Chapter Three: Terms & Conditions

(Noah's POV)

If you ever find yourself handcuffed in a billionaire’s penthouse, staring at a shirtless man who smells like dominance and danger, do me a favor:

Don’t agree to anything before asking where the hell the bathroom is.

Because me? I said yes to working for this guy, and now I'm still in the same position—cuffed, confused, and low-key kind of aroused. And I still don’t know where to pee.

Lucien hasn’t left.

He sits across from me in a leather armchair now, legs crossed like a painting, sipping his wine like this is just another Tuesday where he kidnaps morally ambiguous internet boys.

"Let's discuss your contract," he says, tapping the rim of his glass.

"You mean like... benefits and vacation days?" I deadpan.

He doesn’t smile. But his lips twitch. That’s something.

"You’ll hack for me. Exclusively. No freelancing. No games. In return, I offer full protection, housing, and access to tech even the NSA would weep for.”

"Cool. So, hacker-in-residence-slash-digital-prisoner."

Lucien lifts a brow. “You're not a prisoner, Noah.”

I rattle the cuffs.

Yet.

He chuckles low in his throat, sets the glass down with a quiet clink.

"Living arrangements are part of the agreement. You’ll stay here."

I blink. “Here? As in, in this serial killer IKEA palace?”

His gaze flicks up and down my body, like he’s deciding whether I’d clash with the drapes. “Yes.”

“I snore.”

“I like noise.”

“I hog blankets.”

“You won’t need any.”

I blink again. “Why does that sound threatening?”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Because everything I say is.”

My spine prickles.

Not in a bad way.

In a brain is confused because danger is hot kind of way.

He stands. Walks behind me slowly.

I stiffen.

His fingers graze the chain of the cuffs, then release the lock with a small click.

My wrists sting with returning blood flow. I rub them as he moves to the center of the room, gesturing to the space like a magician unveiling a trick.

“This is your new world, Noah.”

I eye the massive glass walls, the marble floors, the too-clean minimalist aesthetic. “It’s giving James Bond villain. I feel underdressed.”

“You are.”

He turns toward me. Something’s changed in his posture—less relaxed, more calculated. Like he’s shifting gears in a game I don’t understand yet.

“Tell me,” he says slowly, “how far are you willing to go for survival?”

I snort. “I’d marry a pigeon if it had health insurance.”

Lucien doesn’t laugh. His head tilts slightly. “What about obedience?”

“Depends. Are we talking ‘eat your vegetables’ obedience or ‘call me Daddy’ obedience?”

That gets him.

His eyes flash.

He walks back over—closer this time. Not touching, but looming. Like he’s deliberately testing the space between us.

“I’m a man who values order,” he says quietly. “Discipline. Control.”

“Big shock there.”

“Do you know what a D/s dynamic is?”

My mouth goes dry.

I’ve read things. Browsed things. Been online for too long to not know.

“I’m familiar,” I say slowly. “Why?”

He takes a step forward.

I don’t move.

“I’ve found,” he says, “that the best way to train brilliance... is through structure.”

Another step.

My heart is beating like a war drum.

“You’re saying you want to... what? Dom me into hacking for you?”

He smiles slightly. “Not quite. But I need to know how you respond to rules. Boundaries. Expectations.”

I swallow.

"You're testing me."

“Yes.”

He gestures to the floor.

“Kneel.”

The word lands like a bomb in my stomach.

Part of me wants to laugh. Run. Bolt for the gold-trimmed door like a feral raccoon.

The other part?

Wants to see what happens if I do it.

I stare at him. He’s so calm. So sure I won’t say no.

“I’m not a submissive,” I mutter.

“No,” he agrees. “You’re defiant. Smart. Reckless.”

He pauses.

“I like that.”

I blink. “You’re really blurring the HR lines here, boss.”

He steps closer.

Now he’s inches away.

I can see the shadow of stubble along his jaw, the glint of something ancient in his eyes.

“I won’t touch you without permission,” he says. “But I will command you.”

My breath stutters.

“I want you sharp. Fast. Useful. But I also want you focused. And obedience, Noah, can sharpen the mind in ways you’ve never imagined.”

My knees feel shaky. My hands are fists in my lap.

“Are we still talking about hacking?” I rasp.

Lucien chuckles softly. “Mostly.”

He reaches out.

And then—

His fingers brush up the column of my throat.

Slow. Deliberate.

A ghost of pressure. Just enough to feel the heat of his skin. The implied ownership.

I freeze.

Everything inside me—every survival instinct—screams run.

But I don’t move.

Because underneath all the adrenaline and tension, there’s something else growing in my chest.

Curiosity.

Lucien smiles.

That slow, dangerous smile that means he’s gotten exactly what he wanted.

"Lesson one," he murmurs. "You obey, you thrive. You resist..."

He tilts his head. “Well. Let’s not spoil the fun.”

