When the Cleaner Meets the Lycan King

Chapter 2: The First Day in a Golden Cage

At 8:50 AM the next day, I stood on the 88th floor of the Frost Intelligence Tower, feeling like a herbivore that had wandered straight into a predator's den.

Half an hour ago, a multi-million-dollar unmanned hover-car had parked directly outside my run-down apartment building, forcibly "escorting" me here.

"Good morning, Miss Clark." A flawless holographic secretary bowed to me with a manufactured smile. "Your exclusive office is ready."

She guided me into a massive glass office. The walls were made of quantum one-way glass. From my side, I had a crystal-clear view of the sprawling, opulent CEO's office opposite mine—and the man sitting behind the obsidian desk like a dark tyrant.

"Please change into your work attire first," the AI secretary instructed, pointing to a smart wardrobe.

The doors slid open, revealing ten sets of impossibly luxurious, custom-made professional suits. I grabbed one at random, only to realize in horror that every single inch—waist, bust, shoulders—fit me flawlessly. It was tailored to my exact measurements.

How did he know my exact size? Down to my lingerie?!

Words glowed softly on the smart mirror: "These clothes were personally selected by Mr. Frost. You look beautiful in them."

A shiver violently racked my spine.

"Are you dressed? Come in." Damien’s voice piped directly into my office through an encrypted channel, an order wrapped in velvet.

I took a deep breath and pushed open the door to his office.

Damien sat behind his desk, his hands steepled under his chin. From the second I walked in, his aggressively possessive dark eyes nailed me to the spot.

"Your job is very simple," he stood up, rounding the desk with a predatory grace that made my heart hammer in my throat. "Stay by my side. Where I can see you."

"What?" I blinked. "No filing? No schedule management?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he pulled a sleek, silver metallic bracelet from his pocket and held it out. "Put this on."

It looked expensive, but every instinct I had screamed danger. "What is this?"

"A safety device." His tone brooked no argument. When I hesitated, he simply grabbed my wrist in an iron grip.

Click.

The moment the bracelet snapped shut, it automatically contracted, melding seamlessly to my bone structure. A red line of text flashed across its tiny screen: [Permanently Bound to: Damien Frost]

"This is a biometric tracker and heart rate monitor?!" I yelled, yanking at it furiously, only to find it had no clasp. "This is illegal imprisonment!"

"I need to know exactly where you are, if your heart is beating normally, and if you are safe at all times," Damien corrected me, his expression so calm it bordered on psychotic. "Now, look at your official contract."

He snapped his fingers, and a massive holographic contract exploded into the air.

My eyes scanned the terms, my blood running colder with every word:

1. Working Hours: 24/7 on call.

2. Forbidden from being alone with any other male for more than 5 minutes (including doctors and relatives).

3. All meals must be prepared by Damien Frost’s personal nutritionist.

4. Must travel via assigned private car. Unapproved outings are strictly prohibited.

5. Phones, emails, and all social media will be monitored by the AI central system.

6. Residence: Relocate to Frost Manor, effective today.

"You're insane!" I stumbled back, my voice shaking. "This isn't an employment contract, it's a slave contract! It's a prison! I refuse!"

"You can refuse," Damien stated expressionlessly. "According to the pre-authorization terms triggered when you accepted the funds last night, the penalty for a unilateral breach of contract is $10,000,000. And the sign-on bonus must be returned immediately."

He watched the color drain from my face, clearly savoring my panic, before swiping the air again.

Another screen popped up. It was a live feed of my mother in the ICU.

"Or, you sign it. I will immediately pay off your mother’s medical debts in full, set up a $2.3 million post-care fund, and transfer her to the top organ-cloning facility in the country for her surgery."

The weight of his chips crushed whatever pathetic rebellion I had left.

"Why..." Tears spilled down my cheeks as I stared at this devil of a man. "Why me? You don't even know me! You own the world, why use such sick methods to trap a cleaner?!"

Damien stepped forward. He was less than an inch away from me now. I could feel the blistering heat radiating off his body—a temperature that was decidedly inhuman.

His fists were clenched so tightly at his sides they trembled, holding back the urge to touch my face. "Because the second I saw you, I knew... you are the only thing I will ever want in this life."

"That makes no sense—"

"Love rarely makes sense," he snapped, a dark, chaotic storm brewing in his eyes. "Sign it, Emma. I swear on my life I will never hurt you. But I have to... I have to keep you with me. Even if you hate me for it."

Staring at my mother's frail, tube-covered body on the screen, my hand shook as I pressed my thumb against the holographic panel.

"Ding—Contract activated."

Damien let out a long, shuddering breath, as if a mountain had been lifted off his chest. He pressed his own thumb onto the contract without a second of hesitation.

"Good." The corner of his mouth finally curled into a chilling, triumphant smirk. "From now on, you belong to me."

I bolted into the attached private bathroom and fell to my knees by the toilet, dry-heaving. The sheer terror of what I had just signed my life away to was tearing me apart.

Outside the door, Damien Frost stood perfectly still. His palm was pressed flat against the cold wood, his entire body trembling violently as he fought the primal urge to kick the door down and pull his mate into his arms.

That night. The 200-acre Frost Smart-Manor in the New York suburbs.

I was thrown into a luxurious bedroom ten times the size of my old apartment. Exhaustion and despair finally dragged me under, and I fell asleep on the massive bed.

But what I didn't know was that the wall separating my bedroom from the master suite next door was built using 2026 military-grade, one-way quantum glass.

In the pitch-black darkness of the master suite.

Damien stood before the glass, a glass of amber whiskey in his hand. He stared greedily, obsessively at the girl sleeping in his bed. In the dark, his eyes glowed a mesmerizing, lethal gold.

"Goodnight, my Emma," he whispered, pressing his hand against the glass right where her face lay on the other side, his voice a dark lullaby. "You can never run away now."