Jace slammed his bag on the table, glaring at the contract again. His signature sat mocking him in black ink, a constant reminder of the stupid deal he'd agreed to. His fists tightened, the memory of Damian's smirk burning into his mind.
"Slave. That's what I am now," Jace muttered, his voice laced with bitterness.
The door opened, and Damian walked in calm, perfectly composed as always, his suit immaculate, his expression unreadable. He leaned casually against the doorframe, eyes flickering toward Jace's clenched jaw.
"You're still sulking," Damian said flatly, almost amused.
"You think I'm enjoying this?" Jace snapped, standing. "Every time I look at you, I want to punch your face. You think I'm some toy you can just buy?"
Damian's lips curved into the faintest smirk. "Not a toy. A debt repayment plan. You signed, Jace. No one forced your hand."
"You tricked me," Jace shot back, his voice cracking with anger. "You preyed on me when I was desperate!"
Damian stepped closer, his presence heavy, suffocating. "Desperation isn't my fault. You needed money. I gave you a way out. Be grateful."
"Grateful?" Jace barked out a laugh, bitter and sharp. "For being your… bedmate? For being chained to you like some prisoner? I'd rather starve than–"
"Then tear the contract," Damian interrupted coldly, his gaze piercing. "But you won't. Because you can't."
The silence stretched thick between them. Jace's chest heaved with frustration, but his eyes faltered. Damian was right. He couldn't tear it not with his family relying on him.
Jace turned away, muttering curses under his breath. "One day, I'll pay you back every damn cent… and when I do, you'll never see me again."
Damian's smirk lingered, but his eyes darkened just slightly. He didn't respond. Instead, he brushed past Jace, his cologne trailing behind him, cold and intoxicating.
"You're mine until the debt is done," Damian said simply, heading for the door. *Don't forget that."
Jace clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. He swore silently to himself.
I'll never give him what he wants. Never.
The heavy silence in Damian's mansion pressed on Jace's chest like a stone. He hated the way everything here screamed money– cold marble floors, glass walls, paintings that probably cost more than his entire life savings.
Damian stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, a wine glass in hand, watching the city lights below. Jace sat on the edge of the bed like he was waiting for execution.
"You read the contract properly, didn't you?" Damian's voice was low, smooth, but sharp enough to cut.
"I read it. Doesn't mean I like it," Jace muttered, crossing his arms.
Damian finally turned, eyes narrowing. "You don't need to like it. You just need to obey it."
Jace clicked his tongue. "Tch. Obey, obey… I'm not your damn pet."
"You're worse," Damian said without a smile. "You're my property until your debt is cleared."
That word – property sent a chill down Jace's spine. He wanted to fight back, to curse Damian's entire bloodline, but the number in the contract reminded him he had no chance.
The words made Jace's stomach twist. He clenched his fists, muttering under his breath. "Damn bastard…"
The silence in Damian's apartment pressed down on Jace like a heavy blanket.
He sat stiffly on the edge of the expensive leatherscouch, his fingers nervously tapping against his knee. Damian was across the room, pouring himself a glass of wine as though nothing about this situation was unusual.
"Stop fidgeting." Damian's voice was cold, commanding.
Jace froze.
He glanced up, and their eyes locked. Damian sipped his wine, watching him like a predator testing its prey.
"This is your new reality, Jace stop whining You signed the contract."
Jace clenched his jaw, anger bubbling in his chest. If Luca hadn't pushed me into that stupid idea, I wouldn't be here.
Still, he snapped, "I only signed because you cornered me. Don't think for one second that I'll like any of this."
Damian smirked, setting his glass down. He walked over slowly, each step deliberate, until he towered over Jace.
"Good," he murmured.
Jace's breath hitched when Damian leaned close, his hand brushing lightly against Jace's jaw. It wasn't tender–just a reminder of control.
"You'll sleep in my room tonight," Damian said simply. "Not because I need you there. But because that's part of your debt."
Jace's face flushed with anger. "I'm not your toy, Damian."
Damian chuckled darkly. "No, you're not a toy. You're a debtor. And until that debt is cleared… you belong to me."
Jace wanted to spit in his face, but the intensity in Damian's eyes made his stomach twist.
Still, he muttered under his breath, "I'll never forgive you for this."
Damian only smirked wider. "You don't have to forgive me, Jace. You just have to obey."
Jace's fists curled so tight his nails bit into his palms. Obey. The word made his blood boil.
""I'm not your dog," he hissed, lifting his gaze, daring Damian to push harder.
Damian leaned in, slow and deliberate, his breath ghosting over Jace's ear. "No, you're worse. Dogs can be loyal. You…" His hand brushed Jace's jaw, tilting it just slightly. "…you'll fight me every step of the way. And that makes owning you so much sweeter."
Jace jerked his head back, shoving the hand away, his heart hammering despite the disgust curling in his chest. "You think this is some kind of game?"
Damian's smirk didn't waver. "Everything is a game, Jace. The difference is—I never lose."
Jace stood, the chair scraping harshly against the floor. He couldn't sit another second under that piercing gaze, couldn't breathe with the weight of those words coiling around his ribs.
But before he could storm out, Damian's voice cut through, sharp and commanding.
"Run if you want. Tomorrow, you come home with me. And the sooner you accept that, the easier it'll be for both of us."
Jace froze in the doorway, shoulders tense, rage and something far more dangerous burning beneath his skin. He didn't look back.
Because if he did, he wasn't sure whether he'd swing a fist… or fall apart.
Little tears fell from his eyes.
Jace never knew what it felt like to live without worry. He was born into a small family in the city just him and his father after his mother left when Jace was ten. His father wasn't a bad man, just a reckless one. A man with dreams too big for the money in his pocket.
Jace's father borrowed heavily, convincing himself he'd strike it big with business ventures that never worked out. Each failed deal added another name to the list of debt collectors. Jace remembered the nights they ate noodles three times a day because that was all they could afford. He remembered the endless knocks on the door, strangers demanding repayment. And he remembered his father's shaking hands, always swearing he'd find a way.
But his father never did.
By the time Jace turned eighteen, his father fell ill. The sickness was sudden, cruel, and unforgiving. Hospital bills piled higher than the debts they already owed. And when his father died, Jace inherited not just grief but a mountain of obligations he could never pay off.
Debt collectors circled him like vultures. They didn't care that he was still in school, that he had nothing of value. They threatened, shoved, and cornered him until he couldn't sleep without nightmares. Every coin he earned from small jobs disappeared instantly rent, food, the bare minimum to keep going.
it wasn't funny. It was terrifyingly close to reality.
The day Damian came into the picture, it was as if all the weight of his father's mistakes cornered him at once. Damian was ruthless, cold, and far from a savior. Yet, to Jace, he represented the only way out a dangerous, humiliating arrangement that could erase his father's debts.
Jace didn't choose this life. He was forced into it by circumstances, by desperation, and by the legacy of a man who left him with nothing but unpaid dues. Now, his body was the currency.
And Jace hated himself for it.
The only house his father left was gone within months. His mother left town, too broken to fight. Jace was left with nothing but his name, his pride, and the debts of a dead man.
And Jace was nothing if not proud.
Hot-headed, sharp-tongued, he refused to let anyone see him as weak. He fought, he scraped, he hustled. He worked odd jobs, skipped meals, smiled through bruised knuckles. But debt is a beast that grows hungrier the more you feed it. The harder he tried, the deeper it dragged him down.