Damien's words from the penthouse were still echoing in my skull like a chaotic drumbeat. Tonight. Not tomorrow. Not next week. Tonight.
The contract was effective immediately.
I sat in the back of the sleek car he had arranged, watching the city blur by. I felt like a ghost haunting my own life. The driver didn't speak, which was a mercy. He just navigated the traffic until the hospital came into view.
I needed to see Liam. I needed to see that he was alive. It was the only thing that would make the ink drying on that contract worth it.
When the car pulled up to the curb, I didn't wait for the driver to open the door. I pushed it open and stepped out, the cool evening air hitting my flushed face.
I walked fast, my heels clicking against the pavement, heading straight for the waiting room outside the ICU.
But before I could even get to the double doors, a figure blocked my path.
It was Lily, Liam's older sister.
She looked like a wreck, but a furious one. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her arms crossed tight over her chest. The moment she saw me, her expression shifted from grief to pure, unadulterated venom.
"You," she spat.
I skidded to a halt. "Lily. How is he? Did you see him?"
She stepped into my space, forcing me to take a step back. "Don't you dare ask me about him. You didn't even bother to tell us! We had to find out from a friend of a friend that my brother was half-dead in a hospital bed!"
"I'm sorry," I said, my voice shaking. "Everything happened so fast. I didn't want to worry you until I knew—"
"Until you knew what?" she cut me off, her voice rising. "Until he was dead? Stop acting like you're important, Rain. You're the reason he's in this mess in the first place!"
My stomach dropped. "What? What mess?"
"Don't play dumb," she sneered. "Liam is always cleaning up after you. Always trying to be the hero for the sad little orphan girl."
The words stung, but I didn't have time to process them neither did I understand what she was saying. The doors to the unit swung open, and Dr. Evans stepped out. He looked tired, pulling his surgical cap off his head, like he had just stepped out of another surgery.
"Family of Liam O'Connor?" he asked.
Lily shoved past me instantly. "I'm his sister. How is he?"
Dr. Evans offered a small, professional smile. "He's stable. The surgery went better than expected yesterday. We anticipate him waking up in two to three days."
Lily let out a sob, covering her mouth with her hand. "Oh, thank God."
"He's lucky," Dr. Evans continued, his eyes briefly flickering to me before looking back at Lily. "The last-minute deposit of the surgery bill really saved his life. If we had waited another hour, the swelling would have been irreversible."
Lily froze. She dropped her hand from her mouth and frowned. "What surgery bill?"
Dr. Evans looked confused. "The two hundred thousand dollars. Rain was asked to make a deposit. The deadline was tight—twelve hours—but she managed to transfer the full amount right at the last minute."
The hallway went silent.
Lily turned slowly to look at me. Her eyes were wide, calculating. She didn't look grateful. She looked suspicious. She looked angry.
She didn't say a word while Dr. Evans was standing there. She just nodded stiffly. "Thank you, Doctor."
"I'll leave you to it," Dr. Evans said, sensing the tension. He excused himself and walked away down the corridor.
The second he turned the corner, Lily moved.
Slap.
My head whipped to the side. The sound cracked through the quiet hallway. My cheek burned instantly, a sharp, stinging fire. I brought my hand up to cup my face, staring at her in shock.
"How dare you," Lily hissed, shaking with rage. "You take a decision like that without the family? Without consulting us?"
"I saved his life!" I snapped, the shock turning into anger. "They gave me twelve hours, Lily! What was I supposed to do? Call you so we could panic together while he died?"
"You stop acting like you are part of this family!" she shouted, poking a finger into my chest. "You are nothing but a girlfriend. An orphan with no roots. You have no right to make financial decisions for my brother!"
"If I had told you," I challenged, my voice trembling, "what would you have done? Do you have two hundred grand lying around, Lily? Does your heavy-drinking father have it?"
Lily opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She clamped it shut, her face turning a blotchy red.
