Chapter 1: The Contract
The air inside The Wolff Tower was thick with the scent of leather, aged whiskey, and something darker, something primal. It seeped into the walls, coiling around Isla Laurent’s senses like invisible smoke, stirring something ancient in her blood. The silence wasn’t empty, it was watchful, pulsing with tension that made her skin prickle beneath her coat. Every step forward felt like a negotiation with the unknown.
She knew she was making a deal with the devil when she stepped into the office of Damien Wolff. But she never expected the devil to look this good.
He sat behind a massive oak desk, the kind that looked as though it had seen empires rise and fall. It grounded him, a throne for a man who ruled through fear and fascination. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, revealing the kind of forearms that could either write poetry or crush a skull. He emanated controlled power and calculated restraint. However, the most dangerous thing about him wasn’t his body. It was the way he looked at her.
His presence was electric, dangerous, and unyielding. It pressed against her like a challenge, daring her to speak, to breathe and to move. Isla wasn’t easily intimidated, but this man made her equilibrium falter without laying a hand on her. There was something unsettling in his stillness and in the way he didn’t bother to hide his dominance because didn’t need to.
Clearly, Damien Wolff was a man who took what he wanted and now, for reasons that clawed against the edge of logic and survival, he wanted her.
“I don’t sign contracts blindly,” Isla said, folding her arms in a gesture that was more armor than attitude. Her voice held steady, but she could feel the betraying flutter of her pulse at the base of her throat. She stood tall, chin lifted, refusing to show the tremor building in her gut. It was foolish, maybe, but necessary. If she showed weakness now, he’d devour her.
Damien smirked, and the world seemed to narrow around them. “That’s smart,” he said, voice smooth and low, like velvet over a blade. “But we both know you’re not walking out of here without agreeing to my terms.”
There was no threat in his tone, just fact, and somehow, that was worse.
He rose from his chair with the grace of a predator, all precision and latent strength. Every movement seemed calculated to provoke. His eyes never left hers, and each step he took toward her landed like a heartbeat in her chest. She fought the instinct to step back, to retreat from the heat radiating off him.
He was too close now.
The space between them shrank until the room itself seemed to tilt. She caught the subtle shift of his scent, cedar, whiskey, and something wild, that reminded her of earth after lightning or smoke after fire. Her breath hitched and her body, traitorous and aware, leaned in ever so slightly.
He towered over her, a force of nature wrapped in an Armani suit. His presence consumed oxygen. She could barely think and all she could feel was the weight of his gaze and the unspoken warning it carried.
She had come here out of necessity because of her father’s debts. A desperate plea for help. It wasn’t a deal, it was basically a sacrifice. She had convinced herself she could survive it. One year, just one year as Damien Wolff’s personal assistant. She would endure the coldness, the expectations and the leash.
But she had misunderstood the price since this wasn’t about schedules or coffee runs. This wasn’t about business.
He leaned in, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek. Her body tensed, aware of every inch of space he erased. He didn’t touch her, not fully, but the implication in his nearness screamed louder than words. The scent of him was intoxicating and terrifying. The predator didn’t bite, he seduced the prey into stepping closer.
“You’re mine now, Isla,” he murmured, voice like a whisper laced with iron. His fingers brushed the inside of her wrist, barely grazing her skin, but it was enough to ignite her. Heat bloomed low in her belly, furious and involuntary. Her breath trembled out of her lungs.
“ I don’t share.”
His words slid down her spine like a brand. She should run, every nerve in her body screamed it. She should rip up the contract and leave this place behind before she lost more than just her freedom. Instead, her lips parted, and the words slipped out, soft but certain.
“Show me your terms, Mr. Wolff.”
The air between them crackled, alive with something neither of them could fully name. Damien’s smirk deepened, and behind it, something darker stirred in his eyes, something primal and possessive.
“Careful, sweetheart. Once you’re in, there’s no way out.”
Voilà, just like that, the trap was set.