I don’t sleep much that night.
Not because I’m afraid—but because my mind refuses to let go.
The contract lies on the table between the lamp and my coffee mug, its pages perfectly aligned, as if even the paper understands the seriousness of what it represents. I’ve read every clause twice, then a third time more slowly, tracing consequences with the tip of my finger like I’m mapping a way out of a maze.
There are exits.
There are limits.
There are protections that apply to me—and restrictions that apply to him.
That part surprises me the most.
Adrian wasn’t bluffing.
This isn’t a trap disguised as generosity.
It isn’t ownership dressed up as an opportunity.
It’s a structure.
And structures, unlike cages, can be negotiated.
I lean back against the chair and close my eyes, lettin
