Chapter One: Terms of Darkness
The contract said no names.
That's what intrigued me.
Not the part where she'd agreed to arrive precisely at midnight. Not the part where she'd wear what I sent—black silk, barely there. And not even the part where she agreed to leave before dawn, every single time.
It was the namelessness.
I've had women. Too many. All of them looking for something—power, fame, escape. But she came looking for nothing. No recognition. No attachments. Just… payment and silence.
And silence, to me, is sacred.
I watched the old clock in the manor's study tick down—its minute hand dragging toward the twelve like a promise. Rain pattered against the towering glass windows. Outside, the city bled neon and rot. Inside, only candles lit the vast room, dancing shadows across redwood shelves and the leather-bound books I never touched.
Then she arrived.
Not with the hesitation of someone in over her head—but with the practiced poise of someone who'd made a decision and refused to regret it.
She didn't knock. The guards were instructed not to stop her. She walked in like a midnight ghost, soaked from the rain, the silk clinging to her hips and thighs in ways that made my restraint buckle.
I stayed seated in the high-backed chair by the fireplace, whiskey in hand. She saw me—but didn't react.
Good. She knew the rules.
I gestured to the chair opposite mine. She sat. No words. Just eyes—dark, almond-shaped, filled with something complicated. Fear? Hunger? Curiosity? I couldn't tell.
"You came," I said at last, breaking our first silence.
She arched a brow. "You paid."
Touché.
"I wasn't sure you'd be real," I added, leaning forward, the fire casting gold into my stare.
"And I wasn't sure you'd be… this," she said.
"This?"
"You don't look like a man who needs to pay for company."
I smiled. Sharp. Private.
"I don't," I replied. "That's not what I'm paying for."
Her eyes flickered. She understood, then. This wasn't about sex—though that was part of it. This was about control. And something else, too. Something deeper.
She stood, letting the silk fall off her shoulder just slightly. "So what are the terms?"
I handed her a thin black folder. She skimmed it without surprise.
No names.
No speaking of the contract outside these walls.
Companionship hours: 12:00 AM – 4:00 AM.
Payment deposited weekly. Double if boundaries are respected.
Termination by either party with 24-hour notice.
No falling in love.
That last one? I'd added it half as a joke.
She laughed when she read it. "Bit dramatic, don't you think?"
"People break faster when feelings get involved."
"You speak from experience?"
"I speak from cleanup."
She nodded, then reached into her coat and signed the contract without another word.
Our midnight began.
She wasn't like the others.
She didn't try to impress. She didn't try to seduce—though her mere presence made my hands clench with the urge to touch. She spoke when I asked her to. She sat in silence when I didn't. Sometimes she read. Sometimes she wandered the halls barefoot, as if this place—the Ashbourne Manor—didn't give her chills like it did everyone else.
She called me "sir." Not because she had to. Because she chose to.
And I watched her. Studied her like a story I'd never read but somehow remembered.
Her smile was rare. When it came, it wasn't for me. It was for a thought she didn't share. That made it worse. Or better. I hadn't decided.
But it was two weeks in when everything cracked.
It happened in the daylight.
I was attending a board meeting downtown. The skyscraper glass shimmered with city haze. My assistant droned on about numbers and M&A targets. I wasn't listening. Not until she walked in.
Her.
She wore jeans. A hoodie. Glasses. Hair tied back. A tote bag slung over her shoulder like every other broke student in this town.
She didn't see me. Not until I stood.
Her expression froze. Only for a second. Then she walked past like I was just another suit.
My pulse ticked hard against my throat.
She was pretending not to know me.
Which, technically, followed the contract.
But this wasn't just anywhere. This was my building.
She sat in the waiting lounge across the hall, flipping through a textbook. I watched her from behind tinted glass.
"Who's she?" I asked my assistant.
He glanced. "New intern. HR said she came in through some scholarship program. Single mom. Apparently brilliant."
Single mom? That detail struck like cold water.
No wonder she took the contract.
No wonder she made rules.
I wanted to speak to her. To break the illusion. But I didn't.
Instead, I left. Without a word.
At midnight that night, she didn't come.
I waited.
1:00 AM. Nothing.
1:30 AM. Still nothing.
At 2:17 AM, I received a message.
"We need to terminate the contract."
No reason. No explanation.
I didn't reply. I don't chase.
But as I sat alone in the same chair she once warmed with her rain-soaked skin, I felt something I hadn't felt in years.
A pull.
Not just lust. Not power.
A riddle.
Because she'd broken the rules in her own way.
And I wanted to know why.