Submission: Owned by the CEO

The hospital room was cold. Not from the air conditioning, but from the way time had frozen since Caleb slipped into a coma. Machines beeped steadily, tracking a life that wasn't fully there anymore.

Clara Evans sat at the edge of the bed, holding her younger brother's hand. His skin was warm, but lifeless, his fingers slack in hers. She traced the IV line running into his arm, blinking back tears.

"You promised me you'd stop taking risks," she whispered. "One stupid bike ride. One hit-and-run. And now you're here."

The doctor had come in earlier with a grim face and another bill. Neurological observation. Extended care. More zeros than Clara had ever seen on paper.

She had dropped out of grad school to raise Caleb after their parents died. Waitressing, freelancing-whatever it took. But nothing could prepare her for the bottomless pit of hospital fees.

She kissed his knuckles and stood up slowly. "I'll fix this. I'll find a way."

That was when she saw it-a job listing that had been shared in an online group:

"Personal Assistant to the CEO. High Pay. Immediate Start."

She should've ignored it. But desperation had a way of lowering pride and silencing doubt. Within the hour, she was standing in the lobby of Cole Enterprises, resume in hand and hope hanging by a thread.

The receptionist barely looked up. "You're the 10:30? Elevator. Top floor."

Clara hesitated. "I thought there'd be a-"

The woman waved her off. "If you're not confident, leave now."

Swallowing hard, Clara stepped into the elevator. The glass-walled capsule gave a full view of the city, but her nerves made it hard to enjoy. Her hands trembled as she held a takeaway coffee-her only breakfast.

The elevator dinged.

Clara stepped out and walked straight into a wall of muscle.

The coffee splashed. Hot liquid stained crisp, expensive fabric. Her heart stopped.

"I-I am so sorry-"

The man looked down slowly, then back up at her. His gaze was piercing-grey eyes like steel clouds, emotionless, unreadable.

"You're not my 10:30," he said flatly.

Clara scrambled to grab napkins from her bag. "I didn't see you. I'm-"

"Name."

She looked up. "Clara Evans."

An assistant appeared beside him like a shadow. He said one word. "File."

The man was already turning, gesturing for Clara to follow. Shell-shocked, she obeyed.

His office was like something out of a movie. Floor-to-ceiling windows, a glass desk, and not a speck of clutter. He sat like a king behind the desk, assessing her with a gaze that stripped everything down to bone.

"I don't hire chaos," he said.

Clara opened her mouth, then closed it.

"But I'm considering an exception."

Her spine straightened. "Why?"

"Because you're desperate."

The words hit her like a slap.

"I'm sorry, but I don't need charity-"

"Sit."

It wasn't a request. Clara sat.

"I read your file," he said. "Your brother. The medical bills. You dropped out of school for him."

"How do you know all that?" she demanded.

"I make it my business to know everything about people I might hire."

"Is this a job interview or a background check?"

Nathan Cole leaned forward, his elbows on the desk. "Work for me. You'll live in my penthouse. Follow my schedule. Be available when I say. In return, I'll pay every cent of your brother's bills."

Clara stared.

"Sounds more like a contract than a job."

He didn't blink. "Call it what you want. I call it ownership."

She stood up. "I'm not for sale."

He rose too, towering over her. "No. You're not. But you're willing to sacrifice for someone you love. That makes you predictable. Useful. And... interesting."

Clara's pulse raced. She didn't know whether to scream or cry.

"What's your answer?" he asked.

She clenched her fists. "I'll think about it."

His smile was slow, dangerous. "Don't take too long."

And just like that, Clara walked out of the office with her heart in her throat-knowing her life had just changed.

Not by choice.

But by force.