The pen felt heavier than it should.
Sienna sat at the long, glass-topped table, her back stiff against the leather chair. The skyline glittered beyond the windows like a thousand tiny watchers, indifferent and cold. She wondered if any of those distant people behind the lights could feel what she felt right now—like a bird staring at the open mouth of a cage, knowing the only way forward was to step inside.
Adrian stood at the other end of the table, one hand in his pocket, the other resting lightly against the polished edge. His posture was deceptively casual, but his eyes—those sharp, unreadable eyes—watched her with the precision of a man who never left anything to chance.
Between them lay a document bound in black leather. Its presence seemed louder than the city outside, louder even than her own heartbeat. Every line she'd read had been like a blade—rules dressed up as promises, cages disguised as contracts.
"No digging into his past."
"No contact outside of pre-approved appearances."
"Discretion, always."
Public affection when required. Silence when not. Three months of her life mapped out by his schedule, his rules, his control.
"Read it," he said, his voice smooth but edged with steel. "Twice, if you need to."
She already had. Twice, three times, until the words blurred and her chest tightened. It wasn't that she hadn't understood; it was that she understood all too well.
Her throat felt dry. "Do you make all your arrangements this… clinical?" she asked, forcing her tone to stay steady, her eyes still pinned to the paper.
"Only the important ones."
His answer was stripped of softness. No smile, no apology, no attempt to soothe. It was matter-of-fact, as if she were just another acquisition—something to be signed, sealed, and shelved.
Her jaw tightened. "And if I break a rule?"
For a fraction of a second, something flickered in his gaze. Not anger, not threat—something colder, more final.
"Then you'll wish you hadn't."
The air shifted around them, cooler somehow. Sienna pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling. She wanted to ask what exactly she was signing away besides her name. She wanted to demand why he needed this—why her—but the image of Lila's cracked phone screen flashed in her head, the message written across it like a countdown.
Seven days.
She didn't have the luxury of questions.
Her fingers curled around the pen, grounding herself in the weight of it. "You're sure the debt will be cleared the moment I sign?"
Adrian didn't blink. "It already is."
Her head snapped up. He was watching her, steady, calm.
"I had the payment executed as soon as you agreed," he continued. "The collectors will have no reason to bother your sister again."
A shaky breath escaped before she could stop it. Relief broke through her like a crack in glass, warm and dizzying, filling her with something dangerously close to gratitude.
She hated that. She hated that he could make her feel thankful when this was nothing more than a transaction to him.
"You trust me that much?" she asked, her voice a little sharper than she intended.
"No," Adrian said simply. "I just keep my word."
The words landed heavily, not as reassurance, but as fact.
She lowered her gaze to the page, to the space waiting for her name. It seemed to stretch wider with every passing second, daring her to claim it, binding her even before the ink touched paper.
She closed her eyes for half a heartbeat. In her mind, she saw Lila—her messy bun, her bright grin, the way she always said everything would work out even when it clearly wouldn't. She saw the fear in her sister's eyes when she admitted the debt, the bruises she'd tried to cover.
And then Sienna saw herself, reflected in the car window last night, her face pale with fear, her body rigid with choices she didn't want to make.
Her hand moved before her doubts could talk her out of it.
The pen scratched softly across the paper, her name curling into the white space like it belonged there.
When it was done, silence filled the room, thick and unyielding. Adrian stepped forward, took the document, and closed it with a quiet snap. The sound made her flinch, as if he'd locked a door behind her.
He didn't smile, but something in his expression eased. His shoulders lowered fractionally, like a man ticking off a dangerous item from a very short list.
"Welcome to the arrangement, Miss Cole."
Her fingers tingled as she let the pen go. She stared at her hand, faintly smudged with ink, as if she could scrub away what she'd just done.
"Now what?" she asked, though part of her already knew.
"Now," Adrian said, sliding the folder into a leather case, "you learn how to play your part."
The words landed somewhere between a promise and a warning.
As if on cue, a shadow moved at the doorway. Adrian's driver stepped inside, carrying a small velvet box. He placed it carefully on the table, bowed his head slightly, and retreated without a word.
Adrian opened the box. Inside, a diamond ring caught the light, scattering sparks of fire across the glass table. It looked like it had been waiting for this exact moment.
He lifted it, circled the table, and held it between them. "May I?"
Her breath caught. She hesitated, her hand hovering before finally extending it.
The metal was cool against her skin, the stone a strange mix of elegance and captivity. She felt the weight immediately—delicate, yes, but unyielding.
"There," he murmured, adjusting it so it sat just right. His fingertips brushed hers briefly, sending a shiver she wished she hadn't felt. "Now you look the part."
Her pulse thudded in her ears. "And when do we start pretending?"
His gaze didn't waver. "We're not pretending, Sienna. We're convincing."
The distinction tangled in her chest, unsettling. She didn't know if that made it better or worse.
She glanced toward the window again. The city still sparkled, endless and alive, but the glass between her and it felt thicker now, more like a barrier than a view.
Adrian stepped back, studying her as if assessing whether she would hold up under the spotlight he was about to throw her into.
"Get some rest," he said finally. His voice was calm, but there was no softness in it. "Tomorrow we're seen together. Tonight, you get used to the fact that your life is no longer your own."
Her throat tightened, but she said nothing.
She wanted to tell him she hadn't forgotten—that she knew the moment she signed, she was giving away more than she could ever name. Her choices, her privacy, her freedom. Maybe even her heart, if she wasn't careful.
But she stayed silent.
Instead, she turned her hand under the light, watching the diamond catch and scatter it back in cold flashes. It was beautiful. Stunning, even. But beauty could be cruel. Beauty could bind.
Seven days had turned into three months. And the clock was still ticking.