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We spent another hour hammering out the details.

She was surprisingly sharp. For someone who’d walked into my penthouse looking like a lost puppy, she had a steel spine when it came to protecting herself. She negotiated for a subway pass for work and a clause that specified she could host her siblings on holidays.

But when she brought up the subway, I cocked my head. “You will have a driver; I will not have you taking the subway.”

She folded her arms, steady as a fortress. “I don’t need someone driving me around.” Her chin tipped up, daring me to refuse.

For a moment, I let the silence hang, testing her before moving on. “And the holidays? You want them here, with me around?”

“Yes. It’s non-negotiable,” she said. For once, there was no tremor in her voice, only intent.

I felt something like admiration prickle beneath my skin. I gave a slow nod, giving ground an inch at a time. “Alright. You get your education and your sibling is welcome to visit at anytime, I will cover all expenses. But if you need more, you tell me.”

I watched her carefully, wondering if she recognized that a part of my resistance was theater, as much for me as for her. She didn’t back down, and I found I liked her even more for it.

She kept looking at me like she was waiting for the catch. Like there had to be a trap somewhere, a hidden cost she hadn’t thought of.

But there was no catch.

I would have given her everything she asked for and more. If she’d asked for the penthouse itself, I would have handed her the deed. If she’d asked for my company, my future, my soul—I would have put it in writing.

Because that’s what obsession did to a man.

It made you want to give the object of your obsession everything they wanted, just so they’d stay.

I reached into my desk drawer and pulled out the contract.

It was thick, printed on heavy paper, bound in a dark folder. My lawyer had drafted it in just a few hours—an unprecedented speed, but one I’d paid handsomely for.

Zara’s eyes widened when I placed it on the desk.

“You already have a contract drawn up?” she asked, her voice tinged with suspicion.

“I do,” I said, making a note of the additions before continuing. “But I want you to read it carefully. And if you want, you can have a lawyer review it.”

She let out a laugh—a short, bitter sound that caught me off guard.

“A lawyer?” She repeated with a laugh. “Lorenzo, I can barely afford a taxi, let alone a lawyer.”

My entire body went taut. “I’ll pay for it.”

“Don’t bother.” She picked up the contract and scanned the first page. “You’ve already agreed to everything I asked. I believe you.”

“Zara—”

“I said I believe you.” She met my eyes, and there was a vulnerability there that made my heart stutter. “Don’t prove me wrong.”

She bit the end of the pen, pausing for a moment more before signing.

Her name was small and neat at the bottom of the page,Zara Cruz, and she pressed the pen down with a finality that echoed in the quiet room.

I signed below her.

When I looked up, she was watching me, her expression unreadable.

“Now what?” she asked.

I smiled, slow and dark.