1 – The Devil’s Offer

Ava's POV

I should have known from the moment I stepped into Blackthorne Enterprises that my life would never be the same.

The elevator doors slid open, revealing a marble-floored lobby that smelled like wealth—leather, polished wood, and something darker beneath the surface. Everything about this place whispered power. The kind of power that didn’t just own businesses, but people.

And yet, I walked in willingly.

I didn’t have a choice.

Rent was overdue. My mother’s medical bills were stacking up like a cruel joke. My bank account had two dollars and seventeen cents to its name. And in this city, desperation was an ugly thing.

I clutched my résumé in one hand, ignoring the tremor in my fingers as I approached the front desk. The receptionist barely spared me a glance before murmuring into her earpiece, then gesturing toward an impossibly sleek black door at the end of the hall.

"Mr. Blackthorne is waiting for you."

I exhaled slowly, straightened my spine, and stepped forward.

---

The office was cold.

Not in temperature, but in presence.

Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the skyline of New York, the late evening sun casting long shadows across sleek black walls. A fireplace flickered low in the distance, but it did nothing to warm the space.

Or the man standing in the center of it.

Dante Blackthorne.

The moment our eyes met, something inside me locked into place.

He was tall, sculpted, and devastatingly controlled. A black suit clung to his broad shoulders, his silk tie loosened just enough to look effortlessly powerful. Midnight-dark hair curled slightly at the edges, but what struck me most were his eyes—ice blue, cold and unreadable.

He wasn’t just looking at me. He was studying me.

“Miss Sinclair,” he said, his voice dark velvet laced with steel.

The way my name rolled off his tongue made my stomach tighten.

I cleared my throat. “Mr. Blackthorne. Thank you for meeting with me.”

He gestured to the *leather chair across from his desk. “Sit.”

I did.

A thick silence stretched between us as he lifted my résumé, skimming over it with the slow precision of a man who already knew the outcome.

"This job," he said finally, setting the paper down, "pays more than any assistant position in the city."

I nodded. "Yes, sir."

His gaze flicked to mine, amusement barely curving his lips.

Sir.

I bit the inside of my cheek. Why did that word feel dangerous coming out of my mouth?

“I don’t hire just anyone, Miss Sinclair.” He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin. “Tell me, what are you willing to do for this job?”

I stiffened slightly. “I’m willing to work hard. I can learn quickly, and I—”

“I don’t mean that.”

My breath stalled.

Something in his gaze darkened. A slow, deliberate shift that sent a shiver down my spine.

“I mean, are you willing to obey?”

A cold weight settled in my stomach. This wasn’t a normal interview.

“I…” I swallowed. “I don’t understand.”

He stood.

The air changed.

He moved like a shadow, silent and commanding, until he was standing in front of me. Not touching. But close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his body.

“Stand up,” he murmured.

I hesitated.

A dangerous glint flickered through his gaze. Daring me to refuse.

Slowly, I stood.

"Unbutton the top of your blouse."

A rush of heat flooded my cheeks. "Excuse me?"

His lips curled. "You heard me."

I should have left. I should have slapped him, called him a bastard, and stormed out.

But instead, I stood there, staring into his cold, hypnotic gaze.

Daring him.

Testing him.

Wanting to know what would happen if I obeyed.

My fingers trembled as I reached for the first button.

Slowly, I slid it open. Then another. And another.

His breath hitched. A subtle movement, but I caught it.

Something primal flickered behind those ice-blue eyes. Something hungry.

He lifted his hand—not to touch, but to hover just above my collarbone. His fingers ghosted over my skin without contact, and still, my body reacted as if he had branded me.

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“Good girl.”

My breath shattered.

I didn’t know if the room had grown hotter or if it was just me. But when his eyes lowered to my barely exposed chest, I felt it everywhere.

“Close your blouse.”

Confusion flickered through me, but I obeyed, buttoning up the fabric with shaking fingers.

Dante tilted his head slightly. “You follow orders well.”

A twisted mix of pride and shame burned through me. Why did I want his approval?

He walked back to his desk, reaching into a drawer. A moment later, he placed a single sheet of paper in front of me.

A contract.

My stomach clenched.

“I don’t—”

“Read it,” he cut in smoothly. “Then decide.”

I forced myself to look down.

The words on the contract paper were simple. Too simple.

Employment Agreement – Blackthorne Enterprises

Position: Personal Assistant

Salary: $50,000 per month

Terms:

- Complete discretion.*

- Immediate availability at all hours.

-No questions. No refusals.

-You belong to me.

My fingers tightened around the edges of the paper.

This wasn’t a job offer.

This was something else entirely.

I looked up at him.

He watched me with perfect patience, as if he already knew I’d say yes.

My heart thundered. I should walk away.

But I couldn’t.

Because Dante Blackthorne wasn’t just offering money. He was offering something I couldn’t name.

And the worst part? I wanted it.

My signature trembled as I wrote my name.

I barely had time to breathe before he reached forward, tilting my chin up with two fingers.

His touch burned through me.

"Now," he murmured, his voice deep and sinful, "you're mine."

--------------------------

That night, I should have slept peacefully in my new penthouse room.

But sometime after midnight, I woke up to a sound I couldn’t ignore—

A low, guttural moan from Dante’s bedroom.

The kind of sound that made heat curl in my stomach—

And sent fear skittering down my spine.