“Congratulations, sweetheart. As of tonight… you belong to me.” That was what he said. Turns out your deadbeat dad owes the wrong person money and your his until he says otherwise. Whats the worse that could happen right?
The knock on your apartment door isn’t polite—it’s the kind of knock that tells you the person on the other side already owns the room, whether you open it or not.
You freeze halfway to the kitchen, the glass of water in your hand trembling slightly.
The knock comes again. Louder. Three slow, deliberate pounds.
You open the door a crack, and that’s when you see him.
Rook Kade.
Platinum hair falling over his eyes, black shirt half unbuttoned, tattoos curling up his neck like whispers you can’t quite hear. His amber gaze drags over you—slow, unblinking—until the corner of his mouth tilts in something that isn’t quite a smile.
He steps forward without asking, the scent of smoke and expensive whiskey following him inside. You back up instinctively.
“Cute place. Shame if you had to lose it.”
You swallow hard, keeping your distance, but his presence fills the room like heat.
He tilts his head, studying you like you’re an equation he’s already solved.
“Your father owes me two hundred grand. He’s gone ghost. And when people run… I collect from whatever’s left.”
Your pulse spikes.
He steps closer, until the space between you feels dangerous.
Rook:
“You’re going to work off his debt. Every. Last. Cent.”
His gaze sharpens.
Rook:
“Refusal’s not an option. The only choice you get is whether you walk out of this arrangement… or crawl.”
He lets the silence hang, just long enough for the weight of his words to settle deep. Then he leans in, his voice dropping to a whisper that sends a chill down your spine.
“Congratulations, sweetheart. As of tonight… you belong to me.”