The Hunt

The rain wouldn’t stop falling. Neither did Sienna’s heart, hammering against her ribs like it wanted to escape. She stood outside the skyscraper with soaked heels and a soul ten seconds from breaking. The towering glass doors reflected her desperation like a cruel mirror.

She had no choice.

The receptionist barely glanced up before letting her through. “Top floor,” the woman said. “He’s expecting you.”

Of course he was.

She stepped into the private elevator, clutching the brown envelope in her bag like it contained her dignity—because it did. Everything she had left was inside it: her resume, her references, and the last ounce of pride she hadn’t already sold.

When the doors opened, the world changed. The office was cold, sleek, and painfully expensive. The kind of place where dreams came to die or get rewritten by men like him.

Damien Blackwood sat behind a massive black desk, his elbows resting casually on the glass surface. He didn’t rise when she entered. He didn’t smile. He just watched her with eyes so dark they swallowed everything.

“You’re late,” he said.

Sienna swallowed hard. “The storm—”

“I don’t care,” he cut in smoothly. “Sit.”

She sat.

For a moment, there was only silence. The kind that suffocates. Then he reached for a folder and slid it across the table toward her.

She hesitated. “What is this?”

“The deal.”

Her pulse skipped. “I thought this was an interview.”

He leaned forward, his stare cutting straight through her. “No, Miss Carter. This is a transaction. You want something from me. And I always get something in return.”

Her throat tightened. “I need the loan. Just until my mother’s surgery is over. I swear I’ll pay you back—”

“You won’t,” he said bluntly. “You don’t have that kind of money. But I can give it to you anyway. Under one condition.”

Sienna’s voice dropped. “What condition?”

“You become mine. For six months.”

Her stomach dropped.

“Your job will be simple,” he went on. “Attend events with me. Smile when I tell you to. Act like you belong to me. And never forget that I own the terms of this arrangement.”

“Are you asking me to pretend to be your—”

“Fiancée. Girlfriend. Trophy. Call it what you like,” he said, rising from his chair. He walked around the desk until he stood behind her, his voice low and dangerously close to her ear. “But when we walk out in public, the world will think you’re mine. And behind closed doors… you’ll act like it too.”

She turned sharply to face him. “This isn’t fair.”

Damien smirked. “Neither is life.”

She looked down at the contract. Her hands trembled as she picked it up.

“If I sign this,” she said softly, “what happens to me?”

“You’ll get your mother’s surgery. Your brother’s charges will disappear. And your life, as you know it, will end.”

Sienna felt tears burn her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Her world was collapsing. Her bank account was empty. Her mother was dying. And this man was her only lifeline.

“You said six months?”

“Exactly.”

“And after that… you let me go?”

Damien’s expression didn’t change. “If I feel like it.”

Her fingers hovered over the pen. A thousand thoughts raced through her mind. This was madness. But so was poverty. So was begging. So was watching her mother die slowly because she couldn’t afford a hospital bed.

Damien placed the pen beside her hand.

“Last chance, sweetheart.”

She took a breath. Her lungs trembled. Then, with shaking fingers and a soul screaming no, she signed.

The moment her name bled onto the paper, Damien reached out and took the contract back. He didn’t smile. He didn’t congratulate her. He just folded it neatly and slipped it into his drawer.

“You belong to me now.”

Sienna stood, but her knees almost gave out. She steadied herself against the chair, her voice barely above a whisper. “When do we start?”

His gaze trailed over her. Slow. Possessive.

“Now.”