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“I want to hear it from your own mouth.I want to look you into my eyes and tell me that the child isn't mine...Don't take your eyes off even once.” I stared at the pre-gnancy test sitting on the counter, repeating to myself, 'Stop, Stella. It can't be. It's not possible.' For weeks, I'd been lying to myself. But the missed period, the dizziness, the nausea… they'd already become part of my routine. In the end, I couldn't fight it anymore. Three months ago, I had signed a contract with Damian Winter, my boss. In that contract, I agreed to satisfy his se-xual needs in absolute secrecy, on the condition that I took birth control regularly to prevent any pre-gnancy. If a pre-gnancy happened, I would have to pay ten times what he had paid me. An impossible amount for someone like me, who was still struggling to pay off my late father's gambling debts. The memory of the night before still burned beneath my skin. I closed my eyes and, for a moment, I was dragged back to that bedroom. His scent still clung to the sheets. The shadows were broken only by the soft glow of the bedside lamp. Heavy breathing filled the silence. Damian lay me back against the pillows as if he were handling something fragile. His eyes were dark, locked onto mine with an intensity that made me forget, for a second, that this was just a contract. He leaned over me, his breath brushing my skin before his lips did. His first kiss wasn't on my mouth. It was on the curve of my neck. My body reacted before my mind could catch up, arching beneath him, surrendering to his touch like someone already condemned to pleasure. His hands slid firmly up my th1ghs, demanding. "Look at me," he ordered as he pushed inside me in one single movement, his eyes fixed on mine, like he wanted to watch me fall apart from the inside. And I did. The world disappeared. There was nothing but him inside me, the weight of his body over mine, the unbearable heat of his skin against mine. He moved with force. His fingers laced with mine for a brief second, and when I realized it, he had already let go. As if he'd betrayed himself. I wanted to feel nothing. But my body screamed for him, as if it had been made for this. "Damian…" I could hear my own voice m0aning his name. I opened my eyes, snapping back to reality. A sob tore from my throat before I could stop it. I tipped my head back, fighting to keep air in my lungs. I gathered my courage, picked up the test, and with unsteady steps, walked into the bathroom. My fingers shook as I held the package and tore it open. My stomach twisted so hard I had to brace myself against the sink to keep from collapsing. I followed the instructions like a machine, barely thinking, trying to block out the panic threatening to swallow me whole. I set the test on the counter and stepped back, like it was radioactive. Three minutes. That was what the instructions said. I paced back and forth in the cramped space, arms crossed tightly over my chest. "It's impossible. I took the pills exactly right. I did what he told me to do. Just like the contract said. I have to be protected." The alarm on my phone went off. I took a deep breath and walked back to the sink. When I finally looked at the window— Two lines. Positive. "No…" I whispered. "No, this can't be happening…" My phone started vibrating on the counter, snapping me out of my shock. I grabbed it with trembling hands. It was Damian. I swallowed hard and answered. "What is this message about you not coming into work today?" he asked, irritation clear in his voice. I tried to steady myself. "I… I'm not feeling well." Silence. Then a short, humorless laugh. "Oh, this again?" he muttered. "I was more than generous last night. There's no reason for this, Stella." My heart was pounding too fast. The truth burned in my throat. I had to tell him. I needed to— "Damian, I—" "Enough with the drama, Stella," he cut in sharply. "Get dressed and be at the office by nine." The call ended. I stared at the screen, at the warped reflection of my face in the black glass. He hung up before I could speak. The tears came quietly at first, then turned into sobs that shook my entire body. I sank down onto the floor and buried my face in my hands. I heard the front door open, but I didn't move. "Stella?" Leah's voice echoed through the apartment, tired after work. "I'm home!" I didn't answer. I couldn't. "Stella?" She appeared in the bathroom doorway and froze when she saw me on the floor, crying. "Oh my God… what happened?" Leah rushed to me, dropped to her knees, and pulled me into her arms. "What is it? Are you hurt?" "I… I'm…" My voice broke apart. "I'm pre-gnant…" "Pregnant?" she repeated, stunned, glancing at the tests scattered on the floor. Then she hugged me tighter. "Oh, Stella…" "I broke the contract," I whispered against her shoulder. "I have to pay ten times what he gave me. I don't have that kind of money, Leah." My voice dropped to a whisper, my eyes fixed on