Rhea lies back on her bed, the single sheet of paper resting against her chest like a weight she can't shrug off.
She's read it too many times to count.
Each line is clean. Precise. Absolute. Control rendered in ink.
Signing it wouldn't just change her circumstances; it would narrow her world down to one man whose name she still doesn't know.
The CEO of Axiom Automotive.
She tried to find him. Scrolled through social media. No trace of a life beyond boardrooms and quarterly earnings. Just a shadowed life shaped by power and silence.
Her gaze drops back to the page.
You will not use my first name.
You belong to me for the duration of this arrangement.
You do not touch me unless I initiate it.
You do not ask personal questions.
They read like boundaries, but they aren't for her benefit. They protect him. Strip him down to authority alone, while trying to leave her fully exposed.
She turns onto her side, staring at the wall.
Her father had already asked about the job.
Hope had crept into her father's voice. Rhea had swallowed it whole and lied.
She told him there'd been a mix-up. An email was sent in error. She'd keep looking.
Because he'd been clear.
No one was to know.
Not yet. Not ever.
She exhales slowly, staring at the ceiling now.
Why her?
There had been no real interview. No questions she'd answered correctly. No attempt to impress.
She hadn't worn anything provocative. Hadn't flirted. Hadn't begged.
There were other applicants, younger, sharper, more polished. Women who knew how to play rooms like that.
So why had he looked at her like she was already chosen?
Her chest tightens as she adjusts her glasses.
She can refuse. He said that. Made a point of it.
But refusal doesn't pay her father's expensive hospital bills. Doesn't ease the quiet panic that settles in her home every month when bills add up.
Her phone vibrates.
She reaches for it, heart already picking up pace.
Unknown Contact.
Fragile,
If you agree to the terms, be outside my office by 8:00 a.m. tomorrow.
If you're even one minute late, the offer is withdrawn.
No signature.
No softness.
Rhea stares at the screen.
Fragile.
The word sits wrong. Too intimate. Too knowing.
She locks the phone and lets it fall to the bed beside her.
One night to decide.
And the unsettling truth settles in her chest: heavy, undeniable.
He doesn't sound like a man she'll be able to disobey.
Not if she says yes to this.
But then she tends to obey and resign when she has enough savings.
She has the right to leave.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Rhea stands outside his office, fingers locked around the strap of her bag, checking the time again.
8:32 a.m.
She's been here for over forty minutes.
No one questions her presence. That alone unsettles her. Security waves her through without a word.
The receptionist on the nineteenth floor doesn't ask her name; she just dips her head slightly and gestures toward the door, as if Rhea belongs to him already.
8:47 a.m.
She shifts her weight, heels biting into marble. Adjusts her glasses. Still no summons.
Is this intentional?
Why demand she arrive at eight only to leave her standing like an afterthought?
The door opens quietly.
Then wider.
He steps back, granting entry without a word.
Rhea walks in, posture tight, bag held close.
"Good morning, sir," she says, bowing slightly.
"Sit."
The command is calm. Absolute.
She obeys, taking the couch. He settles opposite her, gaze steady, assessing. Not rushed. Not kind.
She shifts under it.
"Dominic Ashcroft," he says after a moment.
"Sir?"
"My name." A pause. "You will not use the first."
Rhea nods.
It took three encounters to earn that much.
"So," he says, eyes dropping briefly to her blouse, just long enough to register the line of her cleavage, then lifting again. "You agreed to the terms."
"Yes, Mr. Ashcroft."
"When you work for me," he says, voice even, "you will dress appropriately."
Her cheeks warm. She nods, tugging her blouse higher to cover her cleavage, fingers brushing her glasses.
"Stop adjusting those."
The correction is soft. Sharp.
"I'm sorry, sir," she says, hands instantly folding in her lap, then stilling, realizing too late what she's done.
He stands.
Crosses the room.
Returns with a pen and a single page.
"Sign."
He places it on the table beside her.
Rhea picks up the pen, instinctively reaches for her glasses...
"I was clear," he says, leaning in.
His hands come down on either side of her, bracketing her against the couch. Not touching her. Not yet. His presence presses close enough to steal her breath.
"When I give a directive," he continues quietly, "you follow it."
Her heart races. "Yes, sir."
"Then why did you do exactly what I told you not to?"
"I—I'm sorry, sir," she whispers, voice unsteady.
He leans closer, his breath grazing her ear.
"If apologies corrected behavior," he murmurs, "there would be no need for consequences."
A shiver runs through her.
"Every action has one," he adds softly. "Fragile."
The word lands deep. Personal. Possessive.
She can't move. His hands cage her in, his nearness burning without contact. Her gaze drops, instinctive, submissive.
"I don't intend to touch you yet," he says calmly. "Though I never said I wouldn't."
The pause is deliberate.
"Don't make me revise that decision."
He straightens and steps away, crossing the room to sit on the opposite couch.
The space he leaves behind feels charged.
Rhea exhales, adjusting herself carefully, aware of the heat pooling low in her body, unwanted, undeniable.
"Your work begins tomorrow," he says. "You're dismissed."
She stands at once.
"Be here at eight," he adds. "Not a minute later. And you'll wait outside until I come for you."
"Yes, sir."
She bows slightly and leaves without another word.
The door closes behind her.
Rhea walks down the corridor knowing one thing with chilling clarity;
She didn't just accept a position.
She stepped into a system.
One that comes with rules.
And punishments.