Chapter One
The building did not advertise itself. No plaque. No name. Just a glass façade tucked between two older stone structures that was easily missed, if she wasn’t looking for it. The kind of place you only entered if you already knew it existed.
She arrived six minutes early and told herself that was intentional, not anxious behaviour.
The woman in the reflection of the tinted glass looked composed enough: late twenties, black coat buttoned high, wavy dark blonde hair smoothed back with care that bordered on repetitiveness. She had chosen neutral everything. Neutral shoes. Neutral makeup. A face that said capable, not desperate.
Desperation, after all, was a private thing.
Inside, the lobby was quiet to the point of artifice. Marble floors, muted lighting, a receptionist who didn’t ask her name until she spoke first. When she did, the woman merely nodded, as if expecting her.
“Mr. Vale is ready for you.”
Ezekiel Vale rose when she entered the office. That alone caught her off guard.
He was taller than she’d expected, dressed impeccably in a charcoal suit that fit like it had been tailored with intention rather than wealth alone. His hair was dark, worn back from his face, and his smile, when it appeared, was slow and knowing, as though he’d already read her and found her moderately interesting.
“Please Miss Cole,” he said, gesturing to the chair opposite his desk. “Sit. You’re right on time.”
She took the seat, crossing her legs carefully, spine straight. “I try to be.”
His eyes flicked briefly to her hands. No rings. No tremor. Observant, then.
“Tea? Water?”
“No, thank you.”
“Pity. It’s an excellent blend.” He sat, fingers steepled, studying her without pretence. “But you’re right, let’s not waste time on pleasantries. You know why you’re here.”
She nodded. “You said this meeting was to discuss a proposal.”
“Correct.” His smile sharpened. “And to see whether you’re capable of discretion.”
A pause. A test.
“I am,” she said evenly.
“Good. Because what I represent requires it.”
He opened a slim folder on the desk but did not yet slide it toward her.
“The Roth Heirs,” Ezekiel continued, voice smooth, almost conversational, “are seeking a very specific arrangement. Temporary, and mutually beneficial.”
She waited.
“For a period of three months,” he said, “you would reside in a private estate and devote your time and attention to satisfying the personal needs of the Heirs.”
There it was. Cleanly stated. No euphemisms, no apology.
She kept her expression neutral, though something tight shifted in her chest. “All the needs,” she repeated.
“All, yes.” Ezekiel confirmed. “Within negotiated limits.”
“And the compensation?”
His brows lifted, approving. “Direct.”
He slid the folder across the desk. “Three million euros. Paid in full at the completion of the term.”
Her fingers brushed the edge of the paper, then stilled.
Three months. Three million.
She did not open it yet.
“How many Heirs?” she asked.
Ezekiel smiled as if she’d asked something charming. “That information is not disclosed at this stage.”
“Why?”
“Because this meeting is not about them.”
“It’s about me,” she said.
“Precisely.”
He leaned back in his chair, studying her as though she were a negotiation rather than a person. “This is the first of several meetings. Today, we establish the basics. Expectations. Confidentiality. Your willingness to proceed.”
“And if I am willing?”
“Then you’ll sign an initial agreement and a non-disclosure clause.”
Her pulse ticked faster. “And after that?”
“After that, you’ll receive a comprehensive form.”
He reached into a drawer and withdrew a second document: thicker, bound, intimidating.
“This,” Ezekiel said, tapping it lightly, “is a detailed questionnaire of preferences. Inclinations. Hard limits. Soft limits. Curiosities. Absolute refusals.”
Her eyebrows rose before she could stop them.
Amusement flickered across his face. “Yes. It’s extensive.”
“I can see that.”
“You’ll have one week to complete it. Thoughtfully. Honestly.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then we part ways, and this conversation ceases to exist.”
She swallowed. “And once I return it?”
“At the second meeting, you’ll be provided with a summarized profile of the Heirs...their preferences, expectations, and non-negotiables.”
“And if there’s a conflict?”
Ezekiel’s gaze sharpened. “If any of your limits contradict any of theirs, the arrangement is terminated immediately. No negotiation. No compromise.”
“So I have to fit them perfectly,” she said.
“No,” he corrected smoothly. “You have to fit them naturally.”
A distinction with teeth.
She exhaled slowly, forcing calm into her voice. “You’re asking for a great deal of trust.”
“And offering an equally great deal of compensation.”
Silence stretched between them, dense and deliberate.
“What about my life?” she asked finally. “My obligations.”
Ezekiel tilted his head. “You are not required to disclose your personal circumstances.”
Her heart skipped, relief sharp and unexpected.
“All that matters,” he continued, “is that for the duration of the contract, the Heirs come first.”
She nodded once. “Understood.”
“Good.”
He slid a pen across the desk, followed by the final document in the folder. “This is the preliminary agreement. It outlines duration, compensation, general expectations, and discretion. The NDA is comprehensive. Breach it, and the consequences will be… severe.”
She met his gaze. “And the Heirs’ secret?”
His smile returned, slow and elusive. “Ah. You noticed the omission.”
“I assume there is one.”
“There is,” Ezekiel said lightly. “And it will remain undisclosed until the final contract is signed.”
“Why?”
“Because by then,” he replied, eyes dark with something unreadable, “you will already have agreed to stay.”
The pen felt heavier than it should have.
She thought of unpaid bills. Of small shoes by the door. Of nights spent calculating numbers that never quite worked. She straightened her shoulders.
“When is the next meeting?”
Ezekiel’s smile widened, satisfied. “One week from today.”
She signed.
And the door closed quietly behind her, sealing the beginning of something that had already decided to want her.
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