nothing. "It's impossible to pay ten times what he paid me over the past three months." "Stella…" Leah murmured, worry written all over her face. "I don't have a choice," I said quietly, my voice almost lifeless. "The only way out… is to end the pre-gnancy. Before it's too late." "Easy. Let's go to the living room, calm down, drink some water," she said. I let her pull me along. I sat down and drank the water she handed me. "You were saying you're going to… that you're thinking about…" I nodded shakily, my stomach twisting as I silently formed the word I couldn't bring myself to say out loud. Abortion. "I can't have this baby, Leah. He'll destroy me. He'll think I did this on purpose. He'll hate me. He'll fire me. He'll sue me." "But… is that really what you want?" she asked softly. "Are you sure?" I opened my mouth to answer. Nothing came out. For a second, I saw a vague image of the future: a small, fragile child calling me Mom. My chest tightened, and this time it wasn't fear. "I…" I placed a hand over my stomach. "I don't know. I don't know what to do, Leah. But… what if this is all I have? What if this baby is… the only good thing to come out of all this?" She leaned forward and took my hands. "Then listen to me," she said, her eyes full of tenderness. "Damian might seem like a monster, but he's not going to hold you to a contract now. This is a life. His child. You need to tell him. Before you decide anything. Before you go to any clinic. You need to tell him. I'm sure he doesn't take that contract as seriously as you think. It was just a way to protect himself. You'll see." But I didn't believe her. He took everything seriously. Worse than that, he would think I'd gotten pre-gnant on purpose, trying to use a future heir to claim his fortune. "Wait…" I said when the TV playing in the living room caught my attention. On the screen, a headline crushed me. [Damian Winter gets engaged to Sophie Peterson, heiress to a wealthy family.] I swallowed hard. A sharp pain pierced my stomach. He had said, "You can only be my secretary." Just a secretary. Not a wife. I would never have a place by his side. And in that moment, I made my decision. I needed to run. To a place far away from Damian Winter's reach. Chapter 1 Messed Up On Day 1 Three Months Earlier, Stella's POV The sound of my heels echoed through the HR hallway at Winter Enterprises, a constant reminder that I did not belong there. Everything was too clean, too organized, too expensive, and I was nothing more than a fraud dressed in thrift-store clothes. I clutched the folder to my chest as if it could shield my heart from the truth printed inside it—a résumé that was basically a work of fiction. The sunlight streaming through the building's massive windows couldn't warm the cold that lived inside me. Maybe it was the freezing air-conditioning. Or maybe it was the name "Winter," engraved in metallic letters in the lobby, that sent chills down my spine. I was about to be interviewed for the position of personal secretary to the CEO, Damian Winter. And all I had was a forged college degree, a fabricated work history, and an impossible debt left behind by my late father who was a bankrupt gambling addict. I walked into the room and found the interviewer. "Miss Harper? Please, have a seat." "Thank you," I replied with a practiced smile, the same one I had rehearsed for hours in front of the mirror. I settled into the chair, trying to keep my back straight and my hands steady in my lap. He began flipping through my folder. "NYU graduate, business administration with a focus on logistics," he murmured, his eyes scanning the page. "You worked at Elridge Group?" "Yes, sir. Two years as an executive assistant." "You reported directly to the vice president?" "Exactly. I handled financial reports, contracts, and an international schedule. It was a challenging experience, but very rewarding." "Interesting. And please, Miss Harper," he leaned back in his chair, "look directly at the camera behind me." I blinked. "The camera?" "Yes," he said, nodding toward a small lens, almost invisible, above the bookshelf. "We're testing a new behavioral analysis protocol for high-level interviews. You may keep looking at it while you answer." My body froze. My heart started racing. There was something about that dark lens that gave me the strange feeling of being… judged. Not by the interviewer, but by someone else. I took a deep breath, fixing my eyes on the camera. "The methodology I used was…" I began, but the words stumbled. "It was… a comparative analysis between…" Damn it. My mouth went dry. I didn't know what to say. I tried to push through. "Between… large corporations and… and their logistics methods." The interviewer's silence was deafening. He watched me closely. Not with disapproval, but with an analytical expression. I felt na-ked. 