CHAPTER 2:The contract
1302 Words
The Voss Tower didn’t look real.
Lisa knew that only because Annabelle had described it on the drive over. _“Glass, Lis. 60 floors. Like the whole building is made of mirrors.”_
Lisa couldn’t see mirrors. She could only feel the cold air blasting from the lobby, and hear the way her cane clicked too loud on marble.
“Keep your head up,” Annabelle hissed in her ear. “You’re not a beggar. You’re a business deal.”
Mom hadn’t come. _“I can’t watch this, Annabelle. You handle it.”_
That was the text. That was always the text.
Lisa’s stomach twisted. “Do I have to do this?”
“You don’t have a choice,” Annabelle said. “Smile.”
The elevator was silent. No music. No people. Just the soft _ding_ and the feeling of going up, up, up until Lisa’s ears popped.
When the doors opened, the air changed.
Expensive. Empty.
“Ms. Andrews.”
That voice. Low. Cold. Damien Voss.
Lisa turned toward the sound. “Mr. Voss.”
“Alone,” he said.
Annabelle stiffened beside her. “Sir, I’m her sister and legal—”
“I said alone.”
Lisa felt Annabelle’s nails dig into her arm, then let go. “I’ll be right outside, Lis.”
The doors closed.
Now it was just her and him.
She heard him move. Not toward her. Around her. Like he was studying her.
“Sit,” he said.
A chair scraped. Lisa sat. Her hands shook, so she folded them in her lap.
“You read the contract?” he asked.
“No, sir. I can’t—”
A pause. Then the sound of paper. “I’ll read it to you.”
He didn’t sound kind. He sounded bored.
“Clause 1: Duration. One year. From the date of signing. No early termination.”
Lisa swallowed.
“Clause 2: Residence. You will live in my penthouse. You will not leave without my permission.”
Her chest tightened. “Permission?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Clause 3: Public appearance. You will attend functions with me. You will wear what I tell you to wear. You will not speak unless spoken to.”
Lisa’s throat went dry. “That’s—”
“Clause 4: No contact. You will not touch me. You will not ask about my business. You will not ask about my past.”
Silence.
“Clause 5: Payment. Upon signing, 500,000 to your family. Upon completion of the year, 1.5 million to you. All debts cleared.”
The number hit her like a punch. Half a million. Enough to save them. Enough to make Mom look at her for once and say _thank you_ instead of _why can’t you be more like Annabelle_.
“Why me?” Lisa whispered.
“Because you can’t see me,” Damien said simply. “Because you won’t fall in love with me. Because you won’t betray me.”
The word _betray_ cut.
“You think I’d betray you?”
“I think everyone does.” His voice was flat. “Sign.”
A pen was placed in her hand. Cold metal.
Lisa held it, unmoving. “What if I say no?”
“Then you leave. And your family is evicted next week. Your mother told my assistant she was counting on this.”
Of course she did.
Lisa hated that it hurt. Hated that part of her still wanted Mom to choose her.
She couldn’t see the signature line. But she could feel the paper. Thick. Final.
Her hand shook.
“Don’t cry,” Damien said suddenly.
“I’m not,” Lisa lied.
“You smell like fear.”
Lisa almost laughed. “And you smell like winter.”
The room went still.
Then Damien took the pen from her hand. Guided her finger to the line.
“Sign, Ms. Andrews.”
Lisa signed. Lisa Andrews. The name she’d barely ever written with pride.
The moment the pen lifted, she felt it. A shift. Like a door closing behind her.
“It’s done,” Damien said. “My assistant will take you shopping. You’ll move in tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“You agreed to no questions.”
Lisa nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. “Can I... can I say goodbye to my sister?”
“No.”
The word was final.
Lisa stood, gripping her cane. “Mr. Voss, can I ask one thing? Just one.”
“What.”
“Do you hate me?”
Another long pause.
“I don’t know you,” he said. “Yet.”
That was worse than yes.
---
The next 3 hours were a blur.
A silent car ride. A shopping trip where a woman measured her and spoke to her assistant, not to her. Ivory dresses. Cream coats. Shoes with no heels because _“Mr. Voss doesn’t like women to be taller than him.”_
Then the penthouse.
Lisa heard the door open and her breath caught.
It was huge. Echoing. Smelled like nothing. No food, no perfume, no life.
“Your room is down the hall,” Damien said. He hadn’t come in. He was leaving. “Dinner is at 8. Don’t be late.”
The door closed.
Lisa stood alone in the biggest, quietest place she’d ever been.
She set her cane down and reached out. Her fingers brushed cold glass. A window. 60 floors up.
She thought of her old apartment. The peeling paint. The way Mom would call for Annabelle first in the mornings.
She thought of the contract. The signature. The 500,000 that was probably already in their account.
She thought of Damien’s voice. _I don’t know you. Yet._
At 7:55, Lisa made her way to the dining room. She’d counted her steps. 47 from her door.
The table was massive. She could hear two plates.
Damien was already seated at the head.
“Sit,” he said, not looking up from his phone.
Lisa sat across from him. The distance felt like a mile.
They ate in silence. Soup she couldn’t name. Bread she couldn’t cut without help.
Finally, she couldn’t take it. “Mr. Voss?”
“What.”
“Can I ask... why you didn’t want my sister in the room?”
He set his fork down. The sound was sharp.
“Because she looks at me like I’m a wallet,” he said. “And you don’t.”
Lisa frowned. “You can’t see if I do or not.”
“No,” he agreed. “But I can hear it. In your voice. You’re not selling me anything.”
Lisa didn’t know what to say to that.
“Eat,” he said.
She did.
After dinner, he stood. “Bed. 10pm. We leave at 6am for a board meeting.”
“A board meeting?”
“You’re my wife now. You’ll be there.”
Lisa’s heart dropped. “I don’t know anything about business—”
“You don’t have to. You just have to sit there and look like you belong.”
And with that, he left.
Lisa went to her room. It was bigger than her whole apartment. The bed was soft. The sheets were cold.
She lay there staring at a ceiling she couldn’t see and thought about the word he’d used.
_Wife._
Not pawn. Not deal. _Wife._
Across the penthouse, Damien stood at his window, watching the city.
On his desk was a photo his assistant had pulled. Lisa Andrews, age 10, smiling with sunglasses on. Blind, and still smiling.
He didn’t know why he’d picked her. Only that the moment she said _winter_ he couldn’t stop listening.
Obsession, he decided, started quietly.
And he was already too far in.
- Writer
