosie turned slowly, her expression calm but guarded.
"And you are?" Rosie asked.
Amelia smiled but it was not kind.
"Amelia Carter," she said. "I've known Adrian since we were children."
Adrian.
So that was his name.
"And you must be the wife," Amelia continued, circling Rosie slowly. "Though I must admit… you're not quite what I expected."
Rosie met her gaze. "Expectations are often disappointing."
Amelia chuckled softly. "Bold. I like that. Though boldness doesn't last long here."
She leaned closer, lowering her voice.
"You should know something," Amelia said. "I've been by Adrian's side long before contracts and forced marriages existed. I know his habits. His temper. His preferences."
Rosie remained silent.
"And you?" Amelia continued. "You're temporary."
The words were meant to wound.
"I'm aware of the nature of my marriage," Rosie replied evenly. "But thank you for your concern."
Amelia's smile tightened.
"You think wearing these clothes makes you one of us?" she asked mockingly. "You can dress the part, but you can't erase where you come from."
Rosie's chest tightened—but she did not flinch.
"Where I come from taught me dignity," Rosie said quietly. "Something money can't buy."
The boutique fell silent.
Amelia's eyes flashed with irritation.
"Oh, you're interesting," she said. "But don't misunderstand your position. Adrian doesn't tolerate weakness. Or embarrassment."
She leaned back, her voice dripping with condescension.
"And I would hate for you to embarrass him."
Rosie straightened.
"If your concern is Adrian's image," she said calmly, "then rest assured. I won't be the one disgracing him."
Amelia studied her for a long moment.
Then she laughed.
"We'll see."
The ride back to the mansion was quiet.
Rosie stared out the window, her hands clenched in her lap.
She had survived humiliation before.
She would survive this too.
Back at the mansion, Mrs. Smith was waiting.
"I trust the shopping was satisfactory," she said.
"Yes," Rosie replied.
"Good," Mrs. Smith said. "From now on, you are expected to present yourself according to Watts standards at all times."
Rosie nodded.
That night, alone in her room, Rosie sat before the mirror.
She removed the jewelry slowly. Wiped away the makeup. Changed back into simple sleepwear.
The woman in the mirror looked tired—but her eyes were steady.
"They think I'm weak," she whispered. "They think I'll break."
She stood up.
"But I won't."
Somewhere in this mansion lived a man who believed rules could control everything.
And somewhere within Rosie, a quiet strength was growing
one that no contract could erase