'Damn it, Stella. You practiced this.' "Sir…" I swallowed hard. "I… I lied. I didn't finish college. I dropped out in my third semester. I needed a job. One that paid well. I did what I could. I know this probably costs me the position, but… I couldn't keep lying." There was a long pause. He simply observed me. Then, discreetly, he lifted a hand to his ear, adjusting the small earpiece tucked there. Who was on the other end? "Yes, but… yes, Mr. Winter," he said, turning his attention back to me. "Miss Harper. Thank you for your honesty." I closed my eyes, feeling defeat wrap around me. That was it. It was the end of the line. I prepared myself to leave. "The position is yours." My jaw dropped. "What?" "Start next Monday. You'll be introduced directly to Mr. Winter." I couldn't respond. I just nodded. I walked out of that room in a daze. Something was wrong. The lie had been exposed. And yet… he hired me anyway? Why? - It seems only Mr. Winter himself could answer that question. On the morning of my first day at work, I stood planted in the hallway for a long time, waiting for the former secretary to come brief me on my duties. I waited and waited… but no one showed up. I decided to ask a few employees, now technically my coworkers, who looked friendlier. But they only exchanged amused glances, like they were watching a disaster unfold in real time. Then they told me, almost laughing, that the former secretary had run out crying. I guess she didn't have debts like mine. That must be the only way someone could afford the luxury of having an emotional meltdown. It took so much for me to get into this company. 'No matter how difficult this CEO is to deal with, I'll endure it. Right, Miss Harper?' I took a deep breath and knocked three times on the CEO's office door, my rhythm carefully measured. "Mr. Winter?" "Come in." His deep voice cut through the wood and sent a slight tremor through my fingers and my heart. I opened the door and lifted my eyes. A tall man stood by the panoramic window, turning his head slightly to look at me. I felt trapped by those deep brown eyes, which caught a golden glow when the sunlight hit them at just the right angle. He had light brown hair with highlights that looked like honey under the office lighting. He was tall with broad shoulders. His muscles were visible even beneath his immaculate suit. He was really handsome in an unfair way. And that serious, almost cold expression… made him look like a sculpture designed to intimidate, not to admire. A CEO that gorgeous… just how unbearable could he be? I was sure I could handle it. - That same afternoon, I bitterly regretted ever thinking that. If I didn't have debts to pay, I might have already run out of there in tears. "Of course, Mr. Winter. Whatever you say, Mr. Winter…" I muttered to myself as I stacked folders on my new boss's desk. His office looked like a mausoleum made of glass and concrete. It was cold and perfect. Not a single sheet of paper was out of place, as if any trace of humanity had been deliberately erased. "He probably sleeps in a cryogenic capsule and recharges via USB," I grumbled under my breath. "Review the spreadsheet, Miss Harper. "Bring me my schedule, Miss Harper." Not even a good afternoon? I turned to file a folder in the cabinet, still talking to myself. "I bet if I say 'Hey, Siri,' he answers. 'Robot Winter, model 001, reporting for—'" "Robot?" The blood drained from my face. I turned slowly. Damian Winter stood in the doorway with his arms crossed. His gaze fixed on me, with one eyebrow raised. There was no visible emotion and definitely no hint of humor. My heart pounded so loudly it nearly drowned out the awkward silence between us. "Did you just… call me a robot?" Chapter 2 Pretty Little Liar Stella's POV I should have learned how to whisper. Or better yet, how to shut up entirely. But sometimes frustration slipped out before I could swallow it back down. "Did you call me a robot?" Everything in me froze. My muscles, throat, and breathing. My stomach twisted into a knot. Every cell in my body screamed at me to run, but all I managed to do was turn slowly, as if I could delay the inevitable. "I-I… no, sir. Of course not." I tried to smile. The attempt died halfway. "I was talking about… something else. A printer. An old one. In the records room. It jams all the time, makes horrible noises… like an old robot. That's all." Silence followed. Damian Winter was a master of silence. A master at staring without expression, without visible anger, and still making me feel like I was being judged by an entire courtroom. He didn't respond. He just stared at me with those glassy eyes that were cold, clear, and impossible to read. As if he were stripping my soul bare, waiting for the slightest tremor so he could destroy me. I hated that look. I hated how it made me feel… small. "I see," he said at last. He walked back to his desk as if nothing had happened. "I had just come in, so I misunderstood. Good to know you're concerned about equipment maintenance. Notify IT and have them arrange a replacement." The way he said it made me tremble more than if he'd yelled. The absence of emotion made