His Debt. My Body.

CHAPTER FOUR: TERMS OF OWNERSHIP

Lisa POV

Raymond didn’t summon me.

He collected me.

A maid knocked once on my door, eyes lowered. “Mr. Killson wants you downstairs.”

Not to see him.

Not to talk to him.

Wants you.

I followed her through corridors that felt endless—polished marble, high ceilings, silence thick enough to choke on. The house wasn’t just big. It was deliberate. Everything here was meant to remind you of how small you were.

Raymond stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his study when I entered, his back to me, hands clasped behind him. The city glowed beneath him like something he owned too.

“Close the door,” he said without turning.

I did.

“Stand there.”

I stopped where he indicated, refusing to clasp my hands or bow my head. If he wanted a statue, he picked the wrong girl.

He turned then.

His expression was unreadable. Calm. Detached. Like this was a business meeting and I was a line item on a contract.

“You’re here because of a debt,” he said plainly.

No warning. No easing in.

I lifted my chin. “I figured.”

“Your parents owe my family a considerable amount of money. Money they’ll never repay.” His gaze flicked over me, assessing. “You’re the settlement.”

My stomach tightened, but I forced my voice steady. “So what? I work for you?”

A pause.

Then—slow, deliberate steps toward me.

“You don’t work for me,” he corrected. “You work because of me.”

I swallowed.

“You belong to me,” he continued, tone even. “Until I decide the debt is paid. How that happens is entirely my choice.”

Anger flared hot in my chest. “I’m not an object.”

He stopped inches away.

“No,” he said softly. “You’re leverage.”

I laughed—short, bitter. “That’s supposed to scare me?”

His eyes dipped briefly to my mouth. Then back up.

“It’s supposed to inform you.”

Silence stretched between us.

“So what,” I said finally, “I’m your maid? Your cleaner? Your—”

“No.”

The word cut through the room like glass.

I stiffened. “Then what?”

His gaze sharpened. “You’re not here to clean floors.”

Something cold slid down my spine.

“I don’t need servants,” he went on. “I have plenty. You’re here because your existence has value to me.”

My nails dug into my palms. “And what value is that?”

Another pause.

Then, calmly—cruelly—

“My property.”

I exhaled slowly through my nose, refusing to let him see how that word landed.

“You can’t own a person,” I said.

“I can,” he replied. “I already do.”

I took a step back. “I won’t sleep with you.”

A flicker—just a flicker—crossed his face. Amusement, maybe.

“I didn’t say you would,” he said. “I said you’re mine.”

That somehow made it worse.

“You hate me,” I accused.

“I don’t waste emotion on debts,” he said. “But don’t confuse indifference with kindness.”

He turned away, effectively dismissing me.

“You’ll stay in this house. You’ll follow the rules. You’ll remember why you’re here.” His voice cooled further. “And you won’t mistake tolerance for freedom.”

I stood there, shaking with rage and something dangerously close to fear.

“Fine,” I said. “But don’t expect gratitude.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “I don’t expect anything from you, Lisa.”

The way he said my name made my skin prickle.

“Dismissed.”

I walked out without looking back.

But my heart didn’t slow until I was alone again.

I hated him.

Cold. Cruel. Controlled.

And the worst part?

He knew it.