Lila confronts Damien in his most controlled environment—his private office, the nucleus of his empire. But she doesn't come to obey. She comes with questions. Real ones. About Evelyne. About the contracts. About the eyes watching her every move. But Damien doesn't give answers—he offers another contract. One that has nothing to do with ink. It's a psychological wager. Obsession against autonomy. And the winner will take more than ownership—they'll take the other's soul.
---
The request came at dusk.
No appointment.
No meeting on the books.
Just a single word in her inbox:
"Now."
She took the elevator without hesitating.
Her reflection stared back at her in the chrome doors. Pale. Calm. Dangerous.
The doors opened to the top floor.
Damien's domain.
The hallway was dark. Not off. Just dimmed. As if the building was holding its breath.
His office door was open.
But she knocked anyway.
Because that's what you do before walking into a predator's den.
"Come in."
His voice. Calm. Low. Slightly amused.
She stepped inside.
It was warmer than she remembered.
Bookshelves lit from below. Floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over a bruised New York sky. The storm hadn't broken yet, but it wanted to.
Damien sat behind his desk.
No papers.
No computer.
Just a leather folder.
Of course.
"Close the door," he said.
She did.
And locked it.
His brow lifted slightly.
"You've changed."
She crossed the room and didn't sit. She stood.
"I have questions."
"I don't answer questions."
"Then I won't ask them. I'll state facts. And you'll confirm or deny."
His fingers laced together.
"This should be fun."
She stepped forward.
"One. Evelyne was surveilled. For years."
"Yes."
"Two. So was I."
"Yes."
"Three. She didn't jump."
A pause.
He looked up at her.
"No. She didn't."
The air shifted.
"Four," Lila said. "You're trying to do the same thing to me."
"No," he said. "I already am."
She didn't blink.
He stood.
Walked around the desk.
"You keep resisting. That's admirable."
"It's natural."
"It's rare."
He handed her a slip of paper.
Not typed. Not formal.
Just a single line handwritten.
"Spend one night in the apartment on Level 13. Alone."
She looked at it.
Then at him.
"What's on Level 13?"
He smiled.
"Something that belongs to you."
"And if I say no?"
"You won't."
"Try me."
He stepped forward.
And for the first time—
Touched her hair.
Just one finger.
Brushed behind her ear.
And whispered:
"You want the truth? Then be brave enough to step into it."