Chapter 2

**ARIA**

I packed up my stuff in the dark.

There was no need to turn on the lights. Everything I owned fit into one bag anyway. 

Five years of clawing my way through community college and dead end jobs and this was all I had to show for it: three pairs of jeans, some sweaters, underwear that had seen better days, and a photograph of my mother I couldn't leave behind.

The photograph went in first. Mom smiling, healthy, before the cancer ate her alive and Dad gambled away her treatment money. 

I sat on the edge of my bed holding that picture, throat tight, wondering what she'd think if she could see me now. Would she tell me to run? To let Dad face the consequences of his own fucking mistakes?

Or would she understand why I couldn't?

My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number, ‘Car arrives at 11:45 PM. Be ready. One bag only. Leave all communication devices.’

Fifteen minutes left.

I shoved the rest of my clothes into the bag, zipped it shut, and stood in the center of my apartment one last time. 

One room, paint peeling off, a mattress on the floor and a kitchen that barely qualified as a kitchen. It wasn't much but it was mine and after tonight it wouldn't.

I'd have nothing except whatever my new master decided to give me.

The knock came at exactly 11:45.

I opened the door to find a man in a black suit. There wasn't any expression on his face. He held out his hand for my bag.

"Miss Finner. It's time."

No introduction. No small talk. Just cold efficiency, like I was a package being delivered.

I handed him the bag and followed him down the stairs, leaving my keys on the counter, leaving my phone charging by the bed, leaving behind every piece of my life that mattered.

The car was black and sleek and probably cost more than my life at this point. He opened the rear door and I climbed in, my hands shaking so badly I had to clench them into fists.

The door closed.

The locks engaged with a soft click.

And as the car pulled away from my apartment building I realized that this was really happening. I was becoming a slave for someone I didn't even know.

---

The car smelled like leather and money and something else I couldn't name. Power, maybe. Or the kind of control that didn't need to announce itself.

I sat in the back seat watching the city blur past tinted windows so dark I could barely see out. Every streetlight was a smear of gold, every building a shadow, and I felt like I was disappearing with every mile we traveled.

The driver hadn't spoken since we left. Hadn't even looked at me in the rearview mirror. 

My throat felt tight without my phone, without any connection to the outside world. They'd taken everything to make sure I had no way to call for help, no way to document what happened next, no way to prove I even existed anymore.

I pressed my forehead against the cool glass and tried not to think about what came next.

I closed my eyes tightly and tried not to think about who was behind all this.

Tried not to wonder what service I'd actually be giving. And what would happen when I refused to obey.

The thought made my stomach twist with fear.

I'd always played it safe. Good grades, steady job, careful relationships.

But whosoever this person was, I already knew he was the opposite of safe.

---

We left the main streets behind, climbing into the hills where the houses grew larger and farther apart, hidden behind gates and walls and the kind of security that said wealth and privacy and don't even think about it.

The car slowed, turning onto a private road lined with trees that blocked out the streetlights. My pulse kicked higher. We passed through a gate that opened automatically, they'd been expecting us.

Then the trees cleared and I saw it.

The penthouse rose above the city like a throne, all glass and steel and sharp modern lines. Lights glowed from within, warm against the darkness, and I could see the city sprawled below like something owned.

The car pulled to a stop in front of massive double doors.

My hands were shaking.

The driver got out first, moved around to open my door with the same expressionless face. He offered his hand and I took it without thinking, legs unsteady as I stepped onto smooth pavement.

The night air was cool, carrying the scent of jasmine and something expensive burning, a fire maybe, somewhere inside. I stood there with my bag at my feet, staring up at the building that would be my prison for the next year.

A prison that looked like heaven.

A woman appeared in the doorway, elegant and sharp in a black dress that hugged her curves. Mid forties maybe, with dark hair pulled and eyes that assessed me in one sweeping glance.

She didn't look impressed.

She gestured for me to follow and turned without waiting. I grabbed my bag and walked through those massive doors into an entrance hall that made my breath catch. White marble floors, a chandelier that looked like it belonged in a palace, art on the walls that I recognized from textbooks. Real art. Millions of dollars worth of real fucking art just hanging there like it was nothing.

The woman led me through the hall toward a sweeping staircase, her heels clicking against the marble in a rhythm that felt like a countdown. We went the stairs, and walked down a hallway lined with floor to ceiling windows on one side showing the glittering city below.

She stopped at a door near the end and opened it, standing aside to let me enter.

I stepped inside and my jaw dropped.

The room was bigger than my entire apartment. King size bed with silk sheets, floor to ceiling windows with a view that made my chest ache, a bathroom I could see through an open door that had a tub the size of a small pool. Everything was clean lines and expensive taste and so far beyond anything I'd ever experienced that I wanted to laugh or cry or both.

The woman walked to a set of double doors and opened them, revealing a closet full of clothes that weren't mine. Short skirts, tight dresses, shirts that would show too much skin. Everything black or white or deep red. Everything expensive. Everything designed to make me look like exactly what I was.

Property.

She pointed to the clothes, then to me, her meaning clear. Wear these. Not what you brought.

Then she left, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

I stood in the center of that beautiful room, surrounded by luxury I'd never earned, wearing jeans and a sweater that suddenly felt shabby and wrong, and tried to breathe through the panic clawing at my chest.

This was real. This was happening.

I walked to the window, pressed my palms against the cool glass, and stared out at the city below. Somewhere down there was my apartment, my old life, the woman I used to be. She felt like a stranger now.

A soft chime made me jump. I turned to see a screen on the wall by the door, glowing with a message: Mr. Black requests your presence. Fifth door on the left. Now.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

This was it.

I looked down at myself, jeans and an old sweater, and knew I should change into something from that closet. I needed to atleast try to make myself presentable, attractive, whatever the hell he expected.

But fuck him. Fuck his rules and his money and his assumption that he could just keep me in his house.

I walked out of the room in my own clothes, head high even though my hands were shaking, and followed the hallway to the fifth door on the left.

It was slightly ajar. Light spilled through the gap, dim and golden, like candlelight or a single lamp burning low.

I knocked.

No response came from the inside. Maybe he hadn't heard me, maybe he wasn't even in there.

I peeked a bit into the office from the small gap in the door. I couldn't see anything because the room was completely dark.

“Come here.”

My breath caught.