Wicked Mercy

The soft tick of the hospital clock was the only sound in the room, aside from the steady hum of the life support machine. Amara Santiago sat at the edge of the bed, her fingers trembling as she clutched her mother's frail hand. The pale skin that used to be warm and full of life now felt cold and distant-like her mother was already halfway gone.

Amara swallowed the lump in her throat and glanced at the IV bags, then at the machines she didn't understand. Every beep reminded her that time was running out-and money was running out faster.

"You should eat something," the nurse said gently as she stepped into the room with a tray. "It's been hours."

Amara shook her head. "I'm fine, thank you."

The nurse lingered for a moment, then placed the tray down and walked out quietly. The door hadn't even clicked shut before another sound entered the room-one that made Amara's stomach twist.

The heavy footsteps of a man in a suit. Leather shoes. Purposeful. Cold.

She didn't need to look to know who it was.

"I assume you've come to a decision," said the man, his voice like silk stretched over razors.

Kael Donovan.

Billionaire. CEO. And predator in a three-piece suit.

He was younger than most men in his position-thirty-two, maybe thirty-three-but carried himself like someone twice his age. His eyes were sharp, void of warmth, and his expression unreadable.

Amara stood, facing him squarely. She hated that her heart raced in his presence. Not from attraction, but fear. She had researched him enough to know he wasn't a man who took no for an answer. His reputation was both infamous and untouchable.

"I signed the contract," she said, lifting the document from the side table with trembling fingers.

Kael didn't move as she handed it to him. He simply looked at her, one brow slightly raised.

"No second thoughts?"

Amara's lips pressed into a firm line. "You said you'd pay the hospital bills. And clear the debt collectors. I'm trusting you to keep your word."

Kael took the contract from her fingers and examined it. "Trust is a luxury, Miss Santiago. I offer power, money, and silence. Nothing more."

"And what do you want from me?" she asked quietly, already knowing the answer but needing to hear it.

His eyes locked with hers, and for a second, she saw something flicker there. Amusement? Sadness? Hunger?

"You," he said simply. "All of you. Your time, your body, your loyalty. For one year."

Amara forced her chin up. "I'm not some desperate girl looking for a sugar daddy."

Kael stepped closer. "And I'm not a man who plays house. This isn't romance, Miss Santiago. It's survival. For both of us."

She wanted to ask Why me? But she couldn't afford to care.

Not when the hospital had just handed her a final notice. Not when her landlord had already changed the locks on her apartment. Not when her mother could slip away at any moment.

"I'll do it," she said again, her voice harder now. "Just promise me she lives."

Kael folded the contract and slipped it into his coat pocket. "She will. You have my word."

It wasn't comforting. His word was just another tool in a world built on manipulation.

As he turned to leave, she called after him, "Wait. Where are you taking me?"

He glanced over his shoulder. "Your things will be picked up within the hour. You'll be staying at one of my residences. The driver will be downstairs in ten minutes."

"And if I don't come?"

He paused.

"Then you'll wake up tomorrow to a corpse and a ruined name. Your father's debts will crush your future before it even begins. And every man who lent him money will remember your face."

Amara's breath caught.

Her father.

Even in death, he haunted her.

Kael didn't wait for a reply. He walked out, his footsteps echoing like a countdown to the end of everything she used to know.

Ten minutes later, Amara stood on the curb outside the hospital, her only suitcase at her feet. Her long black coat was soaked through with rain, her wet curls sticking to her face. She had no umbrella, no plan, no hope.

Just the name of a devil, and a promise she was about to regret.

The black car pulled up in silence, its tinted windows giving nothing away. A tall man in uniform stepped out and opened the back door for her.

She hesitated, her heart pounding so loudly she thought it might stop.

One year.

Three hundred and sixty-five days.

And I'm his.

She climbed into the car, not realizing she was already crying until the door shut and darkness swallowed her whole.