"Time to go home."
The voice that came from Alexander's mouth was neither his nor Elliott's. This one was different. Colder. More controlled. Like a blade wrapped in expensive silk.
"Who are you?" I whispered.
"Someone who doesn't appreciate being kept waiting." He stood smoothly, all predatory grace. "My car is here."
I looked around the park. Sure enough, a sleek black Bentley had pulled up to the curb. The driver stood beside it, waiting.
"I'm not going anywhere with you."
"Yes, you are." His smile was sharp enough to cut glass. "Because you're curious. And curiosity is a weakness I can exploit."
He was right. Despite every survival instinct screaming at me to run, I wanted to know who this was. What he wanted.
"Five minutes," I said.
"I'll take what I can get."
The Bentley's interior was pure luxury. Leather that probably cost more than my monthly salary. A bar stocked with crystal decanters. Climate control that made the air taste expensive.
"Where are we going?"
"My office." He poured himself two fingers of something amber. Didn't offer me any. "We have business to discuss."
"What kind of business?"
"The kind that involves seven-figure contracts."
The car glided through Manhattan traffic like it owned the streets. Probably did, given who was sitting beside me.
"You're not Alexander," I said.
"Very observant." He took a sip of his drink. "Alexander is weak. Sentimental. He thinks with his heart instead of his head."
"And you think with what?"
"Numbers." His eyes met mine. Cold. Calculating. "Everything can be quantified, Dr. Roberts. Everything has a price. Including you."
A chill ran down my spine. "I'm not for sale."
"Everyone's for sale. It's just a matter of finding the right currency."
The Bentley pulled up in front of a glass tower that scraped the Manhattan sky. Blackwood Industries. I'd seen it from my office window, but up close it was even more intimidating.
"After you." He gestured toward the entrance.
The lobby was all marble and steel. Security guards who looked like they could bench press small cars. A receptionist who probably earned more than most doctors.
We rode the elevator to the fiftieth floor in silence. The highest floor in the building. Of course.
When the doors opened, I stepped into a office that belonged in a magazine. Floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of Manhattan. Furniture that looked like modern art. A desk the size of my entire apartment.
"Impressive, isn't it?" He walked to the windows, hands clasped behind his back. "From up here, everything looks manageable. Controllable."
"Is that how you see the world? Something to be controlled?"
"That's exactly how I see it." He turned to face me. "Allow me to properly introduce myself. Alex Blackwood. CEO of Blackwood Industries. Worth approximately five point seven billion dollars, depending on market fluctuations."
Alex. Not Alexander. This was the business personality Elliott had warned me about.
"And you are Dr. Erica Roberts. Twenty-eight years old. Graduate of Columbia Medical School. Current income approximately three hundred thousand annually. Impressive, for a woman your age."
"How do you know my income?"
"I know everything about you." Alex moved to his desk, opened a file. "Your credit score. Your student loan balance. Your rental history. The fact that you send money to your mother every month."
My blood ran cold. "You investigated me?"
"Due diligence." He closed the file. "I don't make acquisitions without research."
"Acquisitions?"
"You." Alex sat behind his desk, steepled his fingers. "I want to buy you, Dr. Roberts."
"I'm not a commodity."
"Everything is a commodity." He opened his laptop, typed something. "Your current rate is five hundred per hour. Correct?"
"Alex—"
"I'm prepared to offer you fifty thousand. Per hour."
The number hung in the air between us. Fifty thousand dollars. Per hour.
"That's ridiculous."
"Is it?" Alex turned the laptop toward me. The screen showed a contract. My name already filled in. "Fifty thousand per hour. Minimum forty hours per month. That's two million dollars annually, Dr. Roberts. Plus benefits."
I stared at the screen. Two million dollars. More money than I'd ever dreamed of making.
"What would I have to do?"
"Be mine." The words were simple. The implication wasn't. "Exclusive therapeutic services. Available when I need you. No other patients."
"I can't abandon my other patients."
"You can refer them to colleagues." Alex clicked to the next page of the contract. "Page three outlines the relocation package. A penthouse apartment. Company car. Full medical coverage. Stock options."
He was serious. Completely, utterly serious.
"Why?"
