Ava's hands hadn't stopped trembling by the time Patricia steered her out of Lucien's office. The world felt muffled, as if she were moving through cotton — a dream or a nightmare she couldn't tell apart.
You'll belong to me.
What did that even mean?
"This way, Miss Lane," Patricia said in a clipped tone, her heels clicking down the marble corridor. "HR needs to finalize your paperwork."
The HR office was much smaller than Lucien's suite but every bit as forbidding. Behind a glass partition sat a stern woman with silver hair and an already-thick folder waiting in front of her. "Margaret Chen, Human Resources Director," the woman announced without lifting her eyes. "Congratulations on your… appointment."
The way Margaret said "appointment" curled something uneasy in Ava's stomach.
"Please, sit." Margaret opened the folder and removed a dense stack of documents. "Your contract requires immediate review and signature. Mr. Drake does not like to wait."
Ava stared. The pages looked less like employment paperwork and more like legalese: dense paragraphs in tiny font stretching on and on.
She skimmed the first page. Personal Assistant to Chief Executive Officer… Compensation: $120,000 base salary, plus housing allowance, transportation allowance, wardrobe allowance… Her breath hitched as the numbers mounted. By the end of the first page, the totals made her dizzy — amounts she might never see in a lifetime elsewhere.
Then she reached the clauses that chilled her blood.
24-hour availability requirement… Mandatory travel as required by CEO… Adherence to personal conduct guidelines established by CEO… Non-disclosure agreement covering all personal and professional matters… No termination clause for one calendar year…
"I should read this first," Ava said, voice thin.
Margaret's smile was all teeth. "Of course. Take your time. You have… ten minutes."
Ten minutes. Ava's eyes raced across the text, trying to grasp the meaning as the words blurred. She landed on a line that made her stomach drop: "Employee agrees to follow all personal directives issued by CEO, including but not limited to dress code, social interactions, and living arrangements."
Margaret didn't flinch. "Mr. Drake holds exacting standards for his personal staff. You will represent him at all times. He must be certain you meet his expectations."
"What kind of expectations?" Ava asked.
"The kind that accompany a six-figure salary and premium benefits," Margaret replied coolly. "Do you have an issue with that, Miss Lane?"
Images of her mother in the hospital, of unpaid bills on the kitchen table and the eviction notice taped to their door, flooded Ava's mind. "No," she whispered. "No problem."
"Excellent." Margaret pushed a pen across the desk. "Sign at the bottom of each page. Initial here, here, and here."
Ava's hand shook as she lifted the pen. Everything about the moment felt wrong, like stepping across an invisible line. But her mother needed help.
She signed the first page. Then the second. Then the third. Each mark felt heavier than the last, as if her name was sealing away pieces of herself: the 24-hour rule, the conduct restrictions, the one-year minimum. What had she agreed to?
Margaret slid one last sheet across the glass. "This is your housing assignment. Mr. Drake has arranged for you to move into the company penthouse on Fifth Avenue. You'll relocate tonight."
"Tonight?" Ava's pen hovered midair. "But I haven't packed, and my mother—"
"She will be transferred to Mercy General's private wing this afternoon. The best oncology team in the country is already reviewing her case," Margaret said, her smile razor-sharp. "Mr. Drake does not waste time."
Tears pricked Ava's eyes. Her mother would receive the surgery. The chance to live. With a shaking hand she signed the final document.
"Congratulations, Miss Lane," Margaret said, gathering the contracts. "You now belong to Drake International."
The word landed in Ava's ears like a stone. Belong. She felt unsteady as she rose. "When do I start?"
"You already have." The voice behind them made every nerve spike.
Ava spun to find Lucien Drake framed in the doorway, dark eyes fixed on her with that same predatory intensity. How long had he been standing there?
"Mr. Drake," Margaret said briskly, standing. "Miss Lane has completed all the paperwork."
"Good." He stepped into the room and the air seemed to tighten. "Thank you, Margaret. We'll take it from here."
Margaret nodded and almost fled, leaving Ava alone with Lucien — her boss, or something worse.
"Having second thoughts?" he asked, closing the space between them.
"No," Ava lied. "It's just—this is all happening so fast."
"I told you. I don't waste time." He stopped and looked down at her; she had to tilt her chin up to meet him. "Your mother's surgery is tomorrow morning. Dr. Harrison is the best in his field. She'll be in excellent hands."
Relief washed through her so fiercely she felt faint. "Thank you. I— I don't know how to—"
"Thank me by doing exactly what I tell you to do," he said softly. "When I tell you to do it."
A chill skittered along her spine. "What do you mean?"
His smile tightened. "You signed the contract, Miss Lane. You agreed to my terms."
"But what are your terms exactly? The contract was vague—"
"It was intentionally vague." He reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The motion was gentle; the look in his eyes was not. "Because my expectations are… unique."
Ava's heart pounded. "I don't understand."
"You will." His fingers brushed her cheek — a touch that felt invasive even as it was soft. "Rule number one: you do not question me. Ever."
"But—"
"Rule number two: you are available to me at all times. Day. Night. Weekends. Holidays. When I call, you answer."
"What if I'm sick? Or sleeping?"
He let out a low, dark laugh. "Rule number three: your needs come second to mine. Always."
Terror tightened in her chest, braided with a different, stranger feeling she didn't want to name. "This doesn't sound like a normal job."
"It never was." He straightened his tie and stepped back. "Patricia will take you to your new apartment. A suitable wardrobe will be provided. Tomorrow morning, be in my office at six o'clock sharp."
"Six in the morning?" she asked, stunned.
"Did I stutter?" His voice was ice.
"No, sir." She swallowed.
"Good girl." His praise was small but it sent warmth across her cheeks. Then he moved behind her, so close she felt the heat of his body against her back. His breath grazed her ear as he spoke in a low, velvety voice. "From now on, Miss Lane, I own your time."
The words wrapped around her like invisible chains.
She had thought she was saving her mother's life.
But what had she done to her own?