The door opened without a sound.
I stepped inside, my heartbeat loud enough that I was sure he could hear it.
Alessandro De Luca stood behind a massive desk, the room around him dark and imposing, the light angled so shadows cut across his face instead of softening it. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with leather-bound volumes that looked untouched, more decorative than practical. The air felt heavier here, charged with authority and something colder beneath it.
This was where decisions were made.
Decisions that ruined lives.
He didn't tell me to sit.
So I didn't.
I stood there with my hands at my sides, my spine straight, my chin lifted just enough to suggest composure instead of defiance. I refused to look small in front of him, even if I felt like I was shrinking under his gaze.
"You kept me waiting," he said calmly.
"I was told to come," I replied. "Not when. Not how."
A faint curve touched his mouth. Not quite a smile.
"Good," he said. "You're learning."
My jaw tightened.
He studied me in silence for a moment, his eyes slow and deliberate as they moved over my face—not hungry, not kind, just assessing. Like I was a puzzle he had already solved and was now deciding how best to use.
"Sit," he said finally.
I did.
He leaned back slightly, folding his hands together as if we were about to discuss business—which, I realized with a sick twist in my stomach, we were.
"You understand why you're here," he said.
"Yes."
"You understand what you owe."
"Yes."
"And you understand," he continued, voice smooth and unhurried, "that repayment comes in many forms."
My chest tightened.
"What form do you want from me?" I asked quietly.
His eyes darkened—not with lust, but with something sharper.
"Information," he said.
I exhaled slowly, relieved despite myself. "I can listen. I can watch. I can remember things."
"You can," he agreed. "But not like this."
A pause.
Then: "You'll use access."
I frowned. "Access to what?"
"To people," he said plainly.
The meaning settled slowly, like poison spreading through my veins.
"No," I said immediately.
The word came out sharper than I intended, edged with panic.
Alessandro didn't react.
"You will," he said calmly.
"I won't," I insisted, my hands curling into fists in my lap. "I agreed to work. I didn't agree to—" I swallowed hard. "—that."
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk.
"You agreed to repay a debt that cannot be measured in money," he said quietly. "You don't get to choose the method."
Anger flared in my chest, hot and desperate.
"I won't use my body," I said. "I won't degrade myself for your business."
For the first time, something like amusement crossed his face.
"Degrade?" he repeated. "You think that's what this is?"
"What else could it be?"
He stood then, slowly, deliberately, circling the desk until he was in front of me. I resisted the urge to lean back as he stopped just close enough that I could feel the warmth of him, the quiet intensity of his presence.
"You're confusing intimacy with weakness," he said. "And sex with power."
My face burned.
"I'm not a weapon," I snapped.
He tilted his head slightly, studying me.
"You are exactly a weapon," he said. "You just don't know how to use yourself yet."
I stood abruptly. "Find someone else."
"There is no one else," he replied immediately. "Not for this."
"Why?" I demanded. "Why me?"
He didn't answer right away.
Instead, his gaze shifted—slow, deliberate—not lingering, but aware. Calculating. I felt it like heat crawling up my spine, across my shoulders, down my arms.
"Because you are unassuming," he said finally. "Because men underestimate you. Because you look harmless."
His eyes met mine again.
"And because you are attractive enough to be noticed… without appearing dangerous."
My cheeks flushed instantly, heat flooding my face no matter how hard I tried to control it.
"I didn't ask to be noticed," I said through clenched teeth.
"No," he said softly. "But you are."
He stepped closer—not touching, never touching—but close enough that my breath caught.
"You don't need to sleep with anyone," he said calmly. "This is not prostitution."
The word made my stomach twist.
"You will talk," he continued. "You will listen. You will smile. You will let them believe what they want to believe."
I hated that part of me understood.
"You'll be placed near a client," he went on. "An older man. Wealthy. Influential. Lonely. He likes attention from women who don't challenge his ego."
I closed my eyes briefly.
"He likes to feel desired," Alessandro said. "You will let him feel that way."
"And when he wants more?" I asked quietly.
"You will redirect," he replied. "You will flirt. You will charm. You will let him talk."
I laughed bitterly. "You make it sound so simple."
"For you," he said, "it will be."
I looked at him sharply. "You don't know me."
"I know enough," he said.
His voice lowered slightly—not seductive, but deliberate.
"You have restraint," he said. "You have anger you don't show. You have a body men notice and a mind they ignore. That combination is… effective."
The heat in my face intensified.
I hated that my reaction gave him satisfaction.
"You're disgusting," I muttered.
"Perhaps," he agreed easily. "But I'm right."
Silence stretched between us.
I thought of my mother.
I thought of her sitting alone, of her fragile hope that I would be okay, that this sacrifice would mean something.
I swallowed.
"If I do this," I said slowly, "you leave her alone. Completely."
"She was never the target," Alessandro replied. "You were."
The words sent a chill through me.
I took a steadying breath.
"And after?"
"That depends on you," he said.
I hated that answer.
Still… I nodded.
"I'll do it," I said.
His gaze sharpened.
"But on my terms," I added quickly. "No touching beyond what I allow. No crossing lines I don't consent to."
He studied me carefully.
Then, unexpectedly, he smiled.
"Good," he said. "Set boundaries. It makes you more convincing."
The praise felt wrong.
He turned back toward his desk, pulling a folder from a drawer and handing it to me.
"The client's name," he said. "His habits. His weaknesses. You'll read everything."
I took it, my fingers brushing the edge of the folder, my hand shaking just slightly.
"You'll be briefed again tomorrow," he continued. "Until then, you stay in your room."
I turned toward the door, my chest tight, my thoughts tangled and heavy.
"Elena," he said.
I paused.
"You don't belong to him," Alessandro said quietly. "You belong to this debt."
I didn't look back.
I walked out of the office, my legs unsteady, my heart pounding, my mind screaming with fear and resolve all at once.
I hadn't lost myself.
Not yet.
But I had stepped onto a line I wasn't sure I could ever cross back over.
And the worst part?
Somewhere deep inside me, beneath the anger and humiliation and fear—
I understood exactly why he had chosen me.