HIS TO KEEP

My mother is dying, and I just got fired. Two sentences. That’s my whole life right now. I stood outside the glass office on the 45th floor, holding my phone so tight my knuckles turned white. The screen was still on. URGENT: Hospital Bill - $50,000 Due in 7 Days - St. Mary's Hospital. Fifty thousand dollars. I had exactly forty-two dollars in my bank account. "Miss Quinn?" The secretary looked at me like I was dirt on her expensive rug. "Mr. Black will see you now. And he is not happy. You were late. Again." I swallowed. My throat was completely dry. My cheap blouse was sticking to my back. Everyone in this building wore designer suits. I had been wearing the same blouse for three days. I pushed the heavy glass door open. Adrian Black didn't look up. He was everything they whispered about in the office pantry. Thirty-Two years old cold billionaire.The new owner of Black Industries. He wore a black suit that probably cost more than my mother's whole surgery. His hair was perfectly styled, and his jaw was sharp enough to cut glass. He looked like a man who never had to beg for anything in his life. Unlike me. I beg for everything. "Mr. Black. Sir, please, I can explain about being late. My mother is in the hospital, I had to—" "I know about your mother," he said, still typing on his laptop. My blood ran cold. What? He finally looked up. And when he did, I forgot how to breathe. His eyes were grey. Not blue, not green. Grey like a storm before the rain. And they were looking at me like... like he already knew me. Like he had been waiting for me. "You were late three times this week, Elara," he said. My name in his mouth sounded different. Deeper. Rougher. "You accessed confidential payroll files last Tuesday. And you need fifty thousand dollars by Monday." How does he know all that? My hands started to shake. I quickly hid them behind my back. "Please," my voice cracked. God, I hated that my voice cracked. "I need this job. I will work overtime. Weekends. Nights. I will do anything—" "Anything?" He raised one eyebrow. That single word made my stomach flip. He stood up. Oh, God. He was tall. So tall I had to tilt my head all the way up to look at him. He smelled like expensive cologne, cold power, and something dangerous I couldn't name. He walked around his massive desk until there was nothing between us. Just him. Just me. Just my heart beating so loud I was sure he could hear it. "Do you know what I do to employees who steal company time, Elara?" "I didn't steal anything! I was at the hospital—" "I don't care where you were." His voice was low now. Too low. Too close. "I care that you are desperate. And I am a man who solves desperate problems." He reached into his inner pocket and pulled out a single black folder. He placed it on the desk in front of me and opened it. It was a contract. Not a work contract. Something else. PRIVATE EMPLOYMENT AND RESIDENTIAL AGREEMENT - 30 DAYS I started reading. My vision blurred because my eyes were filling with tears I refused to shed. Then, three lines made my whole body freeze. Clause 3: Compensation - $50,000 paid directly to St. Mary's Hospital. Clause 4.1: No romantic or physical relationship with any other person during the term. Clause 5.1: Termination only with written consent of the Employer. Subject to extension at Employer's sole discretion. My lips parted. I couldn't speak. The translation screamed in my head: He will pay for my mother. I can't see anyone else. I can't quit. And after 30 days, he can keep me forever if he wants. "That's... that's insane," I whispered. "You can't just buy people." "I don't buy people, Elara," he said, leaning closer. So close I could see a small scar near his eyebrow. So close his breath touched my cheek. "I buy solutions. You need fifty thousand. I need a personal secretary who lives in my house and does exactly what I tell her to do." "And if I say no?" "Then you walk out of here with nothing," he said simply. No emotion. Like we were talking about the weather. "Your mother doesn't get her surgery. You lose your apartment next week. And you will still owe the company for the three days you missed." It was blackmail. It was cruel. It was everything I hated about rich men like him. And I had no choice. Tears burned my eyes now. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. I will not cry in front of him. I will not give him that. "Thirty days?" I asked, my voice so small I barely heard it. "Thirty days," he said. "You move in tonight. You go where I go. You wear what I choose. You are mine to keep, Elara. Mine." Mine. That one word. It should have made me angry. It did make me angry. But it also made heat rush all the way to my toes. My knees felt weak. Stupid body. Stupid heart. He held out a black Montblanc pen. I stared at it. At the contract. At his grey eyes that were watching my shaking hand like I was already his favorite possession. If I signed, I would lose myself. If I didn't, I would lose my mother. I reached for the pen. My fingers were trembling so badly I almost dropped it. I pressed it to the paper. The ink bled. Elara M. Quinn. The second I signed, he took the pen from my fingers. His skin brushed mine. Just a brush. A second. But it felt like electricity shot straight up my arm. "Good girl," he whispered. And his voice wasn't cold anymore. It was dark. Possessive. My whole body shivered. I hated him. I hated how he made me shiver. He picked up his phone, not looking away from me for a second. "James, prepare the east wing. Miss Quinn is moving in tonight. And order a white dress. For dinner. Size small." White dress? For what dinner? I opened my mouth to ask, but he was already looking at me like I was already living in his house. Like I was already sleeping in his bed. Like I was already His To Keep.