Contracted Obsession

Chapter 3: The Price

My fingers tightened around the pen until the plastic creaked.

Nash stood on the other side of the desk, watching me with that same unreadable expression. The city lights glittered behind him through the floor-to-ceiling windows, turning his office into a glass cage high above everything.

The emergency alert for Mia still glowed on his phone screen like a warning light.

I swallowed hard. “How did you get her contact?”

He didn’t blink. “I know everything about the people who threaten me, Ava. Or try to.”

My pulse thudded in my ears. I glanced at the contract again — that line about “exclusive availability” burned into my brain. One year of my life in exchange for Mia’s safety and the mountain of debt that had been crushing us since Dad died.

Or disappeared. Or was erased.

I clicked the pen once. Twice.

“You’re not just buying my time,” I said, keeping my voice steady even though my hands weren’t. “You want control.”

Nash leaned forward slightly, palms flat on the polished wood. His sleeves were rolled up now, revealing strong forearms and a thin silver scar that disappeared under his watch. “Control keeps things simple. People like you complicate them.”

“People like me?”

“Ones who bite back.” His gaze dropped to my split lip for a fraction of a second, then returned to my eyes. “It’s… refreshing.”

A shiver ran down my spine that had nothing to do with the wet clothes clinging to my skin.

I hated how aware I was of him — the way the air felt thicker when he looked at me like that. Like I was something he’d already decided belonged in his collection.

Before I could overthink it, I scrawled my signature across the bottom line.

The pen clattered onto the desk.

“There,” I said, pushing the paper toward him. “Debt gone. Mia safe. And I get to keep digging into what really happened to my father.”

Nash picked up the contract, scanned my signature, then folded it neatly and slipped it into a drawer. When he looked up, the corner of his mouth curved — not warm, not kind. Possessive.

“Welcome aboard, Miss Sinclair.”

He pressed a button on his desk. A side door opened and a woman in a crisp black suit appeared, carrying a sleek black card and a set of keys.

“Take her to the penthouse,” he told the woman without breaking eye contact with me. “She starts tomorrow. Full security protocol.”

I stepped back. “Penthouse? The contract said live-in, not immediate relocation.”

“You’re soaked, bleeding, and have collectors still circling your old address.” His voice stayed low and even, but it carried weight. “Consider it protection. Or a perk.”

“I don’t need your protection.”

“You do now.” He rounded the desk again, stopping closer than before. Close enough that I had to tilt my head to meet his eyes. “Because the moment you signed that paper, you became mine to keep safe. Mine to use. Mine to watch.”

The words landed like a claim.

My breath hitched. I wanted to slap the calm arrogance off his face. At the same time, heat curled low in my stomach — unwanted, traitorous.

I opened my mouth to argue.

His phone vibrated again. This time he picked it up, glanced at the message, and his expression hardened.

“Change of plans,” he said quietly, sliding the phone into his pocket. “Your sister just left a message saying two men in a black SUV are parked outside her dorm. They’re not mine.”

My blood turned to ice.

I lunged for my own phone, but Nash caught my wrist — firm, not painful, yet impossible to break.

“Easy,” he murmured, thumb brushing over my racing pulse. “I’ll handle it. But you’re coming with me. Now.”

He didn’t wait for agreement. He pulled me toward a private elevator behind his desk, his grip steady as steel.

The doors slid shut.

As the elevator dropped, I stared at our reflection — his tall frame behind me, dark suit against my disheveled state. His hand still circled my wrist like a shackle made of velvet.

“You said no guns tonight,” I whispered.

Nash’s eyes met mine in the mirror. Dark. Unreadable. Hungry.

“I lied.”

The elevator dinged at the underground garage.

And outside, in the shadows between luxury cars, I heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps closing in.