HIS DEBT, MY RUIN

Chapter 4

Lily's pov

The sound of the lock sliding shut behind me was final—like a judge reading a sentence.

I froze inside the doorway, my heart hammering. This was real. I had signed away a year of my life to a stranger. There would be no escape, no outside world. All for a father who had betrayed me more deeply than I had ever imagined.

“Come with me.”

Luka’s command snapped me out of my daze. He didn’t wait for me to follow. He simply turned and walked deeper into the penthouse, his footsteps silent on the polished marble.

I followed, because there was no choice. The contract, the debt, and my father’s life left me no room to rebel.

He began a tour of the space, though it felt more like a warden showing a prisoner her cell.

“This is the kitchen,” he said, gesturing to gleaming countertops and state-of-the-art appliances. Everything was sleek, cold, and spotless. “You will prepare my meals exactly as I specify. Marcus will give you recipes. I expect precision, Lily—not effort. Results.”

My throat was too dry to speak. I only nodded.

“Here’s the living area.” He moved to a vast room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. White leather furniture sat perfectly arranged. Not a single cushion out of place. “You’re responsible for keeping it clean. A service handles deep cleaning, but daily upkeep is on you. I don’t tolerate mess.”

Of course he didn’t. Everything about him radiated control.

We passed a closed door I assumed led to his bedroom. He didn’t bother opening it. My heart pounded harder with every step down the hallway.

Finally, he stopped at a door near the end and opened it.

The room inside was small and bare—just a narrow bed with plain sheets, a dresser, and a closet. But what hit me hardest was the total absence of windows. No sunlight. No fresh air. No freedom.

“This is your room,” Luka said, his gray eyes cool as they took in my reaction. “Clothes are in the closet. Toiletries are in the bathroom down the hall.”

He leaned casually against the doorframe, blocking the exit without even trying.

“The rules are simple,” he said, his tone almost casual. “Rule one: You will not leave this penthouse without me or Marcus. The elevator requires biometric access. The doors are coded. Security cameras monitor every entrance. Even if you tried, you wouldn’t make it out.”

My fists clenched at my sides. I wanted to scream at him that this was illegal, wrong. But we both knew I was trapped by my father’s debt and by Luka’s power.

“Rule two,” he continued, his voice dropping lower. “Your phone and personal belongings have been taken. You will have no contact with the outside world unless I permit it. No friends. No social media. No lifelines. You are completely cut off.”

The reality of it landed like a punch. No one would know where I was. No one to call. I was utterly alone.

“Rule three: You will address me as Sir or Mr. Moretti. Speak only when spoken to. Answer when asked. Otherwise, silence.”

Each rule stripped another piece of me away.

“And rule four…” He stepped closer, bringing with him the scent of expensive cologne. “You are mine to command, day and night. When I call, you come. When I give an order, you obey. Your time, your body, your very existence—all of it belongs to me now.”

A tremor ran through me. This was worse than anything I had imagined.

“Do you understand these rules?” he asked.

It took three tries to force the words out. “Yes, Sir.”

Something flickered in his eyes—satisfaction, maybe.

“Good. It’s six-thirty. Dinner is at eight sharp. Instructions are in the kitchen. Don’t disappoint me.”

He left, and I was alone in my windowless room, staring at the walls as the weight of my choices crushed me.

---

Marcus’s recipe was a nightmare—coq au vin, a complicated French dish. I’d barely managed boxed mac and cheese before. Now I was expected to create something restaurant-worthy.

My hands trembled as I chopped vegetables, seared chicken, tried not to burn mushrooms, and wrestled with a wine sauce.

I burned the mushrooms anyway. The sauce was too thick, then too thin. The chicken was pale, and when I cut it, blood oozed onto the board.

By eight o’clock, I wanted to throw the whole mess away. But where would I run? The doors were locked. The elevator wouldn’t work. And my father…

So I served the food, hands shaking as I carried the plate to the dining room. Luka sat at the head of the table, poised in his designer suit like a man on a magazine cover.

His eyes swept over the plate. His mouth tightened slightly, a subtle sign he recognized disaster even before tasting it.

He cut a piece of chicken. Chewed slowly.

The silence stretched like a blade.

Finally, he set his utensils down with a soft click that sounded louder than a gunshot.

“The mushrooms are burnt,” he said evenly. “The sauce is over-salted. The chicken is undercooked. The vegetables are mush. The wine is bitter.”

Each word cut through me like glass.

“I gave you clear instructions, quality ingredients, professional tools,” he went on. “And this…” He gestured at the plate. “…is what you produce?”

“I’m sorry, Sir, I tried—”

“Trying isn’t enough.” He stood, taking the plate. “In my world, mediocrity costs fortunes. It destroys reputations. It kills. I don’t accept trying. I accept the results.”