"Because I want you." Alex's eyes locked onto mine. "Elliott wants to paint you. Gabriel wants to protect you. Ryan wants to corrupt you. Alexander wants to love you. But I want to own you."
"People can't be owned."
"Can't they?" Alex stood, walked around the desk. "Tell me, Dr. Roberts, what's your biggest fear?"
"I don't see how that's relevant."
"Humor me."
I thought about it. What was my biggest fear?
"Being helpless," I said finally.
"Interesting." Alex leaned against his desk. "Most people fear death. Pain. Abandonment. But you fear helplessness. Why?"
Because I'd watched my mother slowly kill herself with depression while I stood by, unable to fix her. Because I'd built my entire career around the illusion of control, the belief that I could heal anyone if I just tried hard enough.
"Personal reasons."
"I can take that fear away." Alex's voice was hypnotic. Seductive. "With enough money, you're never helpless. Never dependent. Never at anyone's mercy."
"Money isn't everything."
"Spoken like someone who's never had enough of it." Alex pushed away from the desk, moved closer. "Let me tell you what money is, Dr. Roberts. Money is freedom. Security. Power. The ability to shape the world according to your will."
"Money is also corruption. Isolation. The thing that turns people into commodities."
"Only if you let it." Alex was close enough now that I could smell his cologne. Different from Alexander's. Sharper. More aggressive. "I'm offering you the chance to have both. Financial freedom and professional fulfillment."
"By making me your property."
"By making you my partner." Alex reached out, traced a finger along my jaw. "Think about it. No more insurance hassles. No more begging for grants. No more choosing between helping people and paying rent."
His touch sent electricity through my skin. Wrong. This was wrong. But the contract on his desk was tempting in ways I didn't want to admit.
"What about the others?"
"What about them?"
"The other personalities. Would I be treating all of you?"
"You'd be treating me." Alex's hand moved to the back of my neck. "The others are irrelevant."
"They don't seem to think so."
"They don't get a vote." Alex's grip tightened slightly. Not painful, but possessive. "I control the body most of the time. I make the decisions. I sign the checks."
"And if one of the others disagrees?"
"Then I'll remind them who's in charge."
Something cold in his voice made me step back. Alex let me go, but his eyes never left my face.
"You're afraid of them," I realized.
"I'm not afraid of anything."
"Yes, you are. You're afraid they'll interfere with your plans. That's why you want to lock me into a contract. To control me before they can complicate things."
Alex's expression hardened. "You're very perceptive, Dr. Roberts."
"It's my job."
"And you're very good at your job." Alex returned to his desk, pulled out a pen. Solid gold. Probably worth more than my car. "Which is why I want you exclusively."
"What if I say no?"
"You won't."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because I've done my research." Alex smiled, and it wasn't nice. "Your mother's medical bills. Your student loans. The mortgage on that little house in Connecticut you bought for her."
My stomach dropped. "What about them?"
"Expensive. All of it. And getting more expensive every year." Alex signed something, slid it across the desk. "This is a check, Dr. Roberts. For one million dollars."
I looked down at the check. My name. One million dollars. More zeroes than I'd ever seen on a piece of paper with my name on it.
"Consider it a signing bonus."
"I haven't signed anything."
"Yet." Alex capped his pen. "But you will. Because this isn't just about you anymore, is it? It's about your mother. About all the people you feel responsible for."
"You're trying to manipulate me."
"I'm offering you a solution." Alex came around the desk again. "Your mother gets the best care money can buy. Your loans disappear. Your future is secure. All you have to do is belong to me."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then you walk away." Alex shrugged. "Back to your five-hundred-dollar hours and insurance paperwork. Back to choosing between your mother's medications and your own mortgage payment."
He knew exactly where to push. Exactly what would hurt.
"You bastard."
"I'm a businessman." Alex's smile was predatory. "And this is just business."
"This isn't business. This is manipulation."
"Is there a difference?" Alex moved closer again. "Every relationship is a transaction, Dr. Roberts. The only variable is the currency."
"I need time to think."
"Of course." Alex returned to his chair. "Take all the time you need. But remember, market conditions change. This offer won't be available indefinitely."
I picked up the check. One million dollars. Life-changing money. Freedom money.
Prison money.
"The contract gives you a lot of control over my life."
