Chapter 3
Elara did not sit when he told her to.
The chair across from Lucian Blackwood's desk looked expensive and deliberately uncomfortable, the kind designed to remind you who owned the room. She stayed standing instead, fingers clenched around the strap of her bag like it could anchor her to something solid.
Lucian noticed.
He noticed everything.
"Sit," he said again, not louder, not sharper. Just certain.
She didn't move.
"Why am I really here?" Elara asked. Her voice didn't shake, but it wanted to. "Because I didn't apply for this job. I didn't even know it existed."
Lucian leaned back slightly, studying her the way a man studies a locked door, not annoyed by it, just curious about where it might give way.
"You helped me," he said. "People don't do that for free."
"I didn't help you for money."
"I know."
That answer unsettled her more than anything else he could have said.
Lucian stood. He was taller up close, broader than she remembered, his presence filling the space without effort. There was no hurry in the way he moved. No wasted motion. He came around the desk and stopped a careful distance from her, close enough that she could smell him, clean, sharp, and something metallic underneath.
"You don't belong here," he said, almost thoughtfully. "That's obvious. You're not ambitious. You're not reckless. You didn't run to the media when you had the chance. Most people would have."
"I didn't know who you were," Elara said.
Lucian's mouth twitched. "You're lying."
Her breath caught. "I."
"You didn't know my face," he corrected. "But you knew what kind of man rides in armored cars. You hesitated. I remember."
The fact that he remembered that, the pause she'd never admitted even to herself, made her skin prickle.
"So why help me?" he asked.
Elara swallowed. "Because if I'd walked away, I wouldn't have slept again."
Lucian considered that. Slowly, he nodded.
"That," he said, "is exactly why you're here."
She stared at him. "That doesn't make sense."
"It does," he replied. "You have a conscience. It's inconvenient. Dangerous. But rare."
He turned back toward the desk. "Sit."
This time, she did.
Lucian slid a thin folder across the surface toward her. Her name was printed on the tab. Clean. Official. Too prepared.
"Read," he said.
She opened it. The terms were generous. Too generous. A salary that made her stomach twist. Benefits that solved problems she hadn't known how to name out loud.
"This isn't entry-level," she said quietly.
"It is for you."
"That's not how companies work."
Lucian smiled faintly. "This one does."
She looked up at him. "What do you want from me?"
The smile faded.
"I want to answer the question you didn't ask," he said. "What it costs to stay alive in my world."
Something in his tone shifted then. Not threatening. Honest. Which was worse?
"You didn't save a stranger," Lucian continued. "You saved a man people are trying very hard to kill. That makes you a loose end."
Her chest tightened. "Are you saying?"
"I'm saying," he cut in, "that whether you like it or not, you're already involved. This job is not paid. It's insulation."
"From you?" she asked.
Lucian met her gaze. "From everyone else."
Silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable.
Elara closed the folder. "If I say no?"
Lucian didn't answer right away.
"If you say no," he said finally, "nothing bad will happen today."
Today.
The word landed heavily.
"And tomorrow?" she asked.
He shrugged lightly. "The world resumes its usual behavior."
Meaning bills. Pressure. Systems that crushed people like her without noticing.
She stood slowly. "You planned this."
"Yes."
"At least you're honest."
"I find it saves time."
Elara picked up the folder again. Her hands felt numb.
"I don't want special treatment," she said.
"You won't get it," Lucian replied. "You'll get proximity. Visibility. Safety."
"And freedom?"
Lucian's gaze sharpened, just a fraction. "Freedom is a myth."
She looked at him for a long moment, then nodded once.
"Fine," she said. "I'll take the job."
Lucian extended his hand.
She hesitated before taking it.
His grip was firm. Warm. Unyielding.
The deal was done.
Lucian watched her leave his office without looking back.
That, more than anything else, pleased him.
"She's in," his assistant said quietly.
"Yes," Lucian replied. "But she hasn't accepted yet."
The assistant frowned. "She signed."
Lucian turned toward the window. "That wasn't acceptance. That was survival."
Elara spent the rest of the day in a blur.
Orientation without warmth. Faces that smiled too quickly. Eyes that measured her without disguise. She was introduced as "Mr. Blackwood's recommendation," which followed her like a stain. People didn't ask her name twice. They remembered it.
By afternoon, she understood something crucial.
No one here believed she belonged.
Including her.
When she finally stepped out into the evening air, her head throbbed with information she didn't know how to carry. Her phone buzzed.
A message.
Unknown Number: Your mother's medication has been approved. No further action required.
Elara stopped walking.
Her throat tightened.
Another message followed.
Unknown Number: You're welcome.
Her fingers trembled as she typed.
Elara: I didn't ask for this.
The reply came almost immediately.
Unknown Number: You didn't need to.
She stared at the screen.
Elara: This doesn't mean I owe you.
The dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Unknown Number: Everything means something, Ms. Wynn.
She closed her eyes.
Lucian read the exchange from his car.
He did not reply again.
He didn't need to.
Obligation was taking root. Quietly. Invisibly. The most effective kind.
That night, Elara dreamed of rain.
She dreamed of standing at the edge of a road, headlights cutting through the dark. A man lay bleeding at her feet. This time, when she hesitated, someone behind her whispered, Choose carefully.
She woke with her heart racing.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.
A calendar notification had been added.
Tomorrow.
8:00 a.m.
Meeting with L. Blackwood
She stared at the ceiling, the city humming faintly through the walls.
Somewhere between saving a stranger and signing a contract, she had crossed a line she didn't know how to uncross.
And somewhere else, Lucian Blackwood lay awake too, staring into the dark, already adjusting his world around the space she now occupied.
Not because he wanted to.
Because he no longer knew how not to.
The Devil had learned something dangerous.
Mercy had consequences.
And he intended to collect them slowly.