(Laila's POV)
The first thing I noticed about Adrian Voss's office was how cold it felt. Not the temperature — the air. Marble floors, floor-to-ceiling windows, everything sleek and expensive, and yet it felt like stepping into a cage.
And I was the prey.
"You're late," he said without looking up from the papers on his desk. His voice was low, smooth, but sharp enough to cut.
I swallowed the retort sitting on my tongue. If I started snapping, this would go badly — and badly wasn't something I could afford right now.
"I wasn't aware this was an interview," I said, trying to sound calm. My pulse was hammering against my throat.
He looked up then, dark eyes locking on mine. "It's not an interview. It's an opportunity."
I almost laughed. The word sounded absurd in this place, with him. "Is that what you call buying someone's silence?"
A flicker — amusement? Warning? — crossed his face. "I call it solving a problem."
And I was the problem. Or maybe my brother was. His debt, his mistakes, the men who promised to collect on Friday if I didn't find the money. I hated that Adrian knew all of it. I hated more that he was my only option.
"Three months," he said, sliding a black folder toward me. The movement was lazy, but his eyes didn't leave mine. "You work for me. You do exactly what I say. In return, your brother lives free and clear."
My fingers curled into fists. "Work for you doing what?"
"You'll find the details in the contract."
I hesitated, then opened the folder. Pages of neat legal text blurred together until my gaze snagged on the last line — Clause 12.
Personal arrangement between Laila Hart and Adrian Voss to be kept confidential. Term binding until further notice.
My head snapped up. "What exactly does 'personal arrangement' mean?"
He stood, walking around the desk until he was close enough that I caught the faint scent of cedar and something darker.
"It means," he said softly, "that from the moment you sign, the rest of the world will believe you belong to me."
My chest tightened. "And if I don't?"
His gaze didn't waver. "Then I can't guarantee what happens to your brother tomorrow morning."
The pen in my hand felt heavier than it should have. Rain lashed against the glass behind him, loud and relentless. Somewhere deep inside, I already knew — whichever choice I made, nothing about my life would ever be the same.
I pressed the pen to the paper.
And then—
"Laila, don't."
The voice came from the doorway.
I turned.
And my heart stopped.