I stared at the crisp white document in my hands, my pulse hammering in my ears.
A contract.
A real contract.
Drafted. Printed. Signed already — by him.
My fingers trembled as I flipped the first page.
RESIDENTIAL AGREEMENT
Between Adrian Kole and Zara Hassan
My name.
My actual, legal name.
"How did you get my details?" I whispered.
Adrian didn't bother to answer. He stepped deeper into my apartment, hands in his pockets, eyes scanning the cramped space like he was deciding whether to buy it or burn it.
He finally turned to me.
"Read it."
His voice left no room for argument.
I swallowed hard and forced myself to look at the contract.
The clauses were short. Sharp. Cold. Just like him.
Rule 1: You will live in my house for an indefinite period.
I blinked. Indefinite?
My throat tightened.
Rule 2: You will sleep in my room.
I froze.
Sleep. In his room?
I felt heat rise up my neck.
"Is this—" I stammered, "Is this some kind of… of arrangement? Do you think I'm—"
He stepped closer so slowly it felt like a warning.
"I don't hire prostitutes, Zara."
My cheeks burned.
He wasn't touching me, but his presence felt like a hand around my waist, pulling me closer than was safe.
"You'll sleep in my bed," he continued calmly, "because I want you where I can see you. Where I can control your environment. Where you're safe."
Safe?
My heartbeat stuttered.
Safe from what?
Before I could ask, his gaze dropped briefly to my shaking hands.
"Next page," he said.
I inhaled shakily and obeyed.
Rule 3: You do not leave the house without informing me.
Rule 4: You will eat three meals a day.
My eyes widened.
What kind of billionaire writes eating rules into a contract?
**Rule 5: You will not lock me out.
Rule 6: You will not lie to me.
Rule 7: You will tell me if you're hurt.**
The rules were strict, demanding, obsessive…
And then came the one that made my breath halt completely.
Rule 8: No other men. In any form.
"What?" My voice cracked. "You don't even know me—"
Adrian's eyes darkened. "I know enough."
"No you don't! You know nothing about my life or my friends—"
"I know," he cut in quietly, "that I don't want to see another man around you."
My heart dropped.
He said it like a threat wrapped in velvet.
I took a step back, but he followed.
Not touching.
Just… chasing my breath.
"Why me?" I whispered.
He didn't answer immediately.
He looked at me — not the way regular men look. Not with desire or softness.
He looked like he was studying a puzzle that only he understood.
Then he spoke.
"You were the first person in a long time who spoke to me like I was human," he said. "Not a billionaire. Not a threat. Not a title."
His jaw flexed.
"You looked me in the eye," he added softly, "and told me to move."
"I insulted you," I corrected, my voice barely steady.
"Yes," he murmured, that cold half-smile appearing again, "and it was… refreshing."
My stomach flipped.
"You ruined my pride for a second," he continued. "And I don't forget the people who shake me."
Silence.
I didn't know if I was terrified or something else.
Something dangerous.
Finally, I tore my gaze away.
"This is insane," I whispered. "I can't just pack up my life and go live with some stranger."
"Not a stranger," he corrected. "Someone who already made arrangements."
"What arrangements?"
He walked to my table, pulled out a small envelope, and placed it gently in front of me.
I opened it — and gasped.
My rent receipt.
Paid.
Fully.
For one year.
"When did you—"
"Yesterday," he said simply.
My mouth fell open.
He moved past me, his scent brushing my skin, and leaned casually against the wall.
"You don't have to worry about rent again," he said. "Or food. Or bills. Or safety."
He paused.
"As long as you follow my rules."
His rules.
My head spun.
This wasn't normal.
This wasn't safe.
But neither was being jobless, with zero savings, and a landlord threatening to throw me out by next month.
I closed the contract slowly.
"I can't sign this," I whispered.
Adrian's expression didn't change.
Not anger. Not disappointment.
Just certainty.
"You will."
I flinched. "Why are you so sure?"
He pushed off the wall and walked toward me again.
This time, he didn't stop until he was inches from my face — close enough that I felt the warmth of his breath.
He lifted my chin gently with one finger.
"Because you need help," he said quietly.
"And I'm the only one offering it."
My chest tightened.
"And," he continued, voice dropping even lower,
"because whether you admit it or not, you're curious about me."
My breath hitched.
He wasn't wrong.
That was the problem.
He leaned even closer, lips near my ear.
"Sign the contract, Zara."
My hands trembled.
"You'll start tonight."
My throat dried.
"And the moment you walk into my house…"
His voice was silk and steel.
"…you follow my rules."