I woke up to sunlight pouring through velvet curtains. The bed was softer than anything I'd ever slept on, but it still couldn't erase the weight pressing on my chest.
I turned to the side, expecting to find someone watching. Maybe a guard. Maybe Mike.
But I was alone.
For now.
The room was beautiful. Expensive and cold. Like a five-star prison cell. The chandelier above my head glittered even with no light on. The walls were white and gold, the furniture matched like it belonged in a palace, but none of it made me feel safe.
I sat up slowly, still wearing the silk pajamas someone gave me last night.
Last night…
The contract.
The words kept repeating in my head like a curse.
> "No love. No pregnancy. No freedom."
I had signed my name. Mira Hensley.
Now I belonged to Mike Mikako.
I wasn't ready to face him. But I knew hiding wouldn't save me.
A soft knock came at the door.
My heart skipped.
I froze.
Another knock still gentle, but firm enough to make my chest tighten.
"Miss Mira?" a voice called, soft and female.
I exhaled. Not him.
"Yes?" I answered, stepping down from the bed.
The door opened slightly and a maid poked her head in. She wore a black uniform, perfectly neat, with a white apron and a badge on her chest. She didn't look older than twenty-five.
"Sir Mike has requested your presence at breakfast," she said.
"Requested?"
She tilted her head. "That means now."
I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded.
"I'll freshen up," I mumbled.
"Clothes have been prepared for you," she added. "I'll wait outside."
I showered quickly, hoping the steam would wash away my shame. It didn't.
The outfit laid out on the bed was not what I expected.
A white silk blouse, tight black pencil skirt, Stockings, laced heels, and no bra.
The blouse was sheer.
I held it up in disbelief. "Is this a test?"
But there was no one to answer me.
Still, I wore it. Because what choice did I have?
The mansion's hallway was quiet, but not empty. Guards stood like statues at every turn. Some glanced at me, just a quick flick of their eyes, others didn't even blink. I kept my chin down, my steps quiet.
The maid led me down a long staircase and into a grand dining room.
There he was.
Mike Mikako, sitting at the head of a marble table longer than my old street.
He wore a black button-up shirt, sleeves rolled, revealing veins and muscle. A silver watch on his wrist. No expression on his face.
"Good morning, Mira," he said, not looking up from his phone.
His voice was calm. Almost casual. But it still made my spine straighten like a ruler.
"Good morning sir," I replied.
He set his phone down. His eyes met mine. Cold and unreadable.
You look... he murmured, eyes sweeping over me with slow intensity. Perfectly prepared.
I blushed. Hard. My arms crossed automatically, trying to cover myself.
"You picked the outfit," I whispered.
He raised a brow. "I never said I didn't like it.
I said nothing.
"Sit," he ordered, nodding at the chair next to him.
I walked over slowly and lowered myself into the seat. The table was already set, with fresh fruit, eggs, toast, smoked salmon, and fresh juice. I hadn't eaten like this ever.
"I assume you're hungry," he said.
I nodded. "Yes. Thank you."
He didn't reply. He just poured me juice, then turned to his plate and began eating.
Silence filled the room.
I watched him from the corner of my eye. He ate slowly. Gracefully. Like he wasn't the same man who shot someone last night without blinking.
I picked at the food nervously. Every bite tasted good, but it felt like it would turn to poison in my stomach.
Halfway through the meal, he finally spoke.
"From today forward, this is your home."
I looked up, startled.
"You'll follow my rules," he continued. "You'll eat when I say. Sleep when I say. Dress how I say."
My grip on the fork tightened.
What if I… I hesitated. What if I don't agree?
His eyes narrowed.
Then the contract is broken. And you already know what happens to people who break my rules.
I swallowed. "Death."
He didn't blink. "Exactly."
I dropped my gaze again.
He stood, walked around the table, and stopped behind my chair.
I could feel him breathing.
"You're not here to cry," he said. "You're not here to beg. You're here to obey."
"I understand."
"I don't think you do." His fingers lifted my chin. "But you will."
After breakfast, a woman in a black suit appeared and handed me a phone.
"This is your new number," she said. "Don't share it. All activity is tracked. If you try to contact anyone outside this house without permission, it will be flagged."
I nodded, numb.
Mike didn't explain anything else. He just left.
The next few hours were quiet.
Too quiet.
A maid showed me around the house. Dining rooms. Sitting rooms. A massive library. A private indoor gym. A rooftop garden I wasn't allowed to enter.
"You may only go where you're permitted," the maid said. You'll be escorted for everything else.
When we passed a room with double doors and fingerprint scanners, I paused. "What's in there?"
"His office," she said quickly. "Never go there without being called."
I nodded.
By the time I was back in my room, my head spun.
"What have I gotten myself into?"
I sat on the edge of the bed, phone in hand. No messages. No one to message.
I was alone.
Owned.
And it was only the first day.
Evening came fast.
At 7 p.m., another knock came at the door.
This time, it was a tall man with broad shoulders and sharp eyes.
"Mike has summoned you," he said.
Summoned.
Like a pet.
"Where to?" I asked.
"His quarters." I hesitated.
But I followed.
Mike's bedroom was bigger than my entire apartment back home. High ceilings, dark curtains, bookshelves, black and gold furniture. A fireplace crackled in the corner, but the room still felt cold.
He stood near the window, back to me.
"Close the door," he said.
I obeyed.
He turned around slowly.
His eyes dropped to my blouse again. This time, I could see something behind them. Something hungry.
My breath caught.
"I told you, didn't I?" he said, stepping forward.
I nodded. "No love. Just the contract."
"Exactly."
He stopped in front of me.
"Are you ready?"
I was shaking.
But I answered, "Yes."
He brushed my cheek with his fingers, then cupped my face in one hand. "Do you understand what this means?"
"I belong to you."
"And?"
"And I don't speak. I don't tell. I don't fall in love."
His eyes searched mine.
"Good girl," he said.
Then he kissed me.
It wasn't soft, and it definitely wasn't sweet.
His lips were hard, possessive, and final.
It felt less like affection and more like a claim. Like he was stamping his mark, reminding me who I now belonged to.
In that moment, I realized the truth.
Whatever this was… it wasn't love.
It wasn't romance.
It was a dangerous game, one I had no power over.
But I had already signed the contract.
And there was no turning back.