MIKAEL'S FORBIDDEN ADDICTION (UNDER EDITING)

CHAPTER FOUR

The Monday morning sky was a bruised purple, heavy with unspoken threats. Lyara felt a matching weight in her chest as she stepped out of the bus, the cool city air doing little to calm her racing heart. She had tried to forget Mikael Roosevelt. She had tried to convince herself that the encounter in the alley was a strange, isolated incident. But as she stood before the gleaming glass facade of Elite Edge Entertainment, a cold dread settled deep in her stomach.

The lobby was a hive of frantic whispers and nervous glances. Staff members huddled in small groups, their faces pale, their hushed tones hinting at a crisis. Lyara's anxiety ratcheted up another notch. This wasn't just a "big meeting"; something catastrophic had happened. She pushed past the buzzing crowd and headed for the executive elevators, her black blazer feeling suddenly too tight.

When the doors chimed open on the top floor, the silence was immediate and jarring. The usual buzz of agents on calls and models rushing between appointments was gone, replaced by an eerie stillness. Jacob stood by the reception desk, his shoulders slumped, his face ashen. He looked like he’d been hit by a truck.

"Jacob?" Lyara whispered, rushing over to him. "What’s going on? Why does everyone look like they’ve seen a ghost?"

Jacob looked at her, his eyes filled with a raw mix of pity and fear. "Lyara... my dad just left. He’s officially out. The papers were finalized an hour ago. He said... he said he had no choice."

Lyara's heart hammered against her ribs. Her blood ran cold. "So, who is it? Who bought the agency? Who would do this to your dad?"

Before Jacob could answer, the heavy oak doors of the main conference room swung open with a soft, ominous thud. Mr. Miller, Lyara’s manager, emerged. He looked like a man who had seen his future disappear. His usually slicked-back hair was disheveled, and his face was slick with sweat.

"Lyara! You're here. Thank God," Mr. Miller gasped, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to blot his forehead. His eyes darted nervously between Lyara and the open conference room door. "He’s waiting for you. Just... be careful what you say, okay? He’s in a mood."

"Who is 'he'?" Lyara demanded, her voice trembling despite her best efforts. The dread was a physical presence now, tightening around her throat.

Mr. Miller didn't say a word. He just clutched his handkerchief tighter and gestured weakly toward the open doorway. It felt less like an invitation and more like a push.

Lyara took a deep, shaky breath and walked into the room.

The air conditioning was blasting, making the vast space feel like a freezer. The room was mostly dark, the heavy curtains drawn, except for a sliver of morning light cutting through the massive windows that overlooked the sprawling city. It felt less like a boardroom and more like a theatrical set.

A figure was seated in the large, plush leather chair that used to belong to Jacob’s father. His back was to her. He was swirling a glass of dark liquid, his long, elegant fingers tapping a rhythmic beat against the crystal. The sound was the only thing breaking the oppressive silence.

"Mr. Miller said you wanted to see me?" Lyara’s voice sounded braver than she felt, cracking slightly on the last word.

The chair began to rotate slowly, deliberately, as if savoring the anticipation. Lyara felt her muscles tense, a primal instinct screaming at her to run. But she stood her ground, her gaze fixed on the turning chair, her breath held tight in her lungs.

Then, he was facing her.

Mikael Roosevelt.

He looked perfectly polished, devastatingly handsome in a navy-blue suit that molded to his broad shoulders. There was no trace of the disheveled man she had saved in the alleyway. No hoodie, no sunglasses, no vulnerability. He looked like a king on his throne, his blue eyes holding a cold, triumphant glint. The corner of his mouth twitched in a slow, almost imperceptible smirk.

"Good morning, Lyara," he said. His voice was like velvet over steel, smooth and rich, but carrying an icy edge that made the hair on her arms stand up. The way he said her name, lingering on each syllable, felt possessive, a promise and a threat all in one.

Lyara gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, a sharp, choked sound escaping her lips. "You... what are you doing here?"

Mikael’s smirk deepened. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the polished mahogany desk. He picked up a thick stack of papers and slid them across the table toward her. On the top page, in bold, unforgiving letters, were the words: TRANSFER OF OWNERSHIP: ELITE EDGE ENTERTAINMENT.

"I’m the new owner," Mikael said simply, his gaze never leaving hers. It was a declaration, not an explanation. "I decided that instead of waiting for you to answer an invitation to a party, I’d just buy the building you work in. It saves a lot of time, don't you think?"

A hot, furious wave of rage washed over Lyara, temporarily drowning out her fear. "You bought an entire company just because I walked away from you? You’re insane! You ruined Jacob's father, you ruined his family, for this?"

Mikael stood up. He walked around the massive desk with slow, deliberate, predatory steps, his gaze never breaking from hers. The room suddenly felt smaller, the air thicker. He stopped directly in front of her, so tall that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. He smelled of expensive woodsmoke, power, and something else—something intensely masculine and dangerous.

"I’m not insane, Lyara. I’m a man who gets what he wants," he whispered, leaning down so close his lips were inches from her ear. His warm breath brushed against her skin, sending a shiver down her spine that she couldn't hide. "And right now, your contract belongs to me. Every shoot, every runway, every hour of your day... I own it all."

His hand came up, slow and deliberate, reaching for her face. His long, elegant fingers gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. His touch was cold, sending a jolt through her, a mixture of repulsion and a terrifying, unwanted spark. Her body betrayed her, a tiny tremor running through her frame.

"You told your friend you were done with me, didn't you?" Mikael asked, his voice a low, throaty rumble, his eyes glinting with a dark, triumphant light. "But you forgot one thing."

"What?" she choked out, her voice barely a whisper. Her mind raced, desperately trying to find a loophole, a way out of this gilded cage.

"I'm the one who decides when we’re done."

He stepped back, a cruel, teasing smile playing on his lips. He gestured to the chair across from the desk. "Now, sit down. We have a lot to discuss about your new schedule. You’re going to be very busy, Mrs. Roosevelt-to-be."

Lyara’s blood ran cold. The air left her lungs. "What did you just call me?" The words were a strangled protest.

Mikael didn't answer. He simply returned to his chair, picked up a gleaming silver pen, and pointed it at a signature line on a new, much thicker contract. This one was entirely different from her old modeling agreement. It was filled with clauses and stipulations she couldn't even begin to understand, but she knew, with a terrifying certainty, that it was a leash.

"Sign it," he commanded, his voice devoid of any warmth. "Or I ruin Jacob’s father today. Every debt he owes, every secret he has... I’ll release it all before lunch. Your choice."

Lyara looked at the door, then back at the man she used to dream about. The man who was now holding her entire world hostage. She looked at the contract—a literal document of her surrender. She had spent a year chasing a dream, only to find herself trapped in a nightmare. Jacob’s father, Jacob... she couldn't let Mikael destroy them.

She reached for the pen, her hand shaking so violently that the silver tip clattered against the desk. Her breath hitched. This wasn't just signing a modeling contract. This was signing away her freedom.

This was the beginning of her captivity.