"You have spine, milaya. I like that." He closes the remaining distance until I could count his eyelashes, until I can see the pale flecks in those winter-gray eyes. "Four hundred thousand."
The number doesn't register. "What?"
"Four hundred thousand dollars. Two weeks. You give me what I want, when I want it, how I want it." His hand catches a strand of my hair, rubbing it slowly between his fingers. "Your grandmother gets the best facility in Boston. Private room. Round-the-clock care. Whatever she needs."
"Why?" The question slips out raw. "Why so much?"
His hand moves to my chin, tilting my face up. "Always know your worth." His thumb brushes my lower lip—a single, deliberate pass. "To desperate strangers, you were worth fifty thousand. To me, you're worth considerably more."
The word wraps around my throat like a noose.
He releases me and steps back. "You'll live in my home. Follow my rules. No outside contact without my permission."
"My grandmother." The words come fast. "I need to see her. She'll worry if I disappear."
His jaw tightens. "One supervised visit per week. You tell her you have a new job. Nothing else."
More than I expected. The relief loosens something in my chest I hadn't realized I was holding. "Okay."
"In exchange, you don't leave the property without permission. You don't refuse me. You don't lie to me." Each rule lands like a stone dropped into still water. "Break any of these, and the contract is void. You leave with nothing."
You belong to me.
The words echo in my head—*I don't know this man, don't know what he's capable of, don't know what 'everything' means when the door is locked and there's no one to hear me*—but I know what it means if I walk away. Grandma dying in pain because I was too scared to save her.
"I want it in writing." The demand surprises even me, my voice steadier than it should be. "A contract. All the terms. And I want the money for her care transferred before I agree to anything else."
Respect flickers in his eyes. "Smart girl."
He pulls out his phone and holds it out. "Bank account number."
My hands shake as I enter Grandma's information. Within seconds, his phone chimes.
"Done. She'll be moved to a private room tomorrow." He pockets the phone. "Daniil will draw up the contract."
Daniil—the mountain of a man by the door—produces a tablet. His thick fingers move with surprising efficiency.
Rafail hands it to me. "Read it carefully."
The legal language swims. But the terms are clear enough. Two weeks of exclusive companionship. Four hundred thousand upon completion. Medical expenses covered in full. And if I break the rules, I forfeit everything.
If he breaks the contract—
There's no clause.
"There's nothing here that protects me," I say quietly.
"I protect you." His voice is absolute. "My word is your protection."
I should demand better terms. Insist on written protections. Negotiate like the business student I'm supposed to be.
Instead I think about Grandma smiling through her pain, telling me she's fine when we both know she's dying—and my hand moves almost of its own volition. I sign my name. *Jana Spears.* The letters look small on the screen. Fragile.
Rafail takes the tablet, his fingers brushing mine, and his voice wraps around me like silk pulled tight. "Welcome to my world, milaya."
He signs below my name with a flourish.
Just like that, I belong to him.
