Bound by Design

**“You're selling me?"** Ivy Ji's voice cracked in the silence of the boardroom. The air conditioning hummed softly, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing in her chest. Her father flinched but didn't meet her eyes. Across the walnut table, Adrian Fu remained still—black suit immaculate, tie knotted with surgical precision, expression unreadable. He tapped the edge of a silver pen against the contract. “I'm not selling you," Mr. Ji murmured. “I'm… securing our family's future." “You forged my signature." Ivy's voice was low but sharp enough to cut steel. “Ivy—" “No." She turned to Adrian, icy composure coiling around her spine. “And you. You really agreed to this?" Adrian lifted his gaze. His eyes, a disconcerting steel-gray, didn't blink. “Your father's debt to Fu Corporation exceeds four million. He offered collateral." “I'm not a car," Ivy snapped. “Nor a slave." Adrian paused. “The contract terms are clear. Five years of legal marriage. No physical obligations. In return, your father walks free." Ivy barked a laugh. “Legal marriage but no physical obligations? Sounds like a sick joke." Adrian's face betrayed no reaction. “I have… specific requirements. This arrangement suits us both." “Explain." He hesitated. “He has a condition," Mr. Ji blurted. “Some kind of neurological disorder. He can't be near people. But apparently you—" “Enough." Adrian's voice was soft but carried a weight that made Mr. Ji flinch again. “Miss Ji doesn't need to understand the full extent until she signs." “I'm not signing anything," Ivy hissed. “You already have," Adrian said, pulling a second folder from his briefcase. “Power of attorney. From last month. Ring a bell?" Ivy's heart sank. She had signed something, vaguely recalling a late-night hospital form when her father had that supposed heart scare. “By walking into this room, you validated the agreement," Adrian said. The door opened. A woman in black stepped inside and handed Ivy a burner phone and a silver envelope. “Your passport, phone, and access cards," the woman said. “You won't be needing them." Ivy stared at her. “You're serious." Adrian stood. “You'll be escorted to the estate. Your belongings are already en route." “I'm not going anywhere." “You are. For his sake." He nodded at Mr. Ji, who sat hunched, eyes wet with shame. Ivy's fists clenched. “What kind of man needs to trap a woman to keep her close?" Adrian's gaze locked onto hers. For a moment, something flickered—pain, perhaps, or weariness. “The kind," he said quietly, “whose life depends on it." --- The ride to the estate was silent. Ivy sat rigid in the back of the limo, phone in one hand, passport in the other. The city peeled away outside—glass towers giving way to leafless trees and Hudson-side fog. A security detail followed in a black SUV. She finally broke the silence. “You're afraid of people?" Adrian didn't look at her. “Not afraid. Allergic, you might say." “Cute. So I'm your human EpiPen." “You'll be safe. Well-fed. Untouched." “How comforting." He adjusted his cufflinks. “You'll have your own wing. We won't interfere with each other." “And if I try to run?" “The estate's perimeter is secure." “You mean locked." “I mean safe." They fell into silence again. “Do you feel anything?" she asked, voice quieter now. “Guilt, maybe?" Adrian turned to her slowly. “I feel pain when I'm far from you. Physical, quantifiable pain. Near you, the chip stabilizes. That's the extent of my feelings." “So I'm medication." His jaw tensed. “You're more than that." “Oh?" “I wouldn't trust anyone else." Ivy snorted. “I'm not honored." Adrian didn't respond. Instead, he leaned slightly toward her, as if testing something. A muscle in his neck stopped twitching. “See?" he said, almost to himself. “Even now. My heartbeat's normalizing." “You're insane." “Possibly." He looked out the window. “But I'm alive." --- The iron gates of the Fu estate groaned open. Ivy stared at the compound—more research facility than home. Stark concrete. Glass panels. No windows with curtains. No flowers. No warmth. The car stopped. A guard opened her door. “Welcome to Fu Manor, ma'am." She stepped out, pulse racing. Adrian emerged beside her, perfectly poised. Inside, the air smelled sterile. Like a hospital. She was led down a corridor of blinking lights and pressure-locked doors. “I'll escort you to your quarters," said the assistant in black. “Only Mr. Fu and medical staff have access." “Sounds like prison." “Prisons usually don't have biometric espresso machines," the woman replied. “Do they also monitor pulse rates through bathroom mirrors?" The woman didn't answer. --- That night, Ivy sat in a minimalist bedroom—white walls, one bed, no sharp edges. She searched for a window. Found none. The mirror flickered faintly. She waved at it. No response. She turned to find Adrian standing in the doorway. “No knocking?" He held up a small tablet. “I'm here to check vitals." “I'm not your guinea pig." “I don't want to be here either." “Then why are you?" He hesitated. “Because the alternative is death." “And mine?" “You're free to go. But your father…" Her shoulders slumped. “You're a bastard." “I've been called worse." He tapped a button. Numbers flickered. “Pulse, normal. Neural feedback—stable." “Congratulations," she muttered. “Goodnight, Ivy." “Don't call me that." He paused. “Then what?" “Call me what I am to you. 'Prescription.' 'Patient zero.' 'Hostage.' Take your pick." Adrian turned, but before he left, she caught something unexpected. He smiled. Just a little. Sad. Pained. Almost human. “Goodnight, Ivy," he said again, and left. She stared at the mirror. And whispered, “I'm going to break this place apart."