Chapter 1 The Contract

I should've known he'd be beautiful.

But I wasn't prepared for that kind of beauty.

Lucian Thorne doesn't belong in boardrooms. He belongs in shadows, or maybe under a goddamn spotlight-tall, sharp-edged, and tailored in black like he walked off the cover of GQ and straight into the Devil's seat at the head of the table.

He didn't look at me when I walked in. Just kept reading a file with the kind of focus that said I know you're here, and I'll deal with you when I'm ready. Like I was just another problem to be assessed, processed, and neutralized.

They told me to bring my A-game. I brought my heels, my lip gloss, and my most expensive attitude.

"Miss Vale," he said, without looking up. "You're late."

I smiled-sharp and sugarcoated. "Traffic was hell. You know how it is. Bottlenecks, egos, entitled men in suits who think time stops for them."

That got his eyes on me.

And God-those eyes.

Steel-gray. Ice-cold. The kind of eyes that see too much and offer nothing in return. He studied me like a weapon he wasn't sure he needed to disarm yet.

"Do you usually begin contracts by insulting your clients?" he asked, voice calm and clipped.

"Only when they open with rudeness first."

He tapped the folder in front of him. "You're not my client. Not yet. You're just a name on a file someone else recommended."

"And you're just a man with a PR crisis trying not to look like he's bleeding."

Silence stretched between us.

I could see the flicker of something behind his eyes-not anger. Something colder. He didn't rise to the bait. He let it sit. Let me squirm. A power play. And I hated that it worked.

Finally, he closed the folder, slid it aside like he'd already decided.

"I don't want a fixer," he said. "I want a scalpel."

"I'm both," I replied. "But I don't work miracles. If you're looking for a halo, you've called the wrong woman."

He leaned forward slightly. Just enough for me to catch the scent of cedar and something darker. Like expensive danger.

"I'm not looking for salvation, Miss Vale," he said quietly. "I'm looking for silence."

I blinked.

"Excuse me?"

He pushed a contract across the table. "You'll start tomorrow. You'll have full access to my files, my company's internal communications, and your own secure office. But there are rules."

Of course there were.

"I'm listening," I said, even though I wanted to roll my eyes.

"One-anything you see, hear, or suspect stays in-house. Two-you report directly to me. No exceptions. Three-if I believe, even once, that you've compromised my interests, I will have you legally and professionally dismantled."

Well.

I picked up the contract. Flipped through it slowly.

"You really know how to make a girl feel welcome," I said. "You always threaten people before coffee?"

"I don't drink coffee."

"Of course you don't."

His expression didn't change, but I saw the muscle in his jaw twitch. A crack in the concrete.

I flipped to the last page. Saw the signature line. My name already typed neatly beside it, like I'd already been swallowed whole by this machine.

"And if I don't sign?" I asked.

Lucian leaned back, one arm draped over the back of his chair like a king bored with his court.

"Then your name stays on the PR blacklist. No firm in this city will touch you. Your brother's company loses its only investor. And your rent's late, isn't it?"

My breath caught.

It was subtle-just a second too long-but I knew he saw it.

He knew.

"You had me investigated."

"Of course I did."

There was no apology in his voice. No shame. Just a fact. Efficiency. Ruthlessness.

He didn't need a fixer. He needed someone to take the fall if this went sideways. And he'd already lined up my neck for the guillotine.

I signed the damn contract.

Because I didn't have a choice. Not a real one.

And because some stupid, broken part of me wanted to see what it would feel like to stand that close to power and not flinch.

---

When I stood to leave, he finally did too.

He moved with purpose, fluid and quiet, like someone trained to hurt without making a sound.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he said.

I turned at the door. "Any dress code?"

His eyes dropped to my heels, lingered there a beat too long, then rose back to my face with something unreadable.

"Wear red," he said. "You look good in danger."

Then he walked away like he hadn't just set my world on fire.