me fear some future retaliation. Damian was a man impossible to decipher. Maybe because he'd erased every trace of humanity in the name of efficiency. I smoothed my skirt and stood, ready to leave the room and forget that humiliating moment ever happened. My hand was already on the doorknob when I heard his voice again. "Stella." I stopped and closed my eyes for a brief second, taking a breath. "Yes, sir?" "Prepare yourself to travel. Tomorrow. I'm going to Switzerland, and I want you with me." I turned slowly, my brows knitting in surprise. "I… I'm sorry, I thought only you were going. There wasn't any inclusion like that in the HR system—" "It was a last-minute decision," his voice left no room for argument. "And I prefer someone who knows how to read between the lines of a contract instead of flatterers who can't tell a budget from an annual report." I stayed quiet for a few seconds before nodding. "Understood, Mr. Winter." He didn't reply. He simply turned his attention back to his computer screen, as if I no longer existed. - The flight to Zurich was long, and his silence never wavered. Because of that, I didn't feel comfortable speaking or bothering him, so I stayed quiet. I sat beside him with a tablet in hand, trying to focus on the contracts. It was already the third time I'd reviewed the same documents, but I couldn't stop. Partly out of responsibility. Partly because, honestly, I didn't know what to do with my hands with my boss sitting so close. "You know, Stella…" he began, pulling me from my thoughts. "You should learn to relax a little. Spending hours glued to those contracts isn't exactly the best cure for stress." I lifted my eyes briefly, just enough to look at him. Did I hear that right? Was this some kind of trap? He was the last person I expected to tell me to relax. My gaze dropped to his hand, and I noticed the glass of whiskey. I didn't know how many he'd had, but he seemed to be in that slightly buzzed phase. I almost smiled at the thought. I looked back at the tablet before my expression could give away more than it should. "Work is work, Mr. Winter," I replied. "Then tell me, Stella," he continued, his tone almost bored. "How do you relax? A good book? A glass of wine? Or maybe a hot night?" My fingers moved faster across the screen, even though my eyes weren't absorbing anything anymore. This had to be provocation. I tried to think of something else to calm my burning cheeks. "I prefer to stay focused on what matters, sir." "Interesting…" From the corner of my eye, I saw him take a sip of his drink. "In my case, sx always relaxes me." G0-d. What got into him? "Is that so?" 'Is that so, Stella? Get it together, woman!' "I wonder…" he said, brows furrowed, "if a good night of se-x would make you less rigid with me." I swallowed hard. Sex with whom? With him? Stay calm. Any sign of nervousness would be a gift to him. "This conversation is making me uncomfortable, Mr. Winter." "But I'm not. And you'll talk about whatever I want, since I'm the one who pays your salary." What an absolute psychopath. "All right, sir. What else would you like to talk about?" "Forget it. You've bored me even more." Seriously? The plane landed hours later. Of course, a car was already waiting for us on the runway. No one would dare make Damian Winter wait. During the drive to his house in Zurich, I stayed silent. Snow fell outside, tires whispering against the wet pavement. I stared out the window, trying to keep my thoughts far away. I failed. Because I could feel him watching me. When we stepped inside the house, the heat from the heater wrapped around me immediately. I slipped off my coat slowly, my fingers still adjusting to the sudden change in temperature. "I'm going to take a shower before dinner," he announced, already heading up the stairs. Of course, he didn't wait for an answer. The surprising part was that he'd warned me at all. I stood there for a few moments, frozen in the middle of the elegant, minimalist living room. No excess. No soul. I doubted he bothered decorating each house he owned in different countries. Suddenly, I found myself curious about what his place in California looked like. I went upstairs to drop my things in the guest room and try to pull myself together. I didn't even get five minutes. "Stella!" My boss's voice echoed from the upper floor. I stood and headed toward his room. I stopped in the hallway. My feet hesitated before moving forward. He was in the bathroom. "Do you need something, sir?" "Bring me a towel." His voice came muffled through the door. I went to the closet and grabbed the first one I found. When I returned, I extended the towel through the crack in the door, keeping my eyes firmly turned in the opposite direction. "Here you go, sir." He took the towel and, for some reason, didn't close the door. "Stella," he called again. I turned slowly. And ran straight into him. Or rather, into his bare chest, water droplets still sliding down his skin, a towel secured low around his