"I prefer to think of it as structure."
"Structure that includes where I live, what I drive, who I see."
"Standard employment provisions."
"Standard for owning someone."
Alex's laugh was cold. "If you want to be owned, Dr. Roberts, there are cheaper ways to accomplish that. This is a business arrangement."
"With benefits that extend far beyond business."
"I'm a man of varied interests."
The check felt heavy in my hands. Heavy with possibility. Heavy with compromise.
"What happens if I want out?"
"There's a termination clause. Page twelve."
I flipped to page twelve. The termination clause was brutal. If I quit within the first five years, I'd owe back every penny. Plus interest. Plus penalties.
"This is indentured servitude."
"This is security." Alex leaned forward. "For both of us. I invest millions in you. You invest years in me. Fair exchange."
"And if one of the other personalities does something that makes this arrangement impossible?"
"That won't happen."
"How can you be sure?"
"Because I'm in control." Alex's eyes went hard. "My mind. My body. My rules. The others exist at my discretion."
"Elliott seemed to think differently."
"Elliott is sentimental. Unreliable." Alex waved dismissively. "Artists always think their feelings matter more than facts."
"And Gabriel?"
"Gabriel is useful when force is required. Otherwise, he's a liability."
"And Ryan?"
Alex's expression darkened. "Ryan is a mistake. A weakness I should have eliminated years ago."
"You can't eliminate parts of yourself."
"Can't I?" Alex stood again. "You'd be surprised what the right medication can accomplish. What the right... incentives... can achieve."
There was something chilling in his voice. Something that made me think of Elliott's warnings about danger.
"What about Alexander?"
"What about him?"
"He's the original personality. Doesn't he get a say?"
"Alexander is weak." Alex's voice was flat. Dismissive. "He feels too much. Cares too much. It's inefficient."
"It's human."
"Humanity is overrated." Alex walked to the window. "Look out there, Dr. Roberts. What do you see?"
I joined him at the window. Manhattan spread out below us like a circuit board. Lights and movement and endless possibility.
"I see a city."
"I see opportunities. Resources. Assets to be acquired or eliminated." Alex pointed to a building in the distance. "I bought that last month. Tore it down. Built something better."
"People lived there."
"People can be relocated."
"People aren't just assets to be moved around."
"Aren't they?" Alex turned to me. "Tell me, Dr. Roberts, what happens to your mother if you can't afford her care? What happens to your career if you can't pay your loans?"
"I'll figure something out."
"Or you could sign the contract." Alex touched my shoulder. "Make all those problems disappear with a signature."
The check was still in my hand. One million dollars. Enough to solve every financial problem in my life.
But at what cost?
"I need to go." I folded the check, put it in my purse. "I need to think."
"Of course." Alex returned to his desk. "But Dr. Roberts?"
"Yes?"
"Remember what I said about market conditions. This offer expires in seventy-two hours."
"And then what?"
Alex's smile was sharp as a razor.
"Then we negotiate under less favorable terms. For you."
The threat was subtle but unmistakable. Accept his offer, or face consequences I probably wouldn't like.
"I'll be in touch."
"I'm sure you will."
I headed for the door, then paused. "Alex?"
"Yes?"
"Do the others know about this offer?"
His smile disappeared. "What the others don't know won't hurt them."
"Won't it?"
"That's my concern, not yours."
"Actually, it is my concern. If I'm going to be treating you all—"
"You'll be treating me." Alex's voice cut like a blade. "The others are passengers. I'm the driver."
"That's not how it works."
"That's how it's going to work." Alex stood, and something in his posture reminded me of a predator marking territory. "My money. My rules. My woman."
"I'm not your woman."
"Yet." Alex's smile returned, sharp and dangerous. "But you will be, Dr. Roberts. One way or another."
The elevator couldn't come fast enough.
As the doors closed, I caught one last glimpse of Alex standing at his window. Hands clasped behind his back. Master of all he surveyed.
Including, apparently, me.
The check burned in my purse like a guilty secret. One million dollars. More money than I'd ever seen.
But Elliott's words echoed in my mind: "All of us love you, but we love you in different ways."
Alex didn't love me. Alex wanted to own me.
And somehow, that felt infinitely more dangerous.