The contract smelled like ink and something colder, like rain trapped in stone.
Elara Noctis stared at the final page, her fingers hovering above the signature line as if it might bite her. The paper was thick, too thick for a standard employment agreement. Cream-colored and faintly warm, with letters pressed so deeply into the surface that she could feel them even without touching.
Across the table, the man who owned the building watched her in silence.
Lucien Viremont did not rush people. He did not persuade. He waited, as if time itself bent around his patience.
The office sat at the very top of Viremont Tower, a place Elara had never imagined stepping into until an hour ago. Floor-to-ceiling glass revealed the city spread beneath them, glittering and alive, unaware that something ancient was watching from above. The room smelled of leather, steel, and faint spice. Everything in it looked expensive enough to buy her freedom ten times over.
Her freedom. That was the lie she kept repeating.
"Is there a problem, Miss Noctis?" Lucien's voice was low, smooth, and controlled, the kind of sound that settled under the skin rather than passing through the ears.
Elara lifted her gaze.
He was devastatingly handsome in a way that felt deliberate. Dark hair cut with precision. Sharp cheekbones. Eyes the color of storm clouds caught in silver light. He wore a black suit tailored so perfectly it seemed grown rather than sewn. No tie. No unnecessary ornament. Just power, standing calmly on the other side of a table that probably cost more than her entire student loan balance.
She swallowed. "I was told this was a junior analyst position."
Lucien inclined his head slightly. "It is."
Her fingers tightened around the pen. "Then why does the contract read like a marriage vow?"
Something flickered behind his eyes. Not amusement. Not irritation. Interest.
"The language is standard for my company," he said. "We value loyalty."
Loyalty. The word pressed against her chest like a weight.
Elara had read the contract three times already. Every clause was airtight. Exclusive employment. Residential requirement. Non-disclosure penalties severe enough to ruin her for life. A term length of five years, renewable at the discretion of the employer.
At the discretion of Lucien Viremont.
She had tried to stand earlier. Her legs had locked, as if the room itself had decided she was not leaving yet.
"This is… excessive," she said carefully.
Lucien leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. The city lights reflected faintly in his eyes, turning them almost luminous. "You applied to Viremont Global knowing our reputation."
She had applied because the email promised debt erasure, housing, and a salary that sounded fictional. Because the sender knew her name, her grades, and her overdue notices. Because the subject line had read: We Can Fix This.
She had not expected the sender to look like a god carved from shadow.
"I didn't know I would be signing my life away," Elara said.
A pause. A measured breath.
"You already have," Lucien replied calmly. "I am offering you terms."
Her pulse spiked. "That is not how employment works."
A faint smile touched his lips. It did not reach his eyes. "In my world, it is."
Her world. The words echoed unpleasantly.
Elara pushed the contract away. "I need time."
Lucien's gaze sharpened, not angry, but focused in a way that made the air feel denser. "You have had time."
"I got this offer yesterday."
"And your landlord filed eviction this morning," Lucien said.
Her breath caught.
"I do not enjoy repeating myself," he continued. "You need stability. Protection. Resources. I need you in my employ. This contract satisfies both."
"How do you know about my landlord?" she asked.
"Because nothing of importance escapes my notice."
The answer was delivered without arrogance. Without threat. As if it were simply a fact of the universe.
Elara stood abruptly, chair scraping against polished marble. "This was a mistake."
She took one step toward the door.
The lights dimmed.
Not flickered. Not failed. Dimmed, as if someone had lowered the brightness of the world itself.
Elara froze.
Lucien had not moved.
"Sit down," he said.
The command was not loud. It was not harsh. It did not need to be.
Her knees bent.
She sat.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, every instinct screaming at her to run, to scream, to do something. But her body had obeyed him without consent, without hesitation.
Lucien's eyes darkened, silver glow threading through the gray.
"Interesting," he murmured.
"What did you do to me?" Elara whispered.
He stood.
The distance between them vanished as he came around the desk, footsteps soundless against the floor. Elara's breath shortened with each step he took. When he stopped in front of her, the air smelled colder, sharper. Like rain and iron.
"I issued a directive," Lucien said. "You resisted."
Her hands clenched in her lap. "I did not."
"You did," he corrected. "Most people comply completely. You hesitated."
That did not make sense. None of this did.
"I want to leave," she said, forcing the words past her throat.
Lucien studied her face, as if reading something written beneath her skin. "You can."
Hope flared, fragile and foolish.
"After you sign."
She laughed weakly. "You just mind-controlled me into sitting down."
"I did not," he said. "If I had, you would not be shaking."
She hated that he was right.
Lucien extended the contract toward her again. The pages rustled softly, like something alive settling itself.
"You are not ordinary, Elara Noctis," he said. "You never have been. That is why you are here."
Her name sounded different in his mouth. Weighted. Claimed.
"You don't know me," she said.
"I know your parents died when you were sixteen," Lucien replied. "I know you have worked three jobs while maintaining top academic performance. I know your brother vanished five years ago, and you never stopped looking for him."
Her vision blurred. "Stop."
"I know your bloodline," he continued, voice lowering. "And I know what you are worth."
"What am I worth?" she demanded.
Lucien leaned closer, just enough that she could feel his presence pressing against her senses, heavy and inescapable. "Enough to destabilize a throne."
The room felt suddenly too small.
"I don't want power," Elara said. "I just want to survive."
Lucien straightened. "Then sign."
The pen lay where she had dropped it, black and elegant. Waiting.
Her mind raced. Every warning screamed that this was wrong, that no job came with this kind of pressure, this kind of fear. But beneath the terror was something else. A pull. A quiet certainty that walking away would not save her.
"What happens if I don't?" she asked.
Lucien's expression did not change. "You leave this building. Your debts remain. Your protection ends."
"Protection from what?"
He met her gaze fully now, and for a heartbeat, the city outside the glass seemed very far away.
"From those who already know your name," he said.
Silence fell between them, thick and heavy.
Elara picked up the pen.
Her hand trembled as she scanned the final page. The words blurred together until only one sentence stood out, printed in darker ink than the rest.
Binding Clause: Upon execution, the signee acknowledges an irrevocable bond of service and consent.
Consent.
Her throat tightened. "This isn't legal."
Lucien's voice softened, dangerously so. "It is older than law."
She looked up at him. "If I sign this, do I belong to you?"
Lucien did not answer immediately.
"Yes," he said at last. "And no."
That was not reassuring.
But the alternative was the unknown, and something told her the unknown was already circling.
Elara pressed the pen to the paper.
The moment the ink touched the page, heat flared beneath her skin, sharp and sudden. She gasped, fingers spasming as the letters wrote themselves, her signature flowing faster than she intended.
The room exhaled.
Light surged through the contract, symbols flaring briefly before sinking into the page and vanishing. Elara cried out, clutching her chest as something invisible tightened around her heart, not painful, but absolute.
Lucien inhaled sharply.
When she looked up, his control had cracked.
His eyes burned silver, shadows rippling along the walls behind him as if responding to his presence. His jaw was clenched, hands fisted at his sides, as though restraining himself took effort.
"It is done," he said, voice rougher than before.
Elara's pulse thundered. "What did you just bind me to?"
Lucien stepped closer, close enough now that there was no space left for doubt, for escape, or for denial.
"To me," he said.
The city lights flickered outside.
And somewhere deep within her, something ancient stirred awake.