I’m still holding my breath.

Lucien’s fingers drift back from my throat like they were never there, like that single touch wasn’t an earthquake under my skin. He steps away — not far, but enough that I can breathe again. Sort of.

“So,” I rasp, “is this the part where you start monologuing your evil plan and I escape through the ventilation system?”

He hums, walking toward a control panel on the wall. “If you can find a vent in this penthouse, I’ll let you go.”

I glance around.

Glass. Steel. Stone.

No damn vents.

Figures.

He turns back around, hands in his pockets now — casual, but calculated. “You see, Noah, I don’t want a servant. Or a slave. Or a hostage.”

“Oh good. So the chains were just… hospitality?”

“I want something harder to find.”

His voice dips.

“A willing weapon.”

My eyebrows do a dance. “Cool. Creepy. And a little poetic.”

“I want someone brilliant,” he continues, circling me like a shark in silk. “Unpredictable. Sharp enough to outpace the threats I can’t predict.”

“So I’m your chaos consultant.”

“You’re my investment.”

He stops in front of me again, gazing down like I’m a chess piece he hasn’t quite placed yet.

“And I intend to make you valuable, Noah. To yourself, first.”

I frown. “You make that sound like you’re doing me a favor.”

“Aren’t I?”

“You kidnapped me.”

He smiles.

“Would you rather I’d killed you?”

My mouth opens, then closes.

Okay. Fair point.

He walks over to the dining table — all glass and chrome — and picks up a small black remote. Presses a button.

Suddenly, the lights shift.

Softer. Dimmer.

I realize how quiet it is up here. No street noise. No neighbors. Just us. Me — the snarky gremlin in sweats. Him — barefoot and half-naked, drinking red wine like a Greek god who collects firewalls for sport.

Lucien turns back to me and, very casually, says:

“Sit. Not on the couch. On the floor.”

I blink.

He says it like it’s a suggestion, but the air in the room tightens around the word.

Not a command. Not quite.

But my legs twitch anyway.

“What is this, some sort of rich people power move?” I mutter, shifting my weight.

Lucien stays quiet.

His gaze is steady.

Unblinking.

I hate silence. Always have. It makes you feel like your own thoughts are too loud.

So, stupidly, I talk again. “You know, I have a spine. Kneeling isn't—”

“It’s not about submission,” he interrupts, voice smooth. “It’s about grounding.”

I scoff.

“Your mind is chaotic,” he continues. “Sharp, but scattered. Loud. Obnoxious. Untamed.”

He pauses.

“You fight too hard. You think that’s what keeps you alive.”

“It has,” I say.

“And what has it cost you?”

That shuts me up.

Lucien walks closer again. Not hovering. Not looming. Just… there. Big and still and impossibly focused.

“Try it, Noah,” he murmurs. “Kneel. Sit. See what happens when you stop running.”

“I’m not running.”

“You never stopped.”

His voice is velvet — no edge, no bite — and somehow that makes it worse. It’s not a threat. It’s an invitation. The kind you don’t realize you’re accepting until your hand’s already on the doorknob.

“You think I can’t control you,” he says. “But I don’t have to.”

I swallow. My throat feels dry.

My knees twitch again.

I want to laugh at myself. It’s just sitting. It’s not a cult. He’s not chanting spells.

And yet—

Without even realizing, my hands rest on my thighs.

And slowly, like my body already decided and just waited for my brain to catch up…

I sink to the floor.

Knees on the cold marble.

Back straight.

Eyes level with Lucien’s stomach.

The position hits me all at once.

I froze.

What the hell?

He doesn’t gloat.

He doesn’t smirk.

He just… nods.

Like he knew I’d do it. Not because he forced me. But because he understood me better than I do myself.

“How do you feel?” he asks.

I stare ahead.

“I feel like I just lost a game I didn’t know I was playing.”

Lucien crouches.

We’re eye to eye now.

And God help me, he’s even prettier up close.

His voice drops low — intimate. Intense.

“You didn’t lose. You learned. That your body craves structure. That your mind works better when your pride shuts up.”

His fingers brush my hair back from my forehead. Soft. Careful. Like he’s handling something rare.

“Keep that in mind,” he murmurs.

Then he stands.

And just like that — the moment’s gone.

My knees ache.

My brain buzzes.

I hate how calm I feel.

Like for once, I’m not spinning in six directions at once.

I hate that I like it.

Lucien walks to the side wall and presses another button. A doorway appears — hidden behind a pane of mirrored glass.

“Your room is down this hall. Third door.”

I scramble to my feet, cheeks flushed, voice dry. “That’s it? I just… go?”

He glances over his shoulder. “Unless you want to sleep on the floor.”

I grumble something inappropriate and shuffle past him, eyes glued to the ground like a kid caught looking at p**n in church.

Behind me, Lucien’s voice trails out, low and amused:

“Lesson two starts tomorrow, Noah.”