He carried the plate into the kitchen and dumped it in the trash. The sound of it hitting the bin felt like my own worth being thrown away.

“Tomorrow you’ll do better,” he said, not even looking at me. “Then better again. That’s how this works. You either rise to meet my expectations or…” He left the sentence unfinished.

I already knew the end.

“You’re dismissed. Return to your room.”

I fled.

---

Hours later, I lay on the narrow bed, staring at the ceiling. My stomach twisted with hunger. I hadn’t eaten since the sad sandwich Dayo had bought me—was that only this morning?

When a faint sound came from the hall, I almost ignored it. But curiosity or desperation, made me move.

On the floor sat a tray. A simple sandwich. A glass of water. A small apple.

No note. No explanation.

I snatched it up, shut the door, and devoured it, tears stinging my eyes. It was simple food, but it tasted like heaven.

Was it kindness? Pity? Or another way to control me, teaching me to be grateful for scraps?

I didn’t know. But as I swallowed the last bite, I felt something frightening.

I was already starting to break.

---

The intercom jolted me from restless sleep.

“My study. Now.”

Luka’s voice was flat, not angry. Somehow that was worse.

I stumbled out of bed and made my way through the dim penthouse. Light leaked from under his study door like a warning.

Inside, he sat at a massive desk surrounded by glowing monitors. He’d changed from his suit to dark jeans and a black sweater. Without the armor of formal wear, he looked younger. Almost human.

Almost.

“Come here,” he ordered without looking up.

I approached and saw the screens. Dozens of security feeds—some from the penthouse, some from places I didn’t recognize. And then one that made my breath stop.

My father.

He lay on a narrow bed in what looked like a hospital room, an IV in his arm. His chest rose and fell steadily. Alive.

“He’s in good hands,” Luka said at last. “As long as you fulfill your commitments.”

The threat was clear.

He slid a heavy leather ledger toward me with a sleek pen. “Sit. You’re going to assist me with bookkeeping.”

I sat. The pages were filled with neat columns, there were names, dates, amounts. Numbers that made my head spin.

“I’ll dictate,” Luka said. “You’ll write. No questions.”

He began, and I wrote. My hand cramped as the minutes dragged on. Names I didn’t know. Huge sums of money. And then—

“James Thornton. City councilman. District Seven. Payment received: two hundred thousand.”

My hand froze. James Thornton, the man always on TV fighting corruption.

“Keep writing, Lily.”

I obeyed, but my mind raced. This wasn’t just a ledger. It was evidence. Proof of Luka’s crimes. Proof that he was binding me to him by making me complicit.

I finished the entry and set the pen down, my hand shaking. The silence grew heavy between us. Finally, I spoke.

“Luka…” The name slipped out before I remembered the rules. “Why are you doing this? You’re rich. You have power. Why take my father’s debt? Why take me?”

The air in the room turned to ice.

Luka’s head turned slowly, and his gray eyes locked on me.

“What did you call me?” His voice was low, venomous.

“I’m sorry, Sir. I just—I need to understand—”

“You need to understand?” He stood, moving around the desk like a predator. “You break my rules, call me by name, and think you deserve answers?”

He circled my chair. I felt like prey.

“Tell me something, Lily.” He stopped behind me, his hands gripping the chair. “Did your father ever mention how he knew me?”

The question shocked me. “What?”

“Your father. Thomas Wilson. Did he ever speak my name before you saw those debt notices?”

“No. I didn’t know he even knew you until—”

“Until you discovered he was gambling away your future in my establishment.” Luka moved in front of me. For the first time, there was something else in his eyes—pain, maybe rage. “What if I told you this wasn’t the first time he destroyed everything?”

My heart pounded. “I don’t understand.”

“No. You don’t.” He leaned down until our faces were level. “Did he ever tell you about his past? What did he did before you were born?”

“He said he worked in finance. That he lost everything when my mother got sick.”

“He lied.” Luka’s fingers gripped my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. “He didn’t just gamble with me, Lily. Twenty years ago, Thomas Wilson was my business partner.”

The ground shifted under me.

“The nineteen million wasn’t a debt,” Luka whispered. “It was his share of the blood money he stole after betraying me—and causing my father’s death.”

I couldn’t breathe. My father? A thief? A betrayer? A man whose actions led to murder?

“So you see,” Luka said, releasing my chin, “this was never about money. It was never about gambling. This is a debt that can never be paid. A life for a life. Justice, twenty years overdue.”

He turned to the window, a dark silhouette against the city lights.

“And you, Lily…” His voice was quiet but final. “You’re just the beginning...”