wrongfully owned by noah Zhang

chapter 2

Silence settled after his words, thick and suffocating, as if the warehouse itself was holding its breath.

Octavia didn't move at first.

Her wrists still burned where the rope had cut into her skin, her cheek throbbed with a dull, spreading ache, and her mouth still carried the metallic taste of blood. Yet what unsettled her most wasn't the pain-it was the realization that her life had just been rearranged without her permission.

"Try not to die before you finish the job. And welcome to the family."

The sentence lingered like poisonous snake wrapped around her body..

She exhaled shakily, eyes lowered, forcing herself to stay upright even as her body trembled from exhaustion and shock. The men around her began to shift again-boots scraping lightly, shadows moving with renewed purpose as if her decision had flipped a switch in the room.

But Octavia wasn't about to go do anything without understanding what was at risks.

"Wait," she said hoarsely.

The word was small, but it cut through the noise.

He paused mid-step.

Slowly, he turned back toward her, expression unreadable.

Octavia swallowed, forcing her voice to steady. "If I do this... what exactly am I ? Do I get my freedom ?or Am I just a weapon to you? Or a disposable tool you throw away when I'm done?"

A faint silence followed.

One of the men scoffed under his breath, but he lifted a hand slightly-enough to silence him without looking back.

Then he crouched again, same calm precision, as if patience was something he could afford in unlimited supply.

"You're asking philosophical questions darling," he said lightly.

Octavia's jaw tightened. "I'm asking if you're going to let me go after this."

something cold flickered in his gaze

"I like that you're feisty ," he replied simply."unlike your mother. Which makes you useful."

His word hit her hard. Useful. That was his way of saying he had no plans of giving her back her freedom

He rose again, adjusting his suit jacket. "And useful people don't die until they stop being useful."

A chill crawled down her spine.

Before she could respond, a second man stepped forward from the shadows carrying a thin black folder. He placed it into his hand, then retreated without a word.

He opened it and glanced through the contents briefly before turning it toward her.

A document.

Official. Structured. Stamped.

Octavia squinted, trying to focus past the swelling in her vision. The paper was dense with legal language-terms, clauses, obligations-but one word stood out in bold at the top.

Contract Agreement

Her brows furrowed. "What... is that ?"

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he crouched slightly and held the folder closer so she could see it properly.

"You're going to work," he said.

Octavia blinked, confusion cutting through her fear. "Work?"

"Yes," he replied casually. "As staff."

Her throat tightened. "Staff where?"

He closed the folder slowly, as if savoring her confusion.

"At the Zhang residence."

She froze. Was that his plan to get her inside she thought

"The Zhang... residence?" she repeated slowly.

He nodded once. "You'll be employed as a maid. How do you plan to kill him if you can't get close."

For a moment, she thought she had misheard him.

A maid.

After everything-after kidnapping, threats, violence, talk of murder-he was reducing her to... household labor?

Her voice sharpened despite herself. "You dragged me into a warehouse, threatened to carve me up, and now you want me to clean floors?"

A few of the men behind him chuckled quietly.

He, however, remained calm.

"You're not listening ," he said. "This isn't about cleaning floors."

He stepped closer again, lowering his voice slightly. "It's about proximity. Access. Routine. The kind of access people like you never get near someone like Noah Zhang."

Octavia's stomach twisted.

"And this contract..." she hesitated, eyes scanning the page again. "Is it under my name?"

He tilted his head slightly, as if the question amused him.

"That depends," he said. "Do you have a better one?"

Her lips pressed into a thin line.

She didn't.

Her life had never been something stable enough to call a name a privilege. Everything had been borrowed, ruined, or stolen long before she could claim it.

She swallowed hard. "So if I sign this... I become what? Your employee?"

"Yes," he said smoothly."You belong to me

Octavia looked up at him sharply. "And if I refuse again? I back out.?

A faint pause.

Then, he replied, "Then we go back to the earlier conversation about organs and consequences. But I assumed we were past that stage."

The casualness in his speech made her stomach turn.

Her fingers curled instinctively, though the ropes still restricted her movement. She hated that even now, even after agreeing, she still wasn't free.

He gestured slightly toward the folder again.

"Sign it."

A pen was placed beside it on a small metal table nearby, as though it had been waiting for her all along.

Octavia stared at it for a long moment.

Her entire life felt reduced to this-paper, ink, coercion disguised as structure. A legal cage instead of a physical one.

Her hands trembled as someone finally loosened the ropes just enough for her to reach forward. Not freedom-just access to sign a way her freedom and become a murderer.

She took the pen.

Her fingers felt foreign around it.

"This doesn't feel like employment letter," she muttered bitterly.

Silas watched her carefully. "Most things in life don't feel like what they are."

That didn't comfort her.

She lowered her gaze to the document again

Then paused.

Her voice was quieter this time. "It's not under my name..."

He didn't move. "Yes?"

"I want it registered under my name," she said again, more firmly now. "Not as a shadow identity. Not as something you control on paper while pretending I don't exist."

A flicker of silence passed through the room.

One of the men shifted uneasily.

He studied her for a moment longer than before.

Then, unexpectedly, he nodded once.

"Done," he said.

Octavia blinked. "Just like that?"

"You're not the only one who understands leverage," he replied.

Her chest tightened.

That was worse somehow-knowing he could grant something so easily meant he could also take everything just as easily.

She hesitated again, then finally pressed the pen to paper.

It was her survival signed on paper.

When she finished, she set the pen down slowly.

He took the document without even looking at it again, as if her signature had already been expected.

For a brief second, silence settled again.

Then he spoke.

"Oh," he said casually, as if remembering something trivial. "Did I introduce myself properly?"

Octavia frowned slightly, exhaustion making her slower to respond. "What?"

He straightened his jacket, finally allowing a faint hint of amusement into his expression.

"I'm Silas," he said. "Your new boss."

A pause.

Then, softer-almost mockingly gentle smile

"Welcome to your new life, honey."