CRIMSON CONFESSION

Dr. Selene Hart stared out the tinted window of the black SUV as it wound its way up the narrow mountain road. Snowflakes danced wildly in the headlights, turning the world into a blur of white and darkness. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her leather briefcase—the one containing her notes, her ethics guidelines, and the thick NDA she had signed three days ago. This contract was supposed to be her salvation. Instead, it felt like the beginning of something far more dangerous. “We’re almost there, Dr. Hart,” the driver said quietly. He hadn’t smiled once during the four-hour journey from the airport. “Mr. Voss doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” Selene nodded, swallowing the unease rising in her throat. The pay was extraordinary—enough to wipe out her student loans, her mother’s medical bills, and still leave her with a safety net. All she had to do was spend four weeks treating one patient in complete isolation. Simple. Or so the contract had claimed. The SUV finally passed through massive iron gates that closed silently behind them. Blackthorn Estate rose out of the snow like a modern fortress—sharp glass walls mixed with dark stone, warm lights glowing from within. It was beautiful. And completely cut off from the world. A woman in a crisp black uniform waited at the entrance. “Dr. Hart,” she said with professional politeness. “I’m Margaret, the estate manager. I’ll show you to your quarters. Mr. Voss will see you in thirty minutes.” Selene followed her through the grand foyer. Her heels clicked against marble floors that gleamed under crystal chandeliers. The air smelled of cedarwood and something colder—something metallic. Security cameras followed her movement from every corner. She could feel their electronic eyes on her. Her suite was luxurious beyond anything she had ever experienced. A king-sized bed with silk sheets, a private sitting area, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the snow-covered forest. But when she tried her phone, there was no signal. “The storm has knocked out communications,” Margaret explained. “It happens often this time of year. You’ll adjust.” Selene changed quickly into a tailored navy pantsuit—professional, authoritative, safe. She pinned her long dark hair into a neat bun and touched the small silver pendant at her throat. A reminder that she was here to do a job. Nothing more. At exactly 8 PM, Margaret returned to escort her to the therapy room. The door opened into a large, warmly lit study. Bookshelves lined two walls. A fireplace crackled softly. And behind a massive oak desk sat him. Kai Voss. He rose slowly when she entered, and Selene’s breath caught despite herself. He was taller than she expected—easily six-three—with broad shoulders filling out a perfectly tailored black shirt. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and his sharp jawline was shadowed with stubble. But it was his eyes that held her. Deep, almost black, and far too knowing. “Dr. Selene Hart,” he said, his voice low and smooth like aged whiskey. “I’ve been looking forward to this.” The way he said her name sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. “Mr. Voss,” she replied, keeping her voice steady as she crossed the room. “I prefer we begin with formalities. Please, sit.” A faint smile played on his lips as he obeyed, but his gaze never left her face. He moved with the predatory grace of someone who owned everything around him—including, it seemed, the very air in the room. Selene took the chair opposite him, crossing her legs and opening her notebook. “I’ve read your file. Severe anxiety, insomnia, possible PTSD following the Voss Dynamics scandal. Is that correct?” Kai leaned back, studying her with unnerving intensity. “That’s what the papers say.” “And what do you say?” she asked, pen poised. He was quiet for a long moment. The fire crackled. Outside, the wind howled against the windows. “I say,” he finally murmured, “that I’ve been waiting for you for a very long time, Selene.” She froze. The use of her first name felt deliberate. Intimate. “I prefer Dr. Hart during sessions,” she corrected firmly. His smile widened, slow and dangerous. “Of course… Dr. Hart.” He tilted his head. “Tell me, how does it feel knowing you’re completely trapped here with me?” Selene’s pulse spiked. “I’m not trapped, Mr. Voss. This is a professional arrangement. The snowstorm is temporary.” “Is it?” He rose from his chair and walked around the desk, stopping just a few feet away from her. “The roads are impassable. No phones. No internet. Just you… and me… for weeks.” Selene forced herself to remain calm, even as warning bells rang loudly in her head. This wasn’t normal patient behavior. This was something else entirely. She stood up, meeting his gaze. “If you’re trying to intimidate me, it won’t work. I’m here to help you, but only if you’re willing to do the work.” Kai stepped closer. Close enough that she could smell his cologne—dark, expensive, masculine. His eyes dropped briefly to her lips before returning to hers. “I don’t want your help, Doctor,” he whispered. “I want you.” The silence that followed was deafening. Selene’s heart hammered against her ribs. She should feel fear. Instead, a treacherous warmth spread through her body at his words. This was wrong. This was dangerous. And yet, as Kai Voss stared down at her like she was something he had already claimed, Selene realized with chilling clarity that this contract might cost her far more than she had ever bargained for.