Chapter 1: The Midnight Contract

Chapter 1: The Midnight Contract

The champagne was a river of gold, the laughter a symphony of practiced ease, but to me, it was all just noise. From my vantage point near a marble column, I surveyed the New Year's Eve gala at The Zenith Hotel. A sea of designer gowns and bespoke suits, a room drowning in old money and new power. For them, it was a celebration. For me, it was the office.

My name is Scarlett Vance, but tonight, I was Ariel. Ariel was worth five figures a night. Ariel was a fantasy, a whisper, a secret kept by the most powerful men in the city. Scarlett was just a girl with a mountain of student loan debt from a business degree she never finished and a burning desire to disappear. Ariel was the key to Scarlett’s freedom.

My target stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows, a solitary figure silhouetted against the glittering cityscape. Ethan Thompson. Thirty-two years old, CEO of the monolithic Thompson Industries, and a billionaire so reclusive he was practically a myth.

My client’s instructions had been simple, delivered with a charming, predatory smile over a lunch that cost more than my first car. “He’s a virgin, Ariel,” Leo Sterling had said, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief. “Painfully shy. An absolute hermit. Your job is to be his first. Show him a good time. And tell me… everything.”

An easy job. A ridiculously well-paying job. Seducing a shy virgin billionaire was child’s play. I’d dealt with far more complicated and depraved requests. This was a golden ticket, another huge step toward the anonymous life I craved.

I straightened the sleek black fabric of my dress, took a final sip of champagne for courage I didn’t need, and began to move. I was a shark gliding through water, my movements fluid and deliberate. As I drew closer, I could see him more clearly. Dark, tousled hair, a jawline sharp enough to cut glass, and shoulders that strained the fabric of his impeccably tailored suit. He was handsome, devastatingly so, but he held himself with a rigid awkwardness, his gaze fixed on the floor. He fit Leo’s description perfectly.

“Alone on New Year’s Eve?” I murmured, stopping beside him. My voice was Ariel’s voice—a low, smoky purr. “That should be illegal.”

He startled, his head snapping up. His eyes, a deep, brooding brown, met mine for a fleeting second before darting away. “I… I’m not much for crowds.”

His voice was a low rumble, hesitant. Perfect.

“Me neither,” I lied smoothly, offering a small, conspiratorial smile. “Too much pressure to have the best night of your life, don’t you think?”

He gave a curt, almost painful nod. “Something like that.”

“I’m Ariel.”

“Ethan.”

The conversation was stilted, exactly as I’d expected. I did all the work, drawing him out with practiced questions, laughing at the right moments, letting my fingers brush against his arm. He was a fortress, and I was laying siege with the best weapons in my arsenal: feigned interest and the promise of intimacy. I felt a familiar mix of boredom and professional pride. He was a puzzle, and I was already solving him.

“It’s almost midnight,” I said, my voice dropping to a whisper. “I know a place with a much better view of the fireworks. And significantly less people.”

His eyes flickered to mine again, a spark of something I couldn’t quite decipher—panic? interest?—before he looked away. But he nodded.

Victory.

I led him from the ballroom, my hand resting lightly on the small of his back. I could feel the tension coiled in his muscles. We didn't speak in the elevator, the silence thick and humming with unspoken things. The suite Leo had booked was on the penthouse level, a sprawling space of cool marble and dark wood, the city lights a glittering carpet below us.

As the door clicked shut, the atmosphere shifted. The air grew heavy, charged. Ethan was no longer looking at the floor. He was looking at me, his gaze direct and unnervingly steady. The awkward boy from the party was gone, replaced by a man who radiated a quiet, predatory power.

My internal alarms, the ones I’d learned to trust over the years, began to scream. This wasn’t shyness. This was stillness. The stillness of a wolf watching its prey.

“You’re not very good at this, are you?” he said, his voice no longer hesitant but a deep, confident baritone that vibrated through the room.

My carefully constructed persona faltered for a fraction of a second. “Good at what?” I asked, my tone still playful, though my heart had begun to hammer against my ribs.

“Pretending.” He took a step closer. And another. He didn't stop until he was invading my space, his sheer size overwhelming. “Pretending you’re interested in my company, not my wallet.”

I let out a low laugh, a defensive reflex. “Isn’t that what all these women want?” I gestured vaguely towards the floor where the party raged on.

“Yes,” he said, his eyes dropping to my mouth. “But they aren’t as honest about it. And they weren’t sent by Leo Sterling.”

Ice flooded my veins. My breath caught in my throat. He knew. He knew.

Before I could think, before I could formulate a lie or a plan or an escape, his hand snaked out, his fingers tangling in my fiery red hair and tilting my head back. His other hand settled on my hip, pulling me flush against his hard body. The self-destructive part of me, the part that was drawn to red flags like a moth to a roaring flame, thrilled in terror.

“Let’s stop playing games, Ariel,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over mine. “Or should I call you Scarlett?”

My name, my real name, from his lips was a violation. A branding iron.

His mouth crashed down on mine. It was not the kiss of an inexperienced boy. It was the kiss of a conqueror—demanding, punishing, and utterly possessive. It wasn’t a seduction; it was an interrogation. He kissed me like he was stripping my soul bare, tasting every lie, every secret. I was a professional, I’d faked passion a thousand times, but there was no faking this. My body responded before my mind could, a traitorous wave of heat washing over me.

He broke the kiss, leaving me breathless and reeling. His eyes were dark, burning with an intensity that promised both pleasure and ruin. He took a half-step back, his gaze raking over my body, lingering on my chest with an unnerving focus.

“The reports didn’t do you justice,” he said, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. “They mentioned the hair, the eyes… but they left out the best part.” His gaze was so specific, so piercing, it felt like he could see right through the expensive fabric of my dress. He was looking directly at my left breast. At the distinctive silver bar I had pierced through my nipple, a small act of rebellion known to very few.

Panic, cold and sharp, finally cut through the haze of shock. How could he possibly know that?

The encounter that followed was a blur of calculated dominance on his part and terrified, unwilling surrender on mine. He wasn't the shy virgin from the brief; he was a master, a predator who knew exactly what he wanted and how to take it. Every move was precise, designed to shatter my composure, to strip away the cool, controlled persona of Ariel and expose the vulnerable woman beneath. He turned my own game against me with brutal efficiency. He made me feel things I refused to feel, made my body betray my mind.

Afterward, I lay tangled in the silk sheets, my mind a whirlwind of confusion and fear. The clock on the bedside table read 12:47. The job was done, but I hadn’t been in control for a single second of it. He had played me, from the very beginning.

As I struggled to piece my thoughts together, Ethan leaned over me, his face shadowed in the dim light. His voice was a low, chilling whisper against my ear, a final, devastating blow.

“Go tell Leo his little test failed.” He paused, letting the words sink in. “And tell him that what belongs to me… stays with me.”

At that exact moment, my phone, discarded on the nightstand, buzzed. The screen lit up with a new text message. My blood ran cold as I read the name.

Leo Sterling.

With a trembling hand, I reached for it. Ethan watched me, his expression unreadable, a silent predator enjoying the final moments of the hunt.

The message contained only four words, a death sentence to the life I knew.

He knows. Get out.

I stared at the screen, then at the man in the bed beside me. The opulent suite was no longer a symbol of a lucrative job. It was a cage. And the door had just slammed shut.