Chapter 5 The Contract

ANYA'S POV

Is this what heaven feels like, soft jazz and white lights?

I'm floating in a soft cloud, the soft music cloud my senses, but suddenly, something taps my forehead, my eyes flutter open and I realize I'm not in heaven.

My brain's foggy. My body aches like I ran a marathon through a war zone. And when I try to sit up, my head spins like I've been tossed in a dryer.

I groan.

"Wow," a voice drawls. "And here I thought he liked class."

I blink hard, squinting toward the edge of the bed.

A woman is perched elegantly on a velvet armchair, legs crossed, dressed like she just walked off the cover of Vogue Mafia Edition. Ice-blonde hair twisted into a sleek bun. Smoky eyes. Red lipstick. Designer heels sharp enough to gut someone.

Was she the one that woke me up by poking my forehead? I guess I'll never know.

Her eyes rake over me like I'm a wet stray on her clean marble floor.

"Who are you supposed to be?" she asks, tilting her head. "The help?"

I blink again. "Wha-?"

"I mean," she gestures toward the towel wrapped around me, my tangled hair, the clear confusion on my face, "you don't look like his type. Or is this some kind of new kink for him? Hostage chic?"

Heat floods my face. I fumble with the towel, instinctively pulling it tighter around my chest.

"Where-where am I?" I manage to croak.

She smirks. "In his bed. Which is fascinating, because I've been trying to get into it for years."

The implication hits me like a slap.

His bed.

Rylan's bed.

My pulse kicks up. I look around properly this time-the room is huge, sleek, cold and beautiful, just like the man himself. Dark paneling, moody lighting, and a glass wall that looks out over the skyline. And yes, I'm very much in a king-sized bed that smells like sin and money.

I shoot upright, then immediately regret it as the world tilts again.

The woman watches with amused contempt.

I grit my teeth. "And you are?"

She smiles with her teeth. "Sky. Family friend. Ex-lover. Future wife, depending on who you ask." She flicks an imaginary speck off her thigh. "But don't worry. You'll be gone soon."

"Excuse me?"

"You're obviously just a game. Rylan gets bored easily. Especially with charity cases."

I narrow my eyes. My whole life has been surviving women like her. The types who smile like snakes and treat you like trash as easily as it is so get a perfect manicure.

Before I can think of something equally bitchy to say, the door slams open.

And there he is.

Rylan D'Amato.

Storm in a suit. presence devours the room the second he steps in-broad shoulders, fury etched into every line of his body. His jet black hair looks ruffled, like he ran his hand through them a few times. His stormy grey eyes cut to me first, searching, scanning, softening just for a fraction of a second when he sees I'm awake.

Then they snap to Sky, and they harden to that steel grey.

"What the fuck are you doing in here?" he growls.

Sky stands slowly, smoothing her skirt, the picture of smug composure. "Checking on you. And clearly, your taste in houseguests has taken a turn."

Rylan doesn't even glance at her again. He strides straight to the bed.

"Are you okay?" he asks me, voice tight. "How do you feel?"

I blink up at him, heat blooming in my chest. His jaw is clenched, his knuckles white. He's in a dark colored suit similar to the las t one, but I'm sure this is another pair after he dived into the pool to save me. The top buttons of his shirt are undone, revealing a tantalizing flash of tanned, inked chest.

I lick my lips. "I'm... fine. I think."

"The doctor said you got lightheaded. The sight of blood must have made you squeamish-"

"Not enough blood if you ask me," Sky quips from the back

He exhales roughly but then ignores Sky totally. But when he turns to me, it's like all the tension bleeds out of him all at once. One hand lifts, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face, lingering at my jaw.

"Also, while running, you must have hurt yourself. That's where the blood came from. You scared the hell out of me, I thought-" he starts, then stops himself.

He doesn't need to finish. I know what he thought. He thought I was going to die.

"Sorry I ruined your towel," I murmur, trying to joke.

His lips twitch.

But Sky clears her throat with an obnoxious little cough. "Are we seriously pretending this is normal? She's in your bed, Ry. You don't even let me sleep in here."

"That's because I don't want you in here," he says flatly.

Her face freezes.

Then he turns to the hallway, voice like a whipcrack.

"Get her out. Now."

Two guards materialize almost instantly.

"Rylan-!" Sky tries, voice sharp.

"You broke into a private wing of my house. Again. If I ever see you on this in this building or near me, I'll do more than have you dragged out."

Sky scoffs, but there's a flicker of panic in her eyes as the guards move toward her.

"This isn't over," she hisses, shooting me one last glare.

Rylan's eyes harden, his voice a low growl as he steps toward me. "You're not getting out of that, Piccola." His words are laced with something deeper now-something raw and dangerous, like I'm treading too close to a line I shouldn't cross.

But I'm angry. I don't care how dangerous it is.

"Sky wants you," I say flatly, the bitterness creeping into my tone. "And I can't pretend I don't see it. So, what's the deal? Marry her, let me go. I'm sure she'll fit in your mafia kingdom just fine."

His eyes flare with something-rage, frustration, maybe even a flicker of something else. But he doesn't say anything. Not yet. Then he sighs, his shoulders slumping just slightly. "I've been thinking," he says, his voice low and grave. "Since you passed out. Since you're hesitant about being mine, and fighting me every step of the way, I've worked out a position for the both of us."

I frown. What the hell does that mean?

Without another word, he reaches into a drawer of the bedside table and pulls out a black folder with a gold crest embossed on the cover. The crest is regal, too perfect, and it gives me chills. Something about it makes my stomach churn-terrifying.

He slides the folder across the bed to me, and I stare at it, unsure if I want to open it. But I do. With trembling fingers, I peel open the folder and pull out a single sheet of paper.

A contract.

The words jump off the page at me.

"Six months. Stay with Rylan D'Amato. Obey his commands. Fulfill his needs. Or die."

My breath hitches in my chest, a cold wave of panic rushing over me. "You can't be serious."

Rylan's expression doesn't shift. "I'm giving you a chance," he says calmly, his voice like ice. "I'm offering you survival."

I blink, trying to process what he's saying. Survival? This is what he thinks it will take to survive? I feel like I'm going to pass out again.

"Naturally, you should be mine forever without an exit clause, but I'm giving you an Out. If after six months you still feel this way, then you're free to leave."

"This is insane," I whisper.

He watches me carefully, his eyes darkening. "You don't have a choice, Anya. This is the only way."

I shake my head. I can't believe this. He's offering me a way out... but with strings attached. Strings so tight, they'll strangle me.

"I need to think. I need space. I need to get out of this mansion." I need to breathe without feeling like he's watching me every second of every day. I can't live like that.

But even as I think it, I know it's a lie.

I can't leave. Not with the threat of him looming over me, his control tightening around me like a vice.

"You can leave to think about it," Rylan says suddenly, like he's reading my mind. "Right now. But don't think for one second you'll disappear. I've been watching you for years. I can find you in the blink of an eye."

My heart stutters in my chest. I can't believe he's letting me leave, yet at the same time, it's like he knows I can't run from him. But I have to prove him wrong.I have to try.

I turn on my heel without another word, grabbing my jacket and heading for the door, his threat still heavy in my heart.

What am I going to do?