The rain lashed against the floor-to-ceiling glass of the Vance Tower penthouse, turning the city lights below into a blurred, neon smear. Inside, the air was cold, smelling of expensive sandalwood and the sharp, metallic tang of a looming storm.
Maya's hands were shoved deep into the pockets of her worn leather jacket, mostly to hide the way they were shaking. She had been led here in silence by Sloane, a woman who seemed carved out of granite and shadows. Sloane stood behind her now, a heavy, suffocating presence that made the small of Maya's back tingle with a nervous, primal heat.
"Sit," a voice commanded.
It was a low, velvet rasp that didn't request—it dictated. Vivienne Vance sat behind a massive mahogany desk, the glow of a tablet illuminating the sharp, predatory lines of her face. She didn't look up, her red-tipped fingers scrolling through what Maya knew was her life's failures: the debts, the unlicensed tech jobs, the desperate corners she'd been backed into.
"I've read your file, Maya," Vivienne murmured, finally lifting her gaze. Her eyes were a cold, piercing blue that seemed to strip Maya of her clothes and her pride all at once. "You're brilliant. You're also a thief. But more importantly, you're mine."
Vivienne slid a thick, heavy-stock paper across the desk. It wasn't a standard employment contract.
"Your brother's debt to the syndicate? I bought it this morning," Vivienne said, leaning forward. The scent of her perfume—something floral but dangerous—hit Maya like a physical blow. "Which means I own your time, your skills, and your presence until I say otherwise. You will work on my private server, you will live in the guest suite under Sloane's... constant supervision, and you will speak to no one."
Maya felt Sloane's hand rest heavily on her shoulder—a warning and a claim. The grip was firm, the leather of Sloane's glove creaking slightly in the silent room.
"And if I refuse?" Maya's voice was dry, barely a whisper.
Vivienne stood up, her silk dress clinging to her frame as she walked around the desk. She stopped inches from Maya, her presence intimidatingly close. She reached out, her cool fingers tilting Maya's chin upward.
"Then Sloane will show you exactly how I treat people who waste my investments," Vivienne whispered, her thumb brushing Maya's lower lip in a gesture that was terrifyingly intimate. "Sign the paper, Maya. Before I decide to increase the interest."
Maya looked from Vivienne's cold, hungry eyes to the silent, watchful shadow of Sloane behind her. She took the pen.
She wasn't just signing a contract. She was signing herself away.