Chapter 2
I expected to walk home alone. I expected the usual quiet dread of the midnight streets.
Instead, a matte-black bulletproof Maybach idly purred against the curb.
The rear tinted window rolled down smoothly. Sebastian Crowe sat inside, bathed in the dim illumination of the dashboard lights, a pristine leather briefcase resting across his knees. Cerberus sat upright in the front passenger seat, turning his heavy head to stare directly at me through the side glass.
"Get in, Nina," Sebastian said, his tone leaving zero room for negotiation.
"I walk home," I replied, tightening my grip on my bag strap. "I don't accept rides from men who run the West Side."
"And I don't ask twice," he countered smoothly, a faint edge of amusement touching his deep voice. "Besides, your mother's upcoming dialysis installment at St. Jude's is due in forty-eight hours. The outstanding balance is twelve thousand four hundred dollars. Would you like to discuss how a restaurant server's weekly tips cover that math?"
My breath hitched in my throat. How could he possibly know that? My personal financial records were locked behind hospital portals.
"You're invading my privacy," I spat out, my anger finally overriding my terror.
"In my world, privacy is a luxury reserved for people who don't owe debts to dangerous men," Sebastian replied coldly. "Get in the car before the rain starts, Nina. I'm not asking to hurt you. I'm offering a conversation."
Reluctantly, knowing he held all the cards, I pulled open the door and slid onto the plush leather seat on the opposite side of the spacious interior. The door clicked shut, sealing us in a cocoon of suffocating luxury.
"What do you want from me, Mr. Crowe?" I demanded, staring straight ahead. "If you brought me here to warn me about disrespecting your table's vicinity—"
"I brought you here because Cerberus doesn't make mistakes," Sebastian interrupted, turning his dark eyes toward me. "That dog has been by my side through turf wars, assassination attempts, and boardroom bloodbaths. He has never once approached a civilian, let alone defended one. Yet tonight, he chose you over a connected billionaire's son."
"Maybe he has good judgment," I muttered.
A low chuckle vibrated in Sebastian's chest. "Maybe. Or maybe you carry something he recognized. Loss. Pain. Survival."
He popped open the leather briefcase and slid a manila folder across the smooth surface toward my lap. I hesitated before opening it. Inside lay certified bank documents clearing my mother's entire medical debt at St. Jude's Hospital, alongside a formal employment contract for a private estate management position—paying a base salary that would make my head spin.
"Why?" I whispered, looking up at him in sheer disbelief. "Nothing in this city is free. What's the catch?"
"The catch is simple," Sebastian said, resting his elbows on his knees, staring intently into my eyes. "My corporate headquarters on the Magnificent Mile requires an executive assistant who can handle high-pressure environments, absolute discretion, and impossible demands. But more importantly... Cerberus needs a handler he trusts when I travel out of state for syndicate business. He refused food for three days after my last trip to Zurich. But tonight, he let you touch him."
"You want me to be your dog's babysitter?" I asked, incredulous.
"I want you to work for me. Legitimate salary, full medical benefits covering 100% of your mother's ongoing treatments, and zero risk of drunk corporate heirs grabbing your wrists ever again." He paused, letting the weight of his offer settle over the cabin. "Think about it. You can walk away right now, go back to scrubbing tables for minimum wage, and hope your mother's insurance doesn't drop her next month. Or you can take the folder, sign your name, and step into a world where no one will ever touch you without my express permission."
I looked down at the folder. The numbers on the medical clearance form weren't theoretical; they were real. They meant my mother would live without pain, without constant financial terror hanging over her fragile heartbeat.
Slowly, deliberately, I reached out, picked up the silver fountain pen resting on the console, and signed my name on the dotted line.
May you like
Sebastian watched the ink dry, a strange, intense gleam flickering in his dark eyes.
"Welcome to the inner circle, Nina Harper," he whispered. "Tomorrow morning at eight sharp, my driver will pick you up at your apartment. Don't be late."
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