waist. I had to force myself to look up. At his face. Even that was hard. My face burned, my blood rushing through my veins. "Do you need anything else?" I asked quickly, wishing I could disappear. "I'm not sure yet," he replied, taking a step toward me. "Do you think I need something?" Backing away was instinctive. Before I realized it, my back hit the wall. His hands followed, one on each side of my face. My entire body went on high alert. "You're blushing, Miss Harper," he murmured, as if noting a simple fact. "Why?" "I'm not," I whispered, turning my face away. "That pretty little mouth tells a lot of lies…" His thumb brushed my lower lip, and my breath caught. "But I admire your courage in denying what's right in front of my eyes." "I would never dare—" "Shhh." His index finger touched his own lips. "You're much more attractive when you're quiet. Honestly, that applies to all women." His hand pressed back against the wall, blocking my escape. He leaned in. Too close. "Tell me, Miss Harper…" he whispered, his voice low and deliberately pr0v-ocative. "Do you have inappropriate thoughts about me?" I swallowed air. My lungs felt like they'd shrunk. Panic hit me. I could lie, but I didn't know how far he would take this. So I ducked, slipping under his arm and escaping. I almost tripped, but I didn't stop. I rushed into the guest room and slammed the door shut. I pressed my back against the wood, struggling to catch my breath. Damian was becoming far too dangerous. Chapter 3 Only My Secretary Damian's POV I was standing just outside the banquet hall, waiting for my companion for the evening. My secretary. Provoking Stella Harper has become one of my favorite pastimes. She reacted in fascinating ways. Her eyes widened. Her shoulders stiffened. Her breathing turned uneven. Every response gave her away, showing how hard she worked to stay professional. After the last incident in my bedroom, she spent the entire day avoiding me like the plague. That was not surprising. What irritated me was that it only made everything more interesting. She had no idea that I had heard every word she said about me back in the office. What she did not know, and what I intended to keep that way for now, was that I had been watching her from the beginning. From day one. I had watched her interview with Collins. I hadn't planned to sit in on all of them. Just a few. Then she walked in. Her résumé looked solid on paper, at least on the surface. She did well at first, but in the end, nerves got the better of her and she decided to confess that it was all a lie. Obviously, it wasn't that "honesty" that made me hire her. She simply caught my interest. And when something interested me, I took it. At the time, I thought it would be easy. Hire her and keep her close. She would resist, of course. They always do at first. Then… the pattern would repeat itself. Except Stella didn't follow the pattern. She showed no real interest in me. At most, she probably found me attractive. That indifference was as frustrating as it was addictive. I could tell I was growing impatient, because my provocations had become less subtle. And now I had the distinct impression that Miss Harper was repressing far more than she let on. Tonight, at the banquet, I intended to spark something inside her. But when I saw Stella stepping out of the car, I realized that spark had already been lit. And I had no intention of extinguishing it. She looked different. Completely outside the image of the secretary I knew. The black dress hugged her curves just enough to accentuate them, elegant enough to avoid being vulgar. If she was trying to pr0-voke me… it worked. Her blonde hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders, and her makeup highlighted her light eyes and the firm line of her jaw. She looked dangerous. The kind of woman a man should stay away from, if he had any sense. Unfortunately, good sense had never guided me in matters like this. I wanted her. "Mr. Winter," she said as she approached. Damn. That was one of a visual. It wasn't just the way the dress defined her waist. Or the thin straps exposing her shoulders. Or the neckline that revealed more than I'd ever seen since meeting her. It was everything together. I always knew Stella was beautiful. I'd just never wanted her as much as I did in that moment. "You look very beautiful, Miss Harper." She blushed, lowering her gaze with a shy smile. "Thank you, Mr. Winter." "Allow me," I said, offering my arm naturally. She hesitated for a second before linking her arm with mine. Her skin was warm. Her perfume light, floral. It affected me more than I cared to admit, mostly because I would have preferred discovering those details under very different circumstances. The restaurant was refined, overlooking the lake. I walked beside her with my hand resting on her back to guide her. The prolonged contact gave me the perfect excuse to feel her skin a little longer. Miller was already waiting for us, a glass of whiskey in