THE CONDITIONS

The following morning, Aria lay on her slim dorm mattress, gazing at the faint fissure in the ceiling. Luca’s card rested on her chest as if it carried an immense burden.

Once you’re in, there’s no way out.

She hadn’t told anyone. Who would she tell? The few friends she’d had freshman year were long gone pushed away by her empty excuses for missed parties, missed coffee dates, and forgotten everything. Her roommates already thought she was half a ghost. Maybe they were right.

She repeatedly turned the card until the ink smudged against her thumb. No way out. Her mother’s voice rose in her mind: Keep your pride. But pride didn’t unlock cell doors. Pride didn’t erase debt.

By noon, she was on a bus rattling through the city’s richest district. Each mile made her more certain she’d stepped off a cliff with her eyes shut. The address he’d given her was an entire building, sleek glass, trimmed hedges, a doorman who barely looked at her ratty coat before waving her inside. The lobby was hushed marble and fresh cut lilies.

A single folder waited for her at the front desk, her name written in that same cold, elegant print: Miss Lane. She pressed her back against a marble pillar to read it.

The contract was thicker than any textbook she’d ever owned. And worse. So much worse.

No boyfriend. No intimacy. No drinking, no smoking, no late nights. No skipping appointments. Routine tests. Weekly check-ins. DNA waivers.

She flipped page after page, skimming the legalese, her breath catching when she read the line:

The child conceived shall be the sole legal property and heir of Luca Cross.

Her stomach twisted.

And there, tucked near the end, were the numbers that made her feel both sick and relieved.

$25,000 upon proof of conception. $25,000 upon successful live birth.

It was all she needed…her parents’ freedom in black and white. She squeezed her eyes shut. Her hands trembled as she flipped to the last page. The signature line waited like an open vein.

She dug the cheap pen out of her pocket and signed her name. The ink bled through the page.

When she set the folder back on the desk, the doorman only nodded once.

“Mr. Cross will expect you tonight.”

She packed everything she owned in one faded suitcase: two pairs of jeans, a handful of thrifted tops, and her textbooks she doubted she’d ever open them again. She left her dorm keys on her pillow; she wouldn’t be back. Not for a long time.

The flyer she’d torn from the bus stop floated out from under her mattress when she lifted it. She almost laughed. It looked so innocent. She crushed it in her fist.

Her roommates watched her carry her bag out, smirks curling their lips.

“Running away with your sugar daddy, Aria?”

She said nothing. There was nothing left to say.

A town car waited at the curb. The driver, a graying man in a crisp suit, offered her a polite nod but no smile. The building where Luca lived perched on the city’s edge like a throne glass and steel, balconies overlooking the skyline that seemed to stretch forever.

A doorman took her bag with gloved hands. Inside, polished floors gleamed under her boots, her reflection fractured in the glossy stone. The elevator carried her to the penthouse with a soft, final ding.

Maria, the same warm-eyed housekeeper from her interview, met her at the door. She took Aria’s coat and offered tea, she didn’t touch it.

“He’s waiting in his office,” Maria said softly. “He won’t bite.”

Aria almost laughed. Won’t he?

The office smelled expensive: leather and cedar. Luca sat behind a desk that looked like it could seat twelve. He wore a black shirt now, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a watch that probably cost her entire debt. His gaze found her the moment she stepped inside.

He didn’t rise. He didn’t need to.

“You signed,” he said.

She held her chin up. “I did.”

“Any regrets?”

His question slithered under her skin. She clutched her fingers behind her back so he wouldn’t see them tremble.

“No.”

He studied her like he could see through the lie.

“Good. You’ll live here from today on,” he said, voice smooth as marble. “Appointments are scheduled. My driver will take you. Maria will bring your meals. Any… deviation, and the deal is void.”

She flinched. “I’m not stupid.”

“No,” he murmured, his eyes drifting down her throat like a touch. “You’re not stupid. Just desperate.”

Aria’s mouth fell open. Heat flared in her cheeks rage or shame, she couldn’t tell. She spun for the door, needing distance. His voice stopped her cold.

“Aria.”

She turned halfway, her hand on the frame.

“Don’t mistake this for freedom,” Luca said, that ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “You’re here because you’re the perfect candidate. Don’t ruin it.”

She hated how those words lodged in her chest. Perfect candidate. Like she was a prize cow. A guaranteed yield.

She didn’t sleep that night. She spent the next few days drifting through the penthouse like a ghost. Maria brought her soft pajamas she’d never own herself. Fresh sheets. Warm meals she could barely swallow.

She kept to the guest room she’d been given, its windows overlooking the glittering city. She wondered if she could just… forget. Pretend she was anywhere else.

But every hallway smelled like him, his cologne, his quiet footsteps at night. She heard his voice through the walls when he took meetings at all hours, that low, controlled murmur that made her feel like he ran the world while she tried not to vanish inside it.

One night, restless and wired with nerves, she crept down the hall to find a glass of water. The lights were dim. The air smelled faintly of fresh ink and the sweet bite of whiskey.

The door to his office was ajar. She told herself not to look. Not to step inside. But the edge of a folder lay half-open on the desk, her name on the tab in his precise handwriting.

Her pulse stuttered. She stepped closer. The file was thick, papers fanned out like secrets. She scanned the top page, medical tests she vaguely remembered signing. Then her eyes fell to a note at the margin, his dark scrawl unmistakable:

Perfect candidate. Broke. No family to interfere. Desperate enough to comply. No risk of breach.

She read it twice. The words cut sharper each time. No family to interfere. No risk of breach.

So that’s what she was to him..a risk assessment. A debt with legs and a womb.

She shoved the folder shut, her heart slamming so hard she thought she might faint. When she turned, Luca was there leaning against the doorframe, sleeves rolled, eyes shadowed with something she couldn’t name.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, voice almost gentle. The chill in it made her shiver.

“You picked me because I’m easy,” she hissed. “Because I’m too poor to say no.”

He pushed off the frame and stalked toward her. She stepped back until the desk hit her hips.

“Is that what you think?” His eyes glittered in the lamplight dangerous, amused. “That you’re just easy?”

She hated how her breath caught.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Aria. You’re not special. You’re just perfect for what I need.”

The words stung more than they should’ve. He leaned in, his voice a dark promise against her ear.

“So don’t make me regret choosing you.”

She wanted to slap him. To shove him away. But her hands fisted at her sides instead powerless.

Luca’s mouth twitched, a cruel, amused pity crossing his face before he stepped back.

“Sleep tight, sweetheart. Tomorrow, we begin.”

Aria pressed her palms to the desk after he left, the word perfect echoing in her skull like a curse. She told herself she’d do anything to save her family. She didn’t know she’d sold every piece of herself in the bargain.