The rain tapped relentlessly against the cracked glass of Jessel's apartment window, a dull, steady rhythm that blended with the faint hum of traffic outside. Her apartment was small, barely two rooms pressed together—an old sofa pushed against peeling wallpaper, a table stacked with unopened bills, and a single bulb that flickered now and then as if it were tired of shining.
Jessel sat by the window, arms wrapped around herself, her expression carefully blank. It was how she survived most days—holding still, not allowing fear or disappointment to show. But when she was alone, her lips curved down ever so slightly, a pout she would never allow anyone else to see.
That evening, however, silence didn't stay long. Heavy footsteps climbed the creaking stairs. Jessel's heart quickened, though she kept her face calm. A hard knock rattled the weak door, and before she could answer, it swung open.
Two men in black suits filled the doorway, both broad-shouldered, eyes sharp. Guns were holstered beneath their jackets, unmistakably visible when they stepped inside.
"Jessel Carter?" one asked, his voice low and gravelly.
"Yes," she answered simply, her tone as steady as she could manage.
"Your brother owes Mr. Castiel Royce a debt." The man stepped forward, scanning the shabby apartment with faint disgust. "He cannot pay. Which means you'll come with us."
Jessel's fingers tightened on the edge of her chair. "My brother… he didn't tell me—"
The taller man cut her off. "Not our problem. Mr. Royce doesn't wait."
They didn't give her time to protest. One of them grabbed her arm, not roughly but firmly enough that resistance would be useless. Jessel's heart pounded in her chest, though her face remained straight, her eyes defiant. She didn't cry out. She didn't beg.
---
The car ride was long and silent. City lights blurred past the window until they reached an estate so large, Jessel thought she had been taken into another world. The mansion stood tall with floor-to-ceiling windows glimmering like cold mirrors, a high gate guarded by men in identical black suits. Inside, it was colder still—marble floors reflecting golden chandeliers, ceilings too high for comfort, expensive furniture polished until it gleamed.
It was everything her small apartment was not—wealth, power, control. And guns. Guns everywhere, in the hands of men who lingered like shadows.
She was led through tall doors into a room with a long table and leather chairs. Then, finally, she saw him.
Castiel Royce.
He was seated at the head of the table, posture relaxed yet commanding. The first three buttons of his black shirt were undone, revealing a glimpse of a lion tattoo etched into the hard plane of his chest. His hair was dark, neatly combed back, his jawline sharp under the warm light. His presence filled the room so completely that Jessel felt small just standing there.
Her captors pushed her forward.
"This is the girl," one of them said.
Castiel's eyes, cold and piercing, lifted to meet hers. He studied her in silence. The weight of his gaze made her want to shrink back, but she forced herself to stand tall.
"Leave us," Castiel ordered.
The men hesitated but obeyed, filing out until the heavy doors closed. The silence that followed was deafening.
Jessel's pulse quickened, but her face remained composed.
Castiel rose from his chair, walking toward her with deliberate steps. He stopped just close enough for her to see the faint scar on his jaw, the faint lines at the corners of his eyes—marks of age, of battles fought and won.
"So," he said, his voice low, smooth, but dangerous. "Your brother cannot pay what he owes me. Tell me, Jessel—why should I let you live?"
Jessel swallowed, but she didn't look away. "Because I can give you something."
One of his brows lifted. "What could you possibly have that I want?"
She steadied her breath. "Information. Secrets. I can gather them for you. Anything you need. You want eyes and ears in places men like yours can't walk unnoticed? I can be that for you."
A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, though his eyes remained cold. "You offer your life as currency. Interesting." He circled her slowly, like a predator testing its prey. "But understand this—you will report only to me. Not to my men. Not to anyone else. Every word you hear, every secret you learn, comes straight to me. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Jessel said firmly.
He stepped closer, until she had to tilt her head up to meet his eyes. She was only 5'5", and even with heels she might have seemed fragile next to his towering 6'7" frame. He leaned down slightly, his voice brushing against her ear.
"Don't even think about hiding anything from me. My eyes are everywhere in New York."
Jessel pressed her back against the wall behind her, her breath unsteady though she fought to keep her expression unreadable.
Castiel straightened, pulling a sleek black phone from his pocket and pressing it into her palm. "Untraceable. Use it only for me." From his desk, he slid a file toward her—photos of suited men, grainy surveillance shots. "Tomorrow evening. Club Obsidian. They'll be meeting there. Find out everything you can."
Jessel clutched the phone, the photos. Her heart hammered, but she nodded.
Castiel's eyes lingered on her a moment longer before he turned away, settling back into his chair. He poured himself a glass of whiskey, his lion tattoo glinting faintly in the light.
"You may go," he said, dismissing her with the same calm authority he had greeted her with.
Jessel turned toward the door, her steps careful, steady. But when her hand touched the handle, his voice stopped her cold.
"Remember," Castiel said without looking at her. "One lie, one betrayal—and your life is mine."
The doors opened with a heavy creak. Jessel stepped out into the cold, vast hall of the mansion, clutching the file tightly to her chest. For the first time, her lips curved downward into that small, private pout.
But then she straightened her shoulders. Tomorrow would come fast. And she had no idea what she is going to do.