Sleep gave me no rest. The twenty-four hours Julian Thorne had given me slipped away fast, each tick of the clock hitting me like a punch, breaking down my last bits of hope. I paced the tiny living room of my father's mortgaged brownstone all night, phone in my grip, scrolling through names. Who could help? A bank loan? No chance, not with the Rossi name tied to scandal and debt. Old friends of the family? They disappeared like ghosts after the funeral. Every path was closed, blocked by the huge, scary weight of five million dollars.
By morning, I was tired but wired with panic. There were no choices left. Only Julian Thorne's offer and the dark promise of what would happen if I said no. Volkov.
As the dim morning light crept through the dusty windows, a quiet thud came from the front step. Not the mail slot. Something left outside.
My heart froze. I moved like a robot, unlocking the heavy front door. On the top step sat a small, plain box. Inside, on black tissue paper, was a single white rose. Its petals were damaged, brown at the edges. Dead.
A message. Stronger than any words. Volkov had no patience. And Thorne knew it.
The choice was gone. It was giving up.
Hours later, I stood outside the huge doors of Thorne Industries again. This time, I wasn't taken to Julian's big office with the city view, but to a smaller, icy conference room with a long, shiny table. The air felt too cold.
Julian was already there, sitting at the head of the table, looking like he couldn't wait. Next to him was a woman in a strict grey suit, her face hard and businesslike. A lawyer.
"Miss Rossi. On time," Julian said, his voice cold as ice. He pointed to the chair across from him.
The contract sat on the table between us, looking even bigger and scarier than before.
"My lawyer, Ms. Davenport," Julian said shortly. "She will go over the main points before you sign."
Ms. Davenport cleared her throat. "The deal is for one year. During this time, Mr. Thorne will pay all debts owed by the late Mr. Antonio Rossi. In return, Miss Rossi will work as Mr. Thorne's personal assistant."
Her voice was sharp, like she was talking about selling a company, not a person.
"Your tasks include managing Mr. Thorne's personal schedule, going with him to events and meetings when needed, keeping his private home to his liking, and taking care of his personal needs there."
Taking care of his personal needs. The words hung heavy, full of hidden meaning. My stomach twisted.
"Complete secrecy and loyalty are a must," Ms. Davenport went on, glancing at me. "Clause 8 says you can't talk to anyone outside about your job or Mr. Thorne's private life. All contact must be approved."
Isolation. Another lock on my cage.
"Also," she said, turning a page, "Clause 12b explains the punishments for breaking the contract or not following orders. They are harsh and can't be changed. They could include bringing back the full debt plus extra costs."
Her eyes met mine for a quick second, a silent warning. Disobey, and losing everything would be the smallest problem.
Julian stayed quiet, watching me. His stillness scared me more than any anger. He knew he had me trapped. He was enjoying this moment.
Ms. Davenport pushed the contract and a pen across the table.
My hand shook as I reached for the pen. It felt so heavy. Each line of tight legal words seemed to move in front of my eyes. This wasn't just signing away debt; it was signing away Elena Rossi. My freedom, my future, my body.
The image of the dead rose burned in my mind. The other option was too awful to think about.
I took a shaky breath and pressed the pen to the paper. The ink felt like a final cut, something I couldn't take back.
I signed my name.
A small, almost hidden tightening of Julian's mouth was the only sign he felt anything. Cold victory.
He nodded sharply. Right then, the conference room door opened, and a man walked in. He was tall, built like a wall, with short hair and blank eyes. His dark suit couldn't hide his strong, powerful body. He moved smoothly, showing skill and a touch of danger.
"My head of security, Marcus Bellweather," Julian said, not looking at the man. "He will take you to the penthouse."
Right now? No time to go home, to pack, to even think?
Marcus stepped closer, his face showing nothing. "Miss Rossi. Please come with me."
It wasn't a question.
I stood, my legs feeling weak. Ms. Davenport took the signed contract. Julian got up, fixing his suit jacket, his eyes running over me one last time, full of ownership and a chilling finality.
I had signed away my soul. Now, the devil was sending his man to take me.
Marcus held the door open, waiting. There was no going back. I followed him out, leaving my old life behind in that cold, empty room, stepping into the unknown trap of my golden cage.
