CHAPTER ONE — THE CONTRACT I NEVER ASKED FOR
The universe must have been laughing at her.
That was the only explanation Emilia Hart had as she stood inside the marble lobby of Donovan International, clutching the thin folder that contained everything she had left—her résumé, her last recommendation letter, and a copy of her eviction notice she prayed no one would ever see.
She'd expected a normal office building.
She'd expected a receptionist, a few elevators, and maybe some smiling employees.
She hadn't expected this.
The lobby stretched upward like a cathedral of glass and power. Every surface gleamed. Every step echoed like it belonged to someone richer, better, more important than her.
And everyone who walked past looked like they had been carved out of success.
Emilia smoothed her skirt—wrinkled from being washed too many times—and hoped no one noticed.
"Name?" the receptionist asked without looking up.
"Emilia Hart," she whispered, forcing herself to sound confident.
But the receptionist's fingers froze on the keyboard. Slowly, she lifted her head, eyes narrowing as if she expected to see someone else.
"You're… the one he requested?"
"He?" Emilia blinked. "Requested me? No, there must be a mistake. I came to ask about an opening—"
"No mistake," the woman said. Her voice had softened, but her eyes held pity. "He said to send you up the moment you arrived."
"Who is… he?" Emilia asked, though a cold realization was forming in her stomach.
The receptionist let out a careful breath, as if saying the name required respect—or fear.
"Ares Donovan."
The billionaire CEO.
The shadow king of the corporate world.
The man whose face graced magazines alongside words like ruthless, untouchable, dangerous.
Emilia felt the floor tip beneath her.
"He… wants to see me?"
"Yes. And, Miss Hart…" The receptionist gave a sympathetic look. "Good luck."
Security escorted her to a private elevator—the kind only the highest executives used. The moment Emilia stepped inside, the doors closed with a quiet hiss, trapping her with her thoughts.
Her pulse hammered.
Her palms were slick.
She wished she had worn anything other than this faded blouse.
The elevator shot upward so fast her breath caught.
"This is a mistake," she whispered to herself. "They mixed up names. They—"
The elevator dinged.
The doors slid open.
A world of silence and danger greeted her.
This wasn't an office.
This was a penthouse throne room perched above the city. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around the room, displaying a skyline so vast it made her feel microscopic.
Modern furniture. Steel and glass. Art that looked too expensive to touch.
And at the far end—
A man.
Standing with his hands in his pockets, back to her, staring at the city like he owned every light in it.
Her breath stuttered.
Ares Donovan.
Every article, every rumor, every whispered warning had not done him justice.
He wasn't handsome.
Handsome was too soft a word.
He was… sculpted. Controlled. Dangerous in the way storms were beautiful because they could kill.
"Miss Hart," he said without turning. His voice was a deep, smooth command that slid down her spine like ice. "You're late."
Her mouth opened. "I—I came as soon as—"
"You're late," he repeated, turning toward her.
And her world tilted.
Dark hair. Sharp jaw. Eyes like storm clouds right before thunder. A suit tailored so perfectly it looked sinful. He walked toward her slowly, each step precise, each movement radiating confidence that came from knowing he could buy entire countries if he felt like it.
Emilia tried to breathe.
He stopped just inches away—close enough that she could smell warm cedar and something darker, something masculine.
"Do you know why you're here?" he asked.
She swallowed. "No, sir."
"Good." His gaze traveled over her face, studying her like she was a puzzle he was deciding whether or not to solve. "I prefer to explain things myself."
He gestured toward a glass table. On it sat a thick stack of papers.
A contract.
Her name already typed across the top.
Emilia's heart seized. "I—I didn't apply for anything. I think you might have the wrong—"
"Emilia Hart," he cut in. "Age twenty-three. Graduated top three in your business program. Two jobs in the last year. One lost to company downsizing. The other lost because your manager was… inappropriate."
Her eyes widened. "How do you—?"
"I know everything," Ares said simply. "Including the fact that you are being evicted next week."
Shame burned her cheeks.
Her eviction notice was inside her folder. No one should have known.
"How do you know that?" she whispered.
"I have resources." His tone made it clear he wasn't bragging. He was stating a fact. "And I have an offer."
She looked down at the contract. The black ink felt like it stared back at her.
"What kind of offer?" Emilia asked cautiously.
"The kind you don't refuse."
He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, consuming the space around her.
"I need someone," he said quietly. "Not an assistant. Not an employee. Someone… by my side. Publicly. Privately. Socially. For six months."
Her eyes flew to his.
"You mean… like a—"
"It's not what you're thinking."
But the slight curve of his mouth suggested it was exactly what she was thinking.
"You will attend events with me. Travel when required. Follow instructions. And you will be compensated handsomely."
"How handsomely?" she whispered.
"Enough to erase your debts, secure your housing, and stabilize your future."
Her breath caught.
A lifeline.
A miracle.
Too good to be real.
But his expression hardened, eyes sharpening.
"This is not charity, Miss Hart. I expect complete cooperation. Discretion. Obedience." His gaze locked on hers. "If you accept, your life changes today."
"And if I refuse?"
Something dark flickered in his eyes.
Not anger—something more dangerous.
"Then you walk out of here," he said softly, "and I forget your name."
The room felt too small.
Her heartbeat too loud.
Her temptation too strong.
Ares Donovan watched her with unreadable intensity.
"Choose, Emilia."
Her fingers trembled as she reached for the pen.
And the moment her hand closed around it, he smiled—but it wasn't comforting.
It was a warning.
Because whatever this arrangement was…
It was no ordinary contract.
It was a cage.
And Ares Donovan had just closed the door.