hand. He stood as we approached, smiling. "Mr. Winter!" "Miller," I greeted politely. "I hope you haven't been waiting long." "Nothing a good whiskey can't fix," he laughed, then his gaze landed on Stella. He looked her over far longer than necessary. "And this beautiful lady is…?" "Stella Harper, my assistant," I replied, waiting for that interested look to fade. Of course, it didn't. "Miss Harper… a pleasure," he said, holding her hand longer than appropriate. "The pleasure is mine, Mr. Miller," Stella replied, perfectly polite. I pulled out her chair before he could, and as expected, I caught the flicker of disappointment on his face. Always anticipate your enemy's next move. "Shall we sit?" The conversation began with the European market, but it didn't take long for Miller's attention to wander. "Miss Harper, is Mr. Winter as demanding as they say? It must be difficult working with a man so… controlling." "Mr. Winter is an exceptional leader," she replied smoothly. "Demanding, yes. But fair." 'Good answer,' I thought, almost smiling. Miller, however, wasn't satisfied. "How old are you?" "Twenty-seven." "Single?" "Yes, but—" "A young and very beautiful woman. It's surprising you're alone." I felt my jaw tighten. "I focus on my work," Stella replied. "Ah, but you should enjoy life. Women like you shouldn't hide behind routine." "She can enjoy life in whatever way she sees fit, Miller," I cut in. He laughed, uncomfortable. Throughout dinner, I caught his eyes lingering on Stella more than once, and it bothered me. But it got worse when, at the end of the meal, Miller took her hand again. "If you ever want to work with me… I promise I'll pay better than Mr. Winter. And I promise not to be so demanding or controlling." Stella let out a polite laugh and brushed it off, but my blood boiled. The walk to the car was tense. "Mr. Winter… is everything okay?" she asked, noticing my expression. "You seem… angry." "I'm perfectly fine, Miss Harper. Mind your own business." Her eyes widened in surprise. "I… what?" "I've already told you that you're more attractive when you're quiet. And you'd be a lot less irritating if you didn't make me repeat myself." My hand touched her chin, and she didn't pull away. Her eyes locked on mine, her breathing quickening. "From now on, be careful around Mr. Miller. And if he contacts you, you let me know. Understood?" "Yes, sir." I didn't know whether she truly understood or was just agreeing so I wouldn't keep talking. Either way, the answer was acceptable. - On the flight back, after we'd settled everything in Switzerland and finalized the contracts, silence settled between us again. Stella read a report on her tablet, and I pretended to focus on my documents. In reality, my gaze drifted to her far more often than I cared to admit. "Would you really consider Miller's offer?" I asked. She looked at me, confused. "What? Of course not. I thought it was obvious it was just a cheap attempt at flirting." "Even so," I insisted, more sharply. "He was right about one thing." "About what?" I leaned closer. "That you're beautiful. Young. And any man would notice." She blushed, looking away the way she always did. As if she couldn't handle that kind of attention. That was the breaking point. Before any words could leave her mouth, I captured her lips with mine. I didn't ask permission. I just kissed her. It was rough, hot, and angry. It was completely unlike anything I was used to. She gasped against my mouth but didn't pull away right away. I felt her hesitation, the tension in her muscles, the tremble in the hands that pressed against my chest. Even so, I stayed there, crushing my mouth to hers as if I needed to mark her somehow. I pulled back slowly, my eyes locked on hers, now wide with shock. "You can only be my secretary." Chapter 4 Just Sign Stella's POV Pretending to be sick didn't take any effort. After what happened yesterday, my entire body felt like it had been run over by a truck. There was a crushing emotional weight keeping me pinned to the mattress, as I stared at the stained ceiling of my apartment. The kiss Damian gave me still felt like it was burning on my lips, like a brand. It wasn't a kiss. It was an invasion. A line crossed. The moment I stepped off the plane yesterday, everything inside me screamed to run. My heart raced so hard I barely slept last night. And when I finally did, I dreamed about him. I can still remember the weight of his body over mine, his hand holding my face, the hunger in his eyes, my own sounds begging for more. So this morning, I called HR and said I wasn't feeling well. I didn't even have to fake the cold. My voice already sounded broken. I spent the entire day thinking about quitting. I opened my laptop, typed a few lines, then deleted everything right after. The truth stared back at me, merciless. I couldn't afford that choice. My bills were overdue. Rent was due in four days, and my father's loan sharks would show up soon. Leaving that job meant choosing hunger, the