The lawyer didn't flinch when Daisy hesitated.
He simply slid the black folder across the table, the smooth glide of leather against polished wood echoing too loudly in the suffocating silence of the penthouse office.
"Read the contract again if you must," he said, his tone clinical, almost bored. "Mr. Reed doesn't make changes once you sign."
Daisy's fingers trembled as she clutched the pen. The paper beneath her hand wasn't just ink and clauses. It was her last resort. Her only way out.
Clause 4B: Subject agrees to provide full physical access to Mr. Reed at any time, without protest.
Clause 7: No romantic entanglements with any other party during the six-month term.
Clause 12: Absolutely no emotional attachment.
Her chest tightened.
"You're not selling your soul, Daisy," she whispered to herself, trying to believe it. "You're just... borrowing time."
But wasn't she?
One signature, and she'd belong to the most powerful man she'd ever met.
Xander Reed.
Billionaire. CEO. Control freak. And now, her soon to be master.
She'd met him only once at her father's debt settlement hearing. She'd been a nobody in the back row until the lawyer called her name. Until Xander looked at her really looked like a man assessing his next possession.
And now here she was, about to sign away her freedom for a roof, a job, and her dead father's freedom from disgrace.
She gritted her teeth, signed, and slid the folder back across the table.
The lawyer barely nodded. "Welcome to Reed Tower."
By the time Daisy was escorted into the building's private residential floor, she was convinced she'd made a mistake.
The apartment wasn't a room it was a palace in glass and stone. Sleek, cold, and minimalist, much like the man who owned it.
"Miss Dane?" a voice called behind her.
She turned and froze.
There he was.
Xander.
Tailored black suit, one hand in his pocket, and those cold, grey eyes sharp enough to slice through every layer of bravado she'd built since her father's funeral.
"Did you read every word?" he asked, voice smooth like velvet over steel.
"Yes," she lied.
He stepped forward, slow and deliberate. "Then you understand that from this moment on you belong to me."
Her breath caught.
"Say it," he demanded.
She blinked. "I belong to you."
His lips curved, but not in kindness. "Good girl."
The next morning, Daisy was expected in the CEO's office by 6:00 a.m. sharp not as his pet, but as his newly hired personal assistant. He wanted her close in every way. The boundaries were already blurring.
"Ms. Dane," his secretary hissed as Daisy arrived five minutes late, "he doesn't tolerate tardiness."
Daisy didn't have time to respond before the double doors swung open.
Xander stood there, expression unreadable. "Inside. Now."
Inside his office, he said nothing for a long moment.
Then: "Was traffic heavy? Or were you testing how far you could push me on day one?"
She swallowed. "Neither. I overslept. It won't happen again."
His silence was worse than yelling.
Then he leaned forward. "Every second you're not where I want you is a second I own that you're wasting."
Daisy looked away, her hands curling into fists.
"You're not a maid anymore," he added quietly. "You're mine. Body and time."
And just like that, the line between employer and master blurred even more.
Later that afternoon, Daisy returned from running errands for the office. She was laughing for the first time in days with Marcus, one of the junior analysts who'd offered to help her navigate the company's chaotic system.
Xander saw them. Saw Marcus touch her arm lightly. Saw her smile.
By the time Daisy got back to her floor, a storm was waiting.
Xander's door was open. So was his anger.
He said nothing at first, just stood there, drink in hand, staring out the window.
Then, without turning around, he said, "Is he handsome?"
Daisy blinked. "What?"
"Marcus," he said, voice low. "Do you like him?"
She frowned. "He was helping me"
"Did you forget Clause Seven?"
Her heart skipped.
Xander turned to her slowly. His gaze was dangerous now. Hungry.
"Do I need to remind you who you belong to?"
Before she could respond, he was in front of her. He pinned her against the wall not violently, but with undeniable dominance.
"You Are Mine."
And then he kissed her.
Possessively.
Deeply.
Like a man trying to erase every trace of another from her mouth.
When he pulled back, his voice was rough. "Next time I see another man touch you, he won't have hands to do it again."
Daisy's lips trembled, and not from fear but from something deeper.
Desire.
Confusion.
And something terrifyingly close to surrender.
That night, Daisy couldn't sleep.
Not from guilt…
But from the memory of that kiss.
From the way her body responded to a man who now owned her in every possible way.
What scared her most wasn't the contract.
It was the question clawing at the back of her mind:
What if she was starting to want it?