Surrender

First meeting

The moment I stepped out of the car, I was overwhelmed by fear.

In front of me stood a massive three-story house. To the left, a huge greenhouse stretched along the side of the property. I had only ever seen places like this in TV shows. How do people even have this kind of money? The house was too big—intimidating, almost suffocating.

Stay confident. Chin up. A touch of arrogance, I told myself.

“This way, please. Master Alex is in his office—I’ll take you to him.”

I followed the woman. She looked like a servant. A black dress with a white apron—definitely a housemaid.

As I stepped inside, the fear deepened. I felt… small.

Was I really supposed to be here? Was there truly no other option? Was this worth it?

The house was furnished in a luxurious yet minimalist style. There was no ostentatious excess—only clean lines, open space, and a harmony refined down to the smallest detail. Light-colored walls, almost bare, created a sense of air and freedom, as if the interior itself could breathe.

High ceilings enhanced the feeling, while panoramic windows allowed soft daylight to pour in. Light wooden floors responded quietly to each step, adding warmth to the otherwise restrained, almost cold aesthetic.

There wasn’t much furniture—but every piece looked deliberately chosen. A spacious neutral-toned sofa, a solid wood table, understated armchairs—everything felt expensive without trying to prove it.

There was power in this house. Not loud, not showy—but quiet, absolute. The kind that didn’t need to justify itself.

And that was what frightened me the most.

When I entered the office, I saw a man—around forty, handsome, dressed in an expensive, perfectly tailored suit. He sat behind his desk, glancing at me only once, briefly.

“Have a seat,” he said softly, gesturing toward the chair opposite him.

He was incredibly attractive. Brown eyes, tall, well-dressed, clearly wealthy. Girls probably lost their minds over men like him.

So why did he need this contract?

And why did I?

Was I completely insane?

“What’s your name?”

“Lia,” I replied.

Coming here, deciding to try this, I had convinced myself I could play the role—be bold, provocative, anything but a pitiful, shy girl. For my sister, I would do whatever it took.

“Lia, you’re not suitable for me,” he said, just as calmly.

“But… is something wrong with me? I just walked in… Did I do something wrong?”

It had barely been ten seconds since I entered. Deep down, I had hoped to run away from all this—to escape before getting involved. But his rejection stung more than I expected.

“I need someone uninhibited. Someone willing to learn—and to obey. You’re not suited for that.”

Hearing this, a foolish thought flashed through my mind—one that might save my chances.

I slid off the chair onto the floor, lowering myself onto all fours, and slowly moved toward him.

A few steps—and I was already beside him, lifting my gaze with a forced, playful smile.

“Like this?” I murmured, looking up at him with hope.

He reached out, taking my chin in his hand, and looked at me sternly.

The smile vanished instantly.

Fear. Shame. And a sudden, overwhelming urge to run.

“Sit down and drop the act.”

I immediately sank into the chair, putting on a serious expression. I felt ashamed of how I’d been behaving. But I truly thought this was my chance. What a fool I was, thinking I could pull it off—but he immediately saw I was only fit to be a waitress.

The man took a sip of something strong from his glass and looked at me again.

“Tell me honestly, why are you here? For the money?”

“Yes, I need money. But I also wanted to try. I’ve never been in a situation like this before, and seeing you in the photos, I thought I might…”

“Why do you need the money?”

“My sister needs surgery.”

I told the truth: I came here for the money. But if I hadn’t really wanted to try, I wouldn’t have come at all. Could I have found another way? Probably not. I’ve been working everywhere I can for months but haven’t managed to gather even a fraction of what’s needed. Did I lie? Only to myself, convincing myself I could do it.

“How much?” he asked flatly.

“Four hundred thousand.”

The man stood, opened a safe, and pulled out several stacks of money, placing them on the table in front of me.

“Take it. It’s yours—let your sister get better. I trust you. You owe me nothing and can leave right now.”

“But…”

I fell silent. I didn’t know what I was expecting. Receiving the money for my sister’s long-awaited surgery, I should have been happy, but all I felt was disappointment.

“Do you still want to sign the contract?”

“Y-yes…” I said timidly.

“Have you read it? Do you understand the terms?”

“Your assistant explained everything to me. I’ve had the medical checkups, done everything required by the contract.”

“Good. Then sign here.”

He handed me a sleek metal pen and the contract. My hands were trembling, tears welling up in my eyes. I was doing this for my sister—she would need much more money for recovery, and there would be no other chance. I signed my name and initials.

I was scared, but also glad I had gone through with it. Even if nothing comes of it, at least I would try; I would do everything I could.