Darian’s POV
The silver coin caught the light as it spun. Heads. Tails. Heads. Tails. It was a rhythmic, metal click against my thumb that kept my brain from over-rotating. I was sitting in the dark. The only light in the office came from the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the city. From up here, the people looked like ants. The cars looked like toys. It was a view that was supposed to make a man feel like a god, but tonight, it just made me feel tired.
I took a sip of the scotch. It was old…thirty years older than the girl I was about to buy. It burned in a way that felt honest. Most things in my life weren't honest. My board of directors lied to me. My competitors lied to me. My father… my father was a master of the lie.
I looked down at the file on my desk.
Liora Hayes.
The photo was grainy. She was wearing a pink uniform that looked like it had been washed a thousand times. She looked exhausted and there were dark circles under her eyes that no amount of makeup could hide. She was beautiful, I guess, in a way that felt raw. Not like the women I usually saw…women who were sculpted by surgeons and dressed by stylists. She looked like she had been sculpted by life, and life hadn't been kind to her.
I flipped the coin again. It felt heavy. It was a rare Russian ruble from the late 1800s. My father had given it to me when I was ten. It was the only thing he’d ever given me that wasn't a lesson in pain or a demand for perfection…. “Everything has a price, Darian,” he’d told me that day. “If you find someone who says they aren't for sale, it just means you haven't offered enough yet.”
He was right. He was usually right about the dark things.
The legacy clause was a noose around my neck. I didn't want a child. I didn't want a person in my house who would grow up looking like me, wanting things from me, needing things I didn't know how to give. I didn't even like children. They were loud. They were irrational. They were a liability.
But I liked Luminaire more than I hated the idea of a kid. This company was my blood. I had built the glass towers…I had crushed the rivals. I wasn't going to let some legal loophole in my father’s founder’s Clause take it all away. He wanted an heir? Fine. I’d give him an heir. But I’d do it my way.
I wouldn't marry some high-society brat who would try to sleep in my bed and talk to me about her feelings, I wouldn't have a wife who would look at my bank account like it was a freaking buffet. I wanted a transaction. I wanted a woman who would provide a service, take the money, and vanish into the night like she never existed.
A ghost.
I looked back at Liora’s file. Her father, Daniel Hayes.
The name still left a bitter taste in my mouth. He was one of the few men who had ever stood up to Sergei Volkov…He’d been a tech genius, a man with a moral compass that had eventually gotten him killed. My father had dismantled his company, his reputation, and his life. And now, seven years later, I was going to buy his daughter.
There was a dark, twisted sense of symmetry in that. It made my chest feel tight. Was it satisfaction? Or was it something else? I didn't like the something else. I didn't like feeling anything that didn't have a profit margin attached to it.
My phone vibrated on the desk. The screen lit up. Xavier.
I picked it up. I didn't say anything. I wanted hear him to speak. That was a habit, too. Let the other person fill the silence. It gave you the upper hand.
"The asset is secured," Xavier said. His voice was muffled, probably by the rain hitting the roof of the car. "She’s in the car. We’re on our way.picking a few things from her apartment "
I felt a strange prickle at the back of my neck. "How did she take it?"
"Like someone who has nothing left to lose," Xavier replied. I could hear the faint sound of the car’s engine. "She’s a mess, Darian. Wet, shivering, and looks like she’s about to shatter. But she’s in the car. That’s what matters."
"Did she ask about the money?"
"Not at first. She asked about the hospital. I told her the transfer was stopped. I told her the deposit was moving. That’s when the fight went out of her. It’s funny, isn't it? People think they have principles until you show them a hospital bill they can't pay."
I didn't find it funny. I found it predictable. "Is she going to be a problem, Xavier? I don't have time for a girl who’s going to spend the next nine months crying in the West Wing."
"She has spirit," Xavier said. "The steel core mentioned in the notes. She demanded proof. She didn't just take my word for it. She’s smarter than the others, Darian. That might be a problem, or it might be exactly what we need."
I rubbed my temple. My head was starting to ache. The scotch wasn't helping as much as I thought it would. "I don't need smart. I need compliant. I need a signature and a healthy pregnancy. That’s it."
"Well, you’re getting both," Xavier said. "We’re about ten minutes out. Do you want me to take her to a hotel? Get her cleaned up? She’s wearing a diner uniform that smells like old fries. It’s not exactly the 'Volkov' aesthetic."
I looked at the silver coin on my desk. I thought about the girl on the curb. I thought about her father.
"No," I said. My voice was low. "Bring her straight here. I want to see her exactly as she is. I want to see the desperation before we hide it under silk and marble."
"As you wish," Xavier said. "But don't say I didn't warn you. She’s not a model, Darian. She’s a girl who’s been through hell tonight."
"I've been to hell, Xavier. I own property there. Just bring her."
I hung up without waiting for a reply.
I stood up and walked back to the window. The rain was coming down harder now, blurring the lights of the city. I looked at my reflection in the glass. I looked cold. I looked like the man my father wanted me to be.
Was I doing this for the company? Or was I doing it because I wanted to prove to Sergei that I could play his games better than he could?
I didn't know.
I went back to the desk and opened the top drawer. I pulled out a small, velvet-lined box. Inside was a pen. It was a custom-made fountain pen, heavy and silver. I had used it to sign every major contract in the last five years. Acquisitions. Mergers. Layoffs.
Tonight, I was going to use it to buy a life.
I placed the pen on top of the black leather folder. It looked like a weapon resting on a shield.
I thought about the Obsidian Circle. My father’s friends. The men who moved the world from the shadows. They were watching me. They were waiting for me to fail. They thought I was too modern.They thought I didn't have the stomach for the old ways.
This contract was my answer to them. It was a blood pact, dressed up in legal jargon.
I sat back down. I tried to imagine Liora Hayes sitting in the chair across from me. I tried to imagine her pregnant with my child. The thought made my stomach flip. It wasn't disgust. It was… fear?
No. I didn't do fear.
I checked my watch. Eight minutes.
I wondered if she’d hate me. Most people in this city hated me, but they usually hid it behind smiles and handshakes because they wanted something from me. Liora wouldn't have to hide it….She was selling the one thing that made her human. She had every right to hate me.
In a way, I preferred that. Hate was honest. Hate was a boundary.
I picked up the silver coin one last time. I didn't flip it. I just squeezed it in my palm until the edges bit into my skin.
I was ready.
I reached for the intercom. "Xavier is on his way up with a guest. Clear the floor. I don't want anyone in the hallway when they arrive."
"Yes, Mr. Volkov," the voice of my assistant crackled back.
The stage was set.
I took one last sip of the scotch and set the glass down. The amber liquid swirled, then went still.
"Bring her," I whispered to the empty room.
The hunt was officially over. Now, I just had to see if I could live with what I’d caught.
