Bound By A Contract

SELENE.

I forced a smile, even though my heartbeat was tripping over itself like it was trying to escape my chest.

“Mr. Cross, you’re very intense, you know that?” I said, hoping humor would cut through the tension strangling the room. “Most people would just… ask normally. You know, like normal human beings?”

Damien didn’t move. Didn’t soften. Didn’t blink.

His gaze held mine with that same infuriating, overwhelming calm — a kind of quiet dominance that made the air feel tighter with every breath I took.

“Normal doesn’t get my desired outcomes,” he said.

I swallowed. My mouth felt dry. “You’re saying that like this is some kind of business negotiation.”

“It is.”

A chill rolled down my spine. “Damien, I—I don’t know what you think I am, but I’m not someone you can just… own.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “If I wanted to own you, Selene, you wouldn’t be standing right now.”

My stomach flipped violently. Was that supposed to reassure me? Because it definitely didn’t.

I crossed my arms, trying to pretend I wasn’t seconds away from panicking. “Okay. Enough with the cryptic dominance talk. If you want something specific from me, just say it.”

“I already did.” He stepped past me, walking toward the desk near the massive windows. The city lights glittered behind him like a crown. “Three months. Exclusively with me.”

The words hung in the air again, heavier than before.

“You’re serious,” I whispered.

He opened a drawer.

A soft click echoed through the penthouse.

And then I froze completely.

Because he pulled out a black folder. Sleek, glossy, and way too official-looking.

No.

No, no, no—He couldn’t be that serious.

But he walked back to me with unhurried precision, the folder in hand, and set it on the glass coffee table like it was an offering… or a trap.

My voice cracked. “Damien, what is that?”

“A contract.” His tone was maddeningly calm. “I drafted it this afternoon.”

“This afternoon?” My eyes widened. “You didn’t even know I would say yes!”

“I knew you would consider it.” He met my gaze. “And that was enough.”

My stomach churned. “So you planned all of this?”

“No,” he said. “I prepared for it.”

“That’s the same thing!”

“Not to me.”

I pressed a hand to my forehead. “Damien, I swear, you’re going to give me a heart attack.”

“Then sit down,” he said. “I need you alive for the signing.”

I gaped at him, torn between laughing, screaming, or throwing the expensive-looking wineglass at his head. But my feet betrayed me, walking me over to the sofa. I sat because standing suddenly felt too much like facing a lion on shaking legs.

Damien lowered himself beside me, close enough that his cologne brushed against my senses — clean, dark, addictive. Too close. Much too close. I couldn't think with him this close to me.

He slid the black folder toward me.

“Open it.”

My fingers hovered above it. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

“I barely know you.”

“You’ll know me intimately within a week.”

I choked. “Not helping!”

His expression didn’t change. “Open it, Selene.”

I let out a shaky breath and finally flipped the cover open.

I wasn’t ready.

Clause after clause stared back at me — neat, precise, typed with clinical efficiency. My chest tightened with every line I scanned.

• Three months of exclusivity

• His residences, hotels, or travel destinations

• Attending events at his side

• “Obedience” — the word hit me like a slap

• Confidentiality, monitored schedules, and expectations I wasn’t sure were legal

“Oh my God,” I breathed, pressing a hand to my chest. “This is… this is a lot.”

“You expected less?” he asked.

“Yes!” I burst out. “Something more like… a conversation! Or maybe coffee first!”

“Coffee is a waste of time.”

“You’re unbelievable, Mr. Cross.”

He tilted his head. “Is that a compliment?”

“Absolutely not.”

But my voice shook. Because beneath the outrage, beneath the shock and the fear and the disbelief, there was a tiny spark inside me.

Curiosity. A stupid, reckless, dangerous curiosity that whispered, What if?

I tried to smother it. Failed woefully.

My eyes returned to the contract, to the numbers listed in neat bold print at the end. Enough money to erase my debts three times over. Enough to save me. Enough to give me a real start, a life untouched by collectors or threats.

It was freedom on paper.

But it felt like a cage.

I rubbed my forehead. “This can’t be real.”

“It’s real.”

“You’re asking me to give up my life for three months.”

“Your life isn’t much right now, Selene.”

My breath caught. “Wow. That was low even for you.”

“It was honest.”

I stared at him, my heart pounding, my pulse echoing in my ears. “But why me though?”

“Because you challenge me,” he said softly. “Because you don’t fall at my feet. Because you pretend to be unafraid, and I can see through every mask you wear. And because,” he added, voice dipping into something dangerous and intimate, “I want you.”

My throat tightened. “People want things every day. That doesn’t mean they write contracts.”

“People aren’t me.”

I looked away. The room felt hot, loud with the intensity of his attention.

“Damien…” I whispered, “I’m scared.”

“I know.”

He didn’t say it like a mockery. He said it like a truth he accepted. A truth he expected.

“And you want me to sign something like this while I’m terrified?”

“No.” He leaned slightly closer. “I want you to sign because you’re terrified.”

I blinked at him, stunned. “That makes no sense.”

“It makes all the sense.” He nodded toward the contract. “Fear sharpens people. It makes them honest.”

“That’s one sick twisted sense of reasoning.”

“Perhaps.”

I stared at the pages again. My name printed neatly in the blanks. A space for my signature. All that money. All that risk.

And him.

Watching. Waiting.

Then, almost gently, Damien pushed a polished silver pen toward me. It rolled across the table and stopped against my fingers.

“Decide,” he said. “Now.”

My breath hitched. “I need more than five minutes to decide something that could ruin my life.”

“It won’t ruin it,” he said softly. “It will change it.”

“That’s… somehow worse.”

He chuckled once — low, deep, unsettling. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re insane.”

“Probably.”

Silence thickened between us again, heavy and suffocating. My heartbeat felt like thunder inside my ribcage.

Slowly, painfully, I picked up the contract again. My eyes scanned the lines I had already read, but they didn’t look less terrifying the second time.

“You really don’t see anything wrong with this?” I asked quietly.

His answer was immediate. “No.”

“That’s crazy.”

“That’s honesty.”

“And like I said earlier, what if I say no?” My voice trembled before I could stop it.

Damien’s jaw flexed. “You won’t.”

“You sound very sure.”

“I am.” He reached out and gently tucked a loose strand of my hair behind my ear, his fingers grazing my skin. “Because you need this more than you fear it.”

The words hit hard. Too hard.

The truth of them hurt.

He leaned back, giving me the illusion of space, but his gaze didn’t let me go for even a second. His presence wrapped around me like invisible chains.

I stared at the contract again.

Three months. Three months to buy my freedom. Three months with a man who terrified me, intrigued me, and pulled me in like gravity.

Three months that could break me… or build me.

My hand trembled as I reached for the pen.

I didn’t sign yet. I just held it. It felt heavier than it should have, like it carried the weight of fate itself.

Damien’s eyes darkened as he watched me.

Then he did something that made my entire body jolt.

He reached out…and covered my fingers with his own.

His touch was warm, steady, possessive.

“Once you sign, Selene,” he murmured, leaning in until his breath brushed my lips, “You belong to me.”

My breath caught.

My pulse spiked.

And for the first time…I wasn’t sure if I wanted to run or write my own undoing on the dotted line.