Chapter 5 - The Golden Cage
“Let me pass, Mr. Ashworth,” Briar said, her voice dropping into a hard, dangerous register born of too many years surviving men who thought they owned her.
Damien didn't budge an inch. He towered over her, his broad shoulders blocking out the city lights behind him. There was no malice in his posture, but there was an unyielding, terrifying gravity—the kind of gravity that held planets in orbit.
“You misinterpret my words,” Damien said smoothly, though his jaw was tightly clenched. “I am not holding you hostage. But I am offering you a contract you cannot refuse.”
Briar scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Try me.”
“Your clinic in Brooklyn is failing,” Damien stated flatly, reading her financial standing as easily as if it were printed on a billboard. “Your landlord is raising your rent by forty percent next month, your equipment is two decades past its expiration date, and you are working sixteen-hour days just to afford a studio apartment that smells like gas leaks and desperation.”
Briar flinched. The words hit her like a physical blow. How could he possibly—?
“You had a private investigator look into me in the five minutes it took to drive across the bridge?” she hissed, her cheeks burning with humiliation.
“I invest in what I care about, Miss Lennox,” Damien replied without a shred of apology. “And right now, the only thing keeping my dog alive is sitting right here in front of me. Therefore, your life is suddenly of paramount importance to my operations.”
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a heavy, platinum-plated fountain pen and a crisp document, placing them both on the glass coffee table beside them.
“Sign an exclusive retainer,” Damien continued, his eyes locking onto hers. “You move into the guest suite down the hall. You oversee Brutus’s recovery full-time. In exchange, your clinic debts are cleared, your rent is paid for the next ten years, and your salary will be deposited into a private account every Friday morning. An amount that will ensure you never have to mop a linoleum floor at midnight again.”
Briar stared at the paper. It was a fairy tale wrapped in velvet chains. Every instinct screamed at her to run—to grab her bag, punch him in the jaw, and catch the nearest subway back to Brooklyn.
Because she knew men like this. She knew what happened when powerful men decided you belonged to them.
“And what happens when Brutus is fully recovered?” Briar asked, her voice dangerously quiet. “What happens when I’m no longer useful to your household?”
A slow, dangerous shadow crossed Damien’s face. He stepped closer, close enough that Briar could smell the crisp cedar of his cologne and feel the heat radiating from his chest.
“Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it,” Damien murmured softly. “Because as of right now, Miss Lennox... I don't intend on ever letting you become un-useful.”
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Before Briar could formulate a retort, Brutus let out a low huff from the corner, pushing himself up onto all four paws and walking slowly over to where they stood. The massive dog pressed his heavy head directly against Briar’s knee, anchoring her to the spot.
Trailed by a mafia boss on one side and a giant mastiff on the other, Briar realized she didn't have a choice.