"That's what I thought," I said bitterly. "I had no choice. I couldn't stand to lose another precious human in my life. That is why I made the decision."
I wasn't just talking about the money. I was talking about the contract. I was talking about selling my body to a monster to keep Liam's heart beating. But she didn't know that. She would never know that.
Lily narrowed her eyes. "Where did a broke piano tutor get that kind of money, Rain? Did you take a loan? Did you use Liam's name? Did you use our family as collateral?"
I let out a harsh, incredulous laugh. "Don't worry about that. I would never do something so evil. Unlike someone."
I didn't wait for her response. I turned on my heel and walked away, the burn on my cheek matching the fire in my chest. I couldn't stay there. I had a debt to pay.
By the time I got back to my apartment, I was drained. My phone was blowing up with messages.
Mr. Henderson (School): Rain, you missed your 4 PM session. This is the second time. Call me.
Mr. Henderson (School): We need to discuss your employment.
I swiped the notifications away and threw the phone on the couch. I didn't care. The piano tutoring job paid peanuts compared to the price tag on my soul. I slurped onto the couch, staring at the ceiling, trying to numb my mind.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
I jumped, my heart hammering. Was it him? Was it Damien already?
I walked to the door and peeped through the hole. A man in a delivery uniform stood there.
I opened the door, confused. "Yes?"
"Package for Miss Rain Vance," the dispatch rider said, holding out a sleek black box. It had the gold logo of Tiana embossed on the lid. One of the biggest, most expensive clothing brands in the world.
My hands shook as I signed for it. I closed the door and carried the box to the table.
I slowly lifted the lid.
Inside, nestled in black silk, was a dress. It was a shimmering, deep midnight blue, made of a fabric that looked like liquid. It was short—thigh-skimmingly short—with thin spaghetti straps and a cowl neck.
Next to it sat a pair of black stilettos with red soles.
I lifted the dress out. It was undeniably beautiful. The craftsmanship was exquisite. For a second, I just admired it, holding it up against my body in the mirror.
Then the realization hit me.
This wasn't a gift. This was a uniform.
I put it on. The fabric clung to every curve, exposing my legs, my arms, the slope of my chest. I stepped into the heels. They made me taller, arching my feet dangerously.
I looked in the mirror again.
Ten minutes ago, I saw a beautiful gown. Now, all I saw was a rag. A fancy wrapper for a product that had been bought and paid for. I felt cheap. I felt dirty.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown: Outside.
I grabbed my purse. I didn't look back.
The black SUV was waiting. The driver, a different one this time, got out and opened the back door for me. I stepped in, the leather cool against my bare legs.
The drive was silent. We didn't go to the penthouse. We drove out of the city center, up into the hills, pulling up in front of a standalone condo that looked more like a fortress than a home. It was modern, isolated, and imposing.
The car stopped. My heartbeat skyrocketed.
The front door of the condo opened. A man in his mid-thirties, dressed in an impeccable suit—not a butler's uniform, but something sharper—stepped out.
He opened my car door. "Miss Vance. Welcome."
I stepped out, my legs feeling like jelly.
"Right this way," he said politely. He ushered me inside. The interior was dimly lit, smelling of cedar and expensive cologne. "Take the steps. Approach the first door by your first turning. Mr. Kael is waiting for you."
I forced a smile. "Thank you."
I walked up the stairs, my heels sinking into the plush carpet. Every step felt like walking to the gallows. I reached the first door.
I stopped. I closed my eyes. Breathe, Rain. Just breathe.
I tried to calm the twisting in my stomach, the trembling of my fingers, the quivering of my lips. It was to no avail. The panic was a living thing inside me.
I pushed the door open.
The office was dimly lit, walls lined with books and glass cases. In the center sat a massive mahogany desk.
Damien was there.
He sat back in his leather chair, both legs on the table, one ankle propped casually over the other. He was wearing a white dress shirt, unbuttoned halfway down his torso, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The dark ink of the tattoo on his chest was visible against his tan skin.
