Chapter 5

　　The door's click echoed in the high foyer like a lock snapping shut.

　　The space opened wide—polished stone floor reflecting slanted afternoon light, high ceilings that made every sound bounce, glass walls that turned the outside world into a muted painting of green lawns and distant trees. It smelled clean, and expensive. My boots sounded too loud against the floor. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if it had doubled the moment I crossed the threshold.

　　Damian stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets, watching me like he had all the time in the world. Shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, dark fabric stretched across his forearms. The top button of his shirt was undone. Same gray eyes. Same faint curve to his lips that made my stomach flip in a way I hated.

　　I stopped with my chin raised up. "I need to talk to you."

　　He tilted his head. "You are here. Talk."

　　I swallowed. The words stuck for a second. My throat felt dry, and tight. "Cassian… he is blocking me out on jobs, money. Everything. My dad is sick. The bills—" My throat tightened again. I forced the rest out. "I need help. Work. Anything."

　　His eyes didn't leave mine. No surprise. No pity. Just that same quiet assessment that made me feel seen in a way that was terrifying.

　　He stepped closer. I could feel the warmth radiating off him even from a few feet away.

　　"You think I owe you something?" His voice stayed low, almost soft. "After last night?"

　　Heat rushed to my face. The memory hit fresh—his mouth on mine, hard and claiming, hands sliding under my hoodie, palms hot against my skin, teeth grazing my neck, that low growl rumbling through his chest. My legs still remembered wrapping around him, the way my body had arched without permission. The way I'd whispered yes like I meant it.

　　I forced my voice steady. "I didn't know who you were."

　　A small smile tugged at his lips. "And yet here you are."

　　He circled me slowly. The scent—forest, smoke, dark spice—wrapped around me again, heavier now, inescapable. My pulse jumped in my throat.

　　"You are desperate," he said. Not a question.

　　"Yes."

　　He stopped in front of me. He was taller, so I had to tilt my head to meet his eyes. The light from the windows caught the sharp line of his jaw, the faint shadow of stubble. "Desperate people make bad deals."

　　"I am not stupid."

　　His smile grew, just a fraction. "We will see."

　　He turned and walked toward a wide hallway. "Follow me."

　　I did. Legs shaky but moving. My boots echoed again. The hallway stretched long, lined with dark wood panels and framed artwork I didn't recognize. Lights recessed in the ceiling cast soft pools on the floor. Every few steps I caught my reflection in the glass—hair messy, sundress wrinkled, eyes wide and tired.

　　The hallway opened into a large office—dark wood everywhere, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a massive desk. Windows overlooked manicured grounds that stretched into shadowed woods. The room smelled faintly of paper and ink and him.

　　He didn't sit. Just leaned against the desk, arms crossed, sleeves pulling tight across his forearms.

　　"I could give you money," he said. "Pay the bills. Make Cassian back off. But nothing is free."

　　My stomach tightened. "What do you want?"

　　He studied me. Eyes tracing my face, lingering on my neck, dropping to the sundress still wrinkled from yesterday. "You."

　　I took a step back. "I'm not—"

　　"Not like that." He pushed off the desk and closed the distance again. "Not unless you want it."

　　My breath hitched.

　　He stopped just short of touching. I could see the faint lines at the corners of his eyes, the way his pupils had darkened. "I want you here. Under my roof. Working for me as a maid and assistant. Whatever I need. You will live here. You will always be… available."

　　My pulse roared in my ears. "Available."

　　His eyes darkened. "For work. For conversations. For whatever I decide. In return—your father's care is covered. Cassian would stay away. You get protection and time."

　　Time.

　　Time to breathe. Time to think. Time to figure out how to survive this. Time for Dad's next treatment. Time to pay the clinic before they cut off the oxygen. Time to not lose the only person I had left.

　　But under his roof, in his space. With him looking at me like that as if he could already see every crack in me.

　　I thought of Dad's cold hand. The beeping machines. The empty inbox. The zero balance. The way Cassian had grabbed my wrist at the pavilion, fingers squeezing hard enough to leave marks that still ached.

　　I thought of Cassian's sneer. His promise that I had nothing. His confidence that I would come crawling back.

　　I lifted my chin. "And if I say no?"

　　Damian's smile was dangerous. "Then you walk out that door. And Cassian wins."

　　Silence.

　　My hands clenched at my sides. Nails dug into my palms.

　　I thought of the cold apartment. The peeling paint. The cracked steps. The silence where callbacks should have been.

　　I thought of Dad's shallow breaths. The fog on the oxygen mask. The way his hand had felt fragile in mine.

　　I thought of last night—his hands on me, his growl, the way my body had answered before my mind could stop it.

　　I thought of the whisper: You have no idea who I am… do you?

　　My voice came out rough. "Fine. I will do it."

　　He nodded once like he'd expected nothing else.

　　"Pack your things. You move in tonight."

　　He turned toward the door and paused. Looked back over his shoulder.

　　"One more thing."

　　I waited.

　　His voice dropped lower. "Last night… you said yes."

　　My face burned. Heat crawled up my neck.

　　He stepped closer again and I felt his breath brush my cheek.

　　"If you ever say it again," he murmured, "I won't stop."

　　Then he walked out.

　　The door closed behind him.

　　I stood there. Alone in the office. Heart pounding so hard it hurt.

　　The room felt too big. The windows reflected the fading afternoon light. My reflection stared back—small, disheveled, eyes wide.

　　What the hell had I just agreed to?