I shouldn't have signed it.

Not the first clause. Not the second. Especially not the third-the one that said personal discretion falls solely to Mr. Reeves.

But survival had left me no choice.

My pen trembled as I scrawled my name across the thick, cold paper. No one explained what each line truly meant. No one needed to. The contract wasn't written to protect me. It was written to own me.

I remember the silence in that office. Expensive silence. Even the air smelled polished, like glass and power.

Damon Reeves didn't sit across from me. He stood.

He always stood.

I think he liked looking down at people.

"Do you understand what you're agreeing to?" His voice was low, controlled. Not harsh, not soft. Just indifferent, like I wasn't a person anymore-just a signature.

I lied.

"Yes."

A pause stretched too long, making the air tighter. His dark eyes held mine, searching for weakness. He didn't have to search long.

"Good," he said finally, turning away as if he hadn't just purchased my freedom.

I sat frozen, my heart thudding, watching him move toward the tall glass windows. From his penthouse, the city looked small, like it bowed to him.

I wondered then-what had I just sold myself into?

I signed because my life was crumbling.

My job was gone. My apartment next. And the shadows that followed me home weren't paranoia. Someone was hunting me, though I didn't know why. Then came Damon Reeves.

Or rather, his lawyer.

A contract in hand. A single offer: Sign, and you'll be safe.

No details. No negotiations.

I asked what Damon wanted in return.

The lawyer only said, "Your compliance."

I signed.

Now, standing inside his penthouse for the first time without legal papers between us, I realized my mistake.

The place wasn't warm. There were no personal touches. The walls were dark, the furniture minimal. No family photos. No memories.

It wasn't a home.

It was a fortress.

I hovered near the door, unsure if I was allowed to move. Damon didn't glance back.

"You'll stay here until further notice."

"Why?" My voice cracked, too weak, too soon.

"Because it's the only place where I can control who comes near you."

I swallowed hard. "Control?"

Finally, he turned. His stare wasn't cruel-but it wasn't kind.

"Do you think safety is free, Miss Hayes?"

I had no answer.

Hours passed-or minutes. I lost track.

A woman, silent and efficient, appeared with a suitcase of clothes I hadn't packed. She disappeared just as fast.

I drifted through the penthouse cautiously, noting locked doors, unmarked rooms. I wasn't told where I could go. I wasn't told I couldn't.

Until Damon's voice cut through the quiet.

"Don't touch the doors on the west side."

I froze in the hallway.

"What's there?"

Another pause.

"My life," he said simply. "And if you want to keep yours, you'll stay out."

My feet wouldn't move.

But my heart did.

It raced.

That night, sleep didn't come. I lay on the edge of the enormous guest bed, listening to sounds I couldn't place-distant footsteps, maybe. Or my own fear.

What was this place?

Who exactly had I signed myself to?

And why, when I tried to think of escape... did I already know I wouldn't make it?

Not because Damon Reeves locked doors.

Because somehow, he locked me.

In fear.

In confusion.

In something I didn't yet understand.

Morning didn't feel like morning.

A voice woke me, flat and professional.

"Mr. Reeves requires your presence in the boardroom."

Boardroom. Not dining room.

I didn't eat breakfast. I signed another paper.

This one said Non-Disclosure Agreement.

Damon sat at the head of the long table, dressed in another tailored suit darker than midnight.

I sat at the far end, hands clasped too tightly.

He spoke without looking up.

"Everything that happens from this point forward stays between us."

Us.

He made it sound like a partnership.

I wasn't sure why that made me colder.

I whispered, "What's happening from this point forward?"

His gaze lifted.

And for the first time since meeting him, his mask cracked. Not a lot. Just enough.

Enough to see he wasn't as detached as he pretended.

"War," he said quietly.

I didn't understand. Not then.

But something inside me knew... I would.

Soon.

Very soon.

By the second day, I realized I wasn't just protected.

I was trapped.

Doors locked behind me.

Windows sealed.

Phones removed.

My only connection to the outside world?

Him.

The man who owned everything.

Including me.

I tried once to question him.

"You said I'm safer here. But from who? What aren't you telling me?"

Damon didn't answer immediately. He was reviewing files in his office, his back to me, as usual.

When he finally spoke, his voice was soft. Not gentle. Calculated.

"People who want me dead think hurting you will hurt me."

I flinched. "But I'm nothing to you."

His silence hurt more than words.

I left before he could explain.

If he even intended to.

A memory burned itself behind my eyes as I curled up on the unfamiliar bed that night.

The day the lawyer came.

I'd been sitting at a café, nursing a coffee I couldn't afford. Watching the door.

Waiting for shadows that always came too close.

Instead, a man in a pressed suit had sat opposite me, placing a single envelope on the table.

"Sign it. Or don't."

"What is it?"

"Your survival."

I'd laughed, bitter and brittle.

"I don't have enemies."

He'd leaned forward, voice flat. "You do now."

When I looked inside the envelope, I saw Damon Reeves' name printed at the top of the contract.

And two words written in ink across the first page:

She is the key.

I didn't know what that meant.

I still don't.

But as I lay awake, staring at the cold ceiling of the billionaire's fortress, I realized something terrifying.

If Damon Reeves believed I was a key, then somewhere... there must be a door.

And whatever's behind it?

It's coming for me.