He was sipping something white from a crystal glass.
He looked… dangerous. But calm. Like a lion lounging in the sun.
I swallowed, my heart pounding so hard I thought it would burst out of my chest. I walked in, my legs shaky in the high heels.
He watched me. His gaze started at my feet and traveled up, slow and predatory, lingering on my thighs, my waist, my neck.
He set the glass down. He took his legs off the table and stood up.
He moved around the desk, approaching me with a fluid grace that shouldn't belong to a man of his size. He stopped right in front of me, crowding my space.
"I pictured the dress on you," he said, his voice a low, rough rumble. "But the outcome exceeded my imagination."
He tilted his head slightly. "You are stunning, angel."
I muttered a quiet, "Thank you." I swallowed again, my throat dry.
He stepped closer. I could feel the heat radiating off him. "Relax your muscles," he commanded softly.
He put his hands around my waist. His palms were large, warm, and heavy. He nudged me slightly, pulling me into him until our bodies were almost touching.
My pulse was so loud I could hear it in my own ears. Thump. Thump. Thump.
He lowered his head, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear. "Breathe, baby."
I sucked in a jagged breath, looking up at him. He was terrifyingly handsome up close. Sharp jawline, dark eyes that seemed to see right through my skin.
"Can I…" I started, my voice cracking. "Can I have some alcohol? Before we start?"
Damien looked down at me, his expression unreadable. Then he shook his head slowly.
"I don't fuck drunk women," he said, his tone cool. "And you won't be my first. I want you here, Rain. All of you."
He cupped my jaw with one hand, his thumb stroking my cheekbone. "You need to just feel it."
He swirled me around gently, spinning me so my back was to his chest. He nudged me forward until my hips bumped against the edge of the desk.
He leaned into me from behind.
I gasped.
He planted his hands on either side of my waist, gripping me firmly. "Just close your eyes and feel it," he whispered against my neck.
He pressed his hips forward. I felt the hard, undeniable ridge of his bulge pressing into my lower back.
I did as he said. I closed my eyes. And holy god.
I threw my head back, unable to stop the reaction. The feeling of him, the sheer size of him, pressing against me was overwhelming.
His hands began to travel. They slid down from my waist, over the curve of my hips, down to my thighs. The cold metal of his knuckle rings bit into my skin, a sharp contrast to the heat of his palms.
"Pleasure isn't force, it's surrender," he whispered huskily, his lips grazing the sensitive spot where my neck met my shoulder. "Pleasure makes you accept it with open hands. It takes you into your own world. Consent is everything. You give it, I honor it.."
His voice was hypnotic. Cool, controlled, yet laced with a dark intent that made my knees weak.
His right hand moved inward. It slid under the hem of the short dress. His fingers brushed against the lace of my panties.
They were already wet.
"Now, look at that," he murmured, his voice dropping. "You are dripping for me, baby. So ready."
He brushed his hand over the wetness, confirming it.
I threw my head back, my lips parting in a silent gasp. A jolt of electricity shot straight through my core.
Then, I remembered.
The panic returned, sharp and cold. I quickly reached down and grabbed his wrist, stopping his hand.
He froze. He didn't force it. He just stopped.
"What is it?" he asked, his voice calm near my ear.
I turned my head slightly, trying to look at him. I was trembling. "I… I…"
"Spit it out," he said, not unkindly.
"It's my first time," I stuttered, squeezing my eyes shut, waiting for the anger. Waiting for him to be annoyed that he paid for a novice.
Silence stretched for a heartbeat.
Then, I felt his grip on my waist tighten, just a fraction.
"Don't worry, angel," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "I wasn't planning on fucking you rough."
He leaned in closer, his breath hot against my ear, sending shivers racing down my spine.
"I'll slide in slow, steady, let you adjust to every inch. I'll wait, patient as hell, until you're the one begging me to fuck you hard. And when you do? I'll give you everything."