CHAPTER 1 — CHAINS OF OBSESSION

💬 A little note from the author

I’m a French author, and this is the English adaptation of my original story.

I’d really love to hear from native or fluent English readers: does the writing feel natural to you?

Do the dialogue and narration flow well?

Are there any expressions that sound too French or translated?

Your feedback would genuinely help me improve the English version before I publish the rest of the story. 🖤

Thank you so much for reading!

And of course… what do you think of Kaelen so far? 👀🖤

The silence in Julian Voss's office isn't an absence of sound. It's a weapon. A low, crushing pressure designed to squeeze the lungs of anyone who doesn't own an eight-figure stock portfolio.

I stand straight in front of his tempered-glass desk. My heels sink into the thick carpet, a muted luxury that probably costs more than the miserable studio he pulled me out of two years ago. Outside, Paris rain lashes the windows of the thirty-third floor. The city is nothing but a dirty gray watercolor. In here, the air-conditioning hums at arctic temperatures. Julian likes the cold; he claims it keeps the mind sharp. Personally, I think it helps keep him from decomposing. The man has been dead inside for a decade.

He doesn't look up. His icy blue eyes scan a tablet while one finger scrolls through columns of figures with surgical precision.

"The Krovac file, Ava."

His voice is deep. The sound of absolute power. I straighten, my jacket suddenly too tight for the adrenaline rising under my skin.

"Sent at seven this morning, Julian. Including the corrections to the non-compete clause you forgot to mention last night. At midnight."

His finger stops.

At last, he looks up.

Meeting Julian's eyes is like staring into the barrel of a loaded gun. No warmth. Just a cold assessment: Is it useful? Is it profitable? Is it mine?

"I never forget anything. I was testing your responsiveness."

"And? Did I earn a gold star or a sticker?"

The corner of his mouth twitches. It isn't a smile. Julian doesn't smile. He approves.

"You earned the right to remain in this room without being fired. For now. Sit down."

He indicates the black leather chair. I obey, smoothing my pencil skirt automatically. I know this game. I'm his assistant, his thing, his "investment." He paid for my diction lessons, my designer wardrobe, and the roof over my head. In return: absolute loyalty. Until now, the deal was simple. I manage his life. He manages my survival.

But the air has changed. It feels charged with ozone, the way it does before a storm.

He slides a leather folder toward me. Not a tablet. Physical paper. My muscles tighten. Paper leaves traces. Paper is for things you don't want passing through a server.

"What's this?" I ask, frowning. "A raise?"

"An amendment to your employment terms."

I open it.

Amendment to the Exclusive Collaboration Agreement.

My gaze skims the lines. The legal language stacks up, dry and merciless. Twenty-four-seven availability... waiver of privacy... emotional exclusivity clause...

My blood turns cold.

Paragraph 4.B jumps off the page like an insult.

"The Employee agrees to facilitate the Employer's business relations by any means deemed necessary, including accompanying and privately entertaining strategic partners..."

The floor seems to disappear beneath me. The cold seeps under my skin and into my bones. I look up.

He's watching me, fingers steepled beneath his chin. A statue carved from black marble.

"Is this a joke?"

My voice shakes. One millimeter of weakness in my armor.

"I don't joke about assets, Ava. The Tanaka Group merger is critical. Mr. Tanaka has... particular tastes. He likes you."

"You want to prostitute me?"

The word cracks through the upholstered silence.

"Don't be vulgar. It's business. You're my assistant. Your role is to make my deals run smoothly. If Tanaka needs charming company before he signs, you'll provide it."

I shoot to my feet. The folder hits the floor.

Rage rises hot enough to burn away the fear. I've accepted everything. The polished insults. The sleepless nights. His fallen-Greek-god arrogance. I've even accepted loving him in secret like an idiot who falls for her executioner.

But not this.

"Go fuck yourself, Julian."

His eyes narrow. Something dangerous flickers there.

"Careful, little lioness. You're forgetting who you're speaking to. You're forgetting what you owe me."

"I don't owe you my body! I sold you my time, my energy, maybe even my soul. But I am not a fucking financial asset you liquidate to close a quarter!"

He rises too.

Imposing.

He circles the desk with the predatory grace of a big cat. I step back, but the chair blocks me. He stops inches away. His scent surrounds me—sandalwood and new paper.

"You are what I decide you are," he murmurs, his voice poisoned velvet. "I made you what you are. Without me, you'd still be serving lukewarm coffee while Damian beat you down."

My ex's name falls like a blade.

He knows exactly where to strike to reopen old scars.

"Damian is a rat, but even he never sold me."

"He would have traded you for a hit if I'd waited another week. I saved you. I polished you. You're my masterpiece. And a masterpiece has to be profitable."

He lifts a hand. His fingers brush my cheek. The contact is electric, almost painful. I should slap him. I should run.

My body refuses to obey.

"Sign it, Ava."

"No."

He withdraws his hand. His face goes still, turning back into a steel mask.

"No? You're refusing me something? Me?"

"I'm refusing to be an object. If you want me to stay, treat me like a partner. Not merchandise."

He studies me. Something unfamiliar sparks in his pupils. Surprise? Or the sadistic pleasure of discovering a new challenge?

He steps back and leans against the edge of his desk, arms folded over his tailored shirt.

"A partner? You don't have the capital, Ava. All you have is your loyalty... and that appears to be deteriorating."

"My loyalty is intact. Your morality is bankrupt."

He gives a short, dry laugh. No joy in it.

"Morality is a fairy tale for people who own nothing. But fine. You want to play? Let's play. You refuse the contract. You want to prove your value exceeds that of mere 'entertainment.'"

His gaze travels down my body like an icy caress. Heat rises in my face despite myself.

"You say you love me, Ava? Don't deny it. I see it in your eyes when you think I'm distracted. I taste it in every coffee prepared to the exact degree."

I clench my fists, nails biting into my palms.

He knows.

The monster knows everything.

"So what? Is that a crime?"

"It's a weakness. But I happen to enjoy challenges."

He comes closer again. Mint brushes my lips with his breath.

"Here's the deal. One month. Thirty days."

"To do what? Double your profits?"

"No. To make me fall in love with you."

Time stops.

The rain disappears.

I blink, certain I've misheard him.

"Excuse me?"

"You claim you're worth more than a body? Prove it. Crack me open, Ava. Make me feel something besides the urge to acquire subsidiaries. If you succeed... if, in one month, I can tell you I care about you... I tear up the amendment. You become a partner. Equal shares."

"And if I fail?"

His gaze darkens, heavy with threats and unspoken promises.

"If you fail, you sign. No arguments. And you do everything I ask. Everything."

He holds out his hand.

A large, powerful, merciless hand.

"So, little lioness? Ready to bet your freedom on your charm?"

I stare at his palm.

It's a trap. Insanity. This man is a machine. He only wants to break me, to prove I'm nothing. But if I refuse, I go back to the gutter.

If I accept...

I have thirty days to steal his heart.

I lift my chin and lock my eyes with his.

"Get ready to lose, Julian."