street, and maybe even death. Okay, maybe that was dramatic. Leah would never let me starve or be homeless. But I refuse to make her carry the burden of supporting us both. But how could I keep working there after that? After seeing his face and realizing there wasn't a trace of regret in it? I curled into myself on the mattress, wrapped in a thin blanket, trying to convince myself it was just a nightmare. That it would pass. That's when the doorbell rang. I frowned. No one would come by at this hour, and Leah was at work. I moved to the side window and carefully pulled back the curtain. My heart sank. Damian Winter was standing at the entrance to my building. He was in a suit, like it was just another normal day at the office. And his expression was predatory. I stepped back, as if he could see me from there. The doorbell rang again. Once. Twice. Three times. "Stella," his voice came sharp from outside. "I know you're in there. Open the door." I closed my eyes. Swallowed hard. Took a breath. With trembling fingers, I unlocked the door. "What are you doing here?" My voice came out low, defensive. His eyes scanned the apartment. The peeling walls. The cluttered couch. The dirty dishes piled in the sink. But his expression didn't change, like none of it surprised him. Then his gaze returned to me. "You're not sick," he said, stepping inside without permission. "Get out of my house, Mr. Winter." "That's not what you want." "You don't know what I want." "Don't I?" He turned his head, taking in the apartment again. "You want to run. Because you're afraid of what happened." "Of what you did," I corrected. He moved closer slowly, and I stepped back. "And you're thinking about quitting. But you know you can't." My stomach twisted. He spoke like he was narrating my own thoughts. "Why are you here?" I whispered. He pulled an envelope from his briefcase and held it out to me. "I'm here to resolve things between us." I took the envelope carefully. Inside was a contract. I started reading. As my eyes moved down the clauses, the blood drained from my face. "This has to be a joke." "It's a proposal. You continue working for me. But… you'll also be my intimate companion." "You want me to sleep with you. For money." "I want a clean agreement. You're attractive, competent, and you need help. I'll have a woman who satisfies me and an efficient secretary. You'll have the financial support you need in exchange for your cooperation. And… for not getting pre-gnant. We both win." I slammed the contract down on the table and stared at him in disbelief. "I'm not a pr0st-it-ute." "I'm not saying you are. But everyone has a price, Stella." The disgust that surged through me made me want to throw up. "You're a monster." "Don't pretend to be surprised. You met me in a corporate environment. Do you really think someone gets where I am without doing whatever it takes to get what they want? I'm being practical. You need money. You need this job. And I…" His gaze sharpened. "I'm attracted to you, Stella. But I'm not interested in pretending this will be romantic." "I won't sign this. Never." He took a step forward, and I saw his expression harden. "Are you sure? Because I wouldn't be here if I didn't know you're in a… delicate situation." I swallowed. "You don't know anything about me." "Do you remember?" he said calmly. "You walked into my company with a forged diploma and a fake résumé." "…But I already explained everything!" "Those explanations aren't in your file, sweetheart. I can take you to court at any time. And I don't think I need to remind you," his eyes flicked to the bank envelope on the table, "that you have debts to pay. A lot of them." My body went cold. "You investigated my life?" "Don't worry about insignificant details. You just need to do what I'm telling you, and everything will be fine. I'm a man who protects his interests. And right now, you're one of them." "This is blackmail." "It's reality. You can go to the police if you want. But you'll leave here straight for a courtroom, charged with fraud. And with a criminal record, you can forget about ever getting another job at a company like mine." Tears welled up in my eyes, hot and furious. "I hate you." He handed me the pen. "You can hate me all you want. Just sign." I stood there, staring at the contract as if it were a death sentence. My name was already printed at the top. I signed while crying. My hand shook so badly that my signature came out crooked. When I finished, I dropped the pen as if it burned my fingers. Damian showed no reaction. No emotion. As if he had just closed another deal. My face was soaked with tears, but my stomach burned with contempt. I lifted my chin, pulled my T-shirt over my head, and tossed it to the floor. Then I unbuttoned my shorts and let them slide down my legs, leaving me in nothing but my underwear. "How much per time?" I asked, looking straight at him, the pain behind my tears completely exposed.

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