Chapter 6 Contract

Lyara’s fingers trembled as they hovered over the contract. The silence in the room was so thick it felt as though it were pressing the air out of her lungs. Mikael didn’t rush her; he simply watched, leaning back in his leather throne with the patient grace of a lion observing a trapped rabbit.

"Why?" Lyara whispered, her voice trembling. She finally looked up, her eyes burning with a mix of tears and pure anger.

"Why go through all this? You could have any woman in the world. You had a supermodel in your bed three nights ago. Why me?"

Mikael’s expression didn't soften. He stood up again, but this time, he didn't approach her. He walked to the window, looking out at the city he now seemed to own.

"Because you're the only thing in this city I can't buy with just a check," he said, his back to her. "Or so you thought. I like a challenge, Lyara. And I like the way you look when you're angry. It’s much more entertaining than the way you looked when you were a fan."

He turned around, his gaze dropping to the paper. "Sign. Now. My patience is an expensive thing to waste."

As she breathed deeply, Lyara pressed the pen to the paper. The ink felt like blood as she carved her name. The moment she finished, Mikael reached across the desk and snatched the document away, sliding it into a drawer with a click that sounded like a prison door locking.

"Good," he murmured. He picked up a sleek, black tablet and tapped the screen. "Now, let’s discuss your new reality. Your 'model' life is over. From this moment on, you are the future face of Roosevelt Global."

Lyara blinked in confusion. "What are you talking about? I have a runway show in Milan next month. I have shoots—"

"Canceled," Mikael said in a flat voice. "Everything from your previous schedule has been deleted. You don’t work for clients anymore. You work for me."

He flipped the tablet around so she could see the screen. It wasn't a modeling portfolio. It was a brutal, hour-by-hour itinerary that started at 5:00 AM every day.

"5:00 AM: Personal training. 7:00 AM: Media coaching. 9:00 AM: Fittings. 12:00 PM: Luncheons with the board," Lyara read out loud, her voice rising in disbelief. Her eyes skipped to the evening slots. "8:00 PM: Formal events... 11:00 PM: Private debriefing?"

She looked up at him, her face pale. "This isn't a modeling schedule. This is a transformation. You’re trying to turn me into a politician's wife. Or a doll."

"I’m turning you into a Roosevelt," Mikael corrected, stepping closer until he was looming over her chair. He placed his hands on the armrests, trapping her between his arms. He leaned in, the scent of his expensive cologne and the faint, dangerous heat of his body clouding her senses.

"You’re going to be my fiancé. By the end of the month, the world will believe you’re the love of my life. You will smile when I smile. You will speak when I give you the cue. And in return, Jacob’s father keeps his dignity, and you keep your life."

"And if I refuse to play along?"

"And If I tell the press what a monster you are?"

Mikael’s hand moved suddenly, his thumb catching her chin and forcing her to look him in the eye. His touch was electric, a terrifying spark that made her stomach flip in a way she hated.

"You won't," he whispered, his blue eyes darkening with a threatening power. "Because if you do, I won't just ruin the agency. I'll find that little house in that tiny town you came from. I'll make sure your mother never sees another cent of the money you've been sending home.

I’ll erase you, Lyara. I’ll make it so you never existed."

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her ear, his voice lowering to a teasing, silk-thread growl.

"But we both know you’re going to sign. Because deep down, under all that 'fierce' anger... you’re still that girl who had my posters on her wall. You’re still curious about what it feels like to be mine."

He pulled back just enough to look at her lips, a slow, cruel smirk playing on his mouth. He was teasing her, pushing her to the edge of her sanity, enjoying the way her breath hitched and her pupils dilated. He wanted her to hate him, but he also wanted her to want him.

"And Lyara? Burn that hoodie you were wearing in the alley. You won’t be needing it where we’re going." He turned to leave, the heavy oak doors groaning as he pushed them open.

She looked down at her shaking hands.

Her heart skipped a beat, then began to thrum with a new kind of panic. She hadn't been wearing a designer label in that alley. She had been wearing a faded, oversized gray hoodie with a small, hand-embroidered 'L' on the cuff. It was the gift Jacob had given her for her 20th birthday—a private, small celebration in a cramped apartment. It was her comfort item, the one thing that made her feel safe in this cold city.

How did he know?

"Wait!" Lyara scrambled up, her heels clicking frantically on the marble as she chased him into the hallway. "The hoodie. How do you know about that? I haven't worn it to a single casting. It's... it's a private thing."

Mikael didn’t stop, but he slowed his pace, his broad shoulders shifting under his suit jacket as if he had expected her to come crawling after him. He stopped just before the elevators, turning slowly with a look of bored amusement.

"The hoodie," Lyara panted, stopping a few feet away. The staff of Elite Edge stared, frozen in place, as they watched their new owner loom over their rising star.

"How do you know about that hoodie? I wasn't wearing it at the show. I haven't worn it to any casting. How do you know it’s mine?"

Mikael stepped toward her. He didn't just move; he invaded her space, forcing her to back up until her spine hit the cold glass of a decorative partition. He leaned in, his hand coming up to rest on the glass beside her head, trapping her.

"I know everything you own, Lyara," he whispered, his voice a low, possessive sound. "I know it was a gift. I know it was given to you by the boy standing outside this door—the one who thinks he can protect you."

Lyara’s eyes widened. "You... you've been watching me? For how long?"

Mikael leaned down, his nose brushing against the top of her ear. "Since the moment you stepped onto that runway and decided you were too good to look at me. Did you think I’d let a 'nobody' from a flyover state dismiss me and just walk away? I’ve seen the videos of your 20th birthday, Lyara. I’ve seen you laughing in that cheap apartment, wearing that pathetic gray rag while your 'friend' looked at you like you were the moon."

He pulled back just an inch, his eyes dark with an obsessive, predatory hunger that made her skin crawl and her blood heat all at once. "I don't like other men's marks on what belongs to me. That hoodie represents a life you no longer have. It represents a girl who belongs to a small town and a small boy. You belong to this city now. You belong to this building. You belong to me."

He reached out, his smooth thumb tracing the line of her trembling lower lip, his touch firm and bruising. "I spent all night watching the footage of you in that alley, watching the way you moved to save me. I don't want you wearing something another man gave you when you're thinking of me. Burn it, Lyara. If I see it again, I won't just destroy the clothes. I’ll destroy the hand that gave it to you."

Mikael stepped back, his face instantly smoothing back into that chilling, handsome mask of professional indifference.

"7:00 PM," he reminded her, his eyes raking over her one last time as if he were already undressing her. "Be the doll I bought, Lyara. Or find out exactly how much I know about the rest of your secrets."

The doors slid shut, hiding his smirk.

Lyara slid down the glass partition, her legs finally giving out. She clutched her chest, feeling the frantic beat of her heart. He wasn't just a boss.

He wasn't just a crush gone wrong. He is the demon who will claim Lyara, the opponent she cannot defeat, the man who plays with her fate in the palm of his hand.