003

Aurora’s POV

I thought about Mr. Vale’s words until they stopped sounding like a choice.

Eight hundred and fifty million dollars was not money I had ever held.

It was not money I had ever imagined I could earn.

Callum had not called. He had not texted. I tried his number once in the dark and the call died before the first ring.

Blocked.

The things he said yesterday had not come out of nowhere. They had sounded stored. Like he had been waiting for a reason to throw them at me.

I tried not to think about his face. The disgust. Every time it came back, something in my chest tore a little more.

At seven in the morning I stood in front of that house again.

I was not here to see Callum. I was not here to apologize. I was here for his father. I was here to take money from a man I had met once.

The shame sat on my tongue like metal.

Was there another door after this one? I already knew the answer.

The same maid opened the door.

Confusion crossed her face when she saw me.

“Good morning, Miss Aurora. Mr. Callum did not mention anything. Do you have an appointment with him?”

“No. I’m here because Mr. Vale asked me to come.”

“Mr. Vale?” She recovered quickly. “All right. Follow me.”

She led me down a long hall to a door that did not belong in a home.

Tall. Heavy. Dark wood that looked like it could keep secrets.

She knocked.

“Good morning, Mr. Vale. Miss Aurora is here. She said you asked her to come.”

A lock turned. The door opened on its own. No one stood behind it. The maid nodded for me to go in and left me there.

My pulse jumped. A man who opened doors without touching them was not a man I understood.

I stepped inside.

Gideon Vale stood at a wide window with a paper in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

Morning light cut across his shoulders. He did not turn right away.

“Sit.”

It was not a request. His voice was colder than yesterday.

I sat. He walked over and set the paper on the table in front of me, then stepped back.

“What is this, Mr. Vale?”

“Read. Carefully.”

The heading was printed in clean black letters.

One-Year Employment Contract
Personal Assistant to Mr. Gideon Vale

My mouth went dry.

“A personal assistant? Me? Is this the condition? I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t come here for a job. I need money and—”

I stopped.

He was looking at me. He had not raised his voice. He had not moved closer.

Still, his eyes felt like they reached past my skin. I forgot the rest of the sentence.

“I need a personal assistant,” he said.

“You need money. I will clear the debt the moment you sign. Your only task is to follow my orders for one year. After that, you can have your life back.”

“I’ve never been anyone’s assistant. I don’t know if I can do that for you.”

“Yes, you can.” He left his place by the window. “Do you have the option of not being able to?”

He walked behind my chair and stopped there. I could not see him. I could only hear him breathe.

My heart slammed so hard I thought he might hear it too.

His voice came close to my ear.

“Unless you want them to sell your body in five days.”

I flinched.

He returned to his chair, crushed the cigarette in the ashtray, and looked at me again.

“Choose.”

I stared at the contract. One signature and the debt would be gone.

No more Rourke. No more week. No more threat hanging over my bed. That was all I let myself think.

I signed.

He slid an envelope across the table.

“What is this?”

“Open it at home. You can leave now.”

That was it. No handshake. No explanation. I stood on legs that did not feel steady.

“Thank you, Mr. Vale. I don’t know what I can do, but I will do my best to repay everything I owe you.”

The words left my mouth clean. I did not know then that I would hate them later.

The maid did not walk me out. The house felt even larger on the way to the door. Callum was nowhere. I was glad. I was also not glad. Both things sat in me at once.

At my apartment the broken front door had been tied shut with a cheap rope a neighbor must have added out of annoyance, not kindness.

I sat on my bed, tore the envelope open, and shook out what was inside.

A black card.

A folded schedule.

The card had my name already printed on it. Aurora Brennan. I turned it over like it might explain itself. It did not.

I opened the schedule.

Days. Hours. Addresses I did not recognize. Pick-up times. A note in the same cold print as the contract: You will be ready. You will not be late. You will not ask why.

My eyes stopped on Friday.

Friday, 9:00 p.m. — Red Room

I read it twice.

Red Room.

No address under it. No description.

Just those two words, sitting on the page like they already knew more about my year than I did.

I set the paper down.

What was that?