Accept Richard's offer and whatever strings come attached to it.
Or walk away and face the next Theo on my own.
No good options. Just varying degrees of surrender.
My phone buzzes, making me jump. A text from an unknown number.
Rhapsody. Tomorrow. 9 P.M. We should talk. —Ian
I stare at the message, wondering if it's a request or a command. Wondering what Ian Harris, Richard Blackwood's enforcer, wants to talk about.
Wondering if I have any choice at all anymore.
CHAPTER 3
The door to Ian's office looms before me, dark wood and frosted glass promising secrets kept and confessions made. I raise my hand to knock, then pause, nerves twisting my stomach into knots.
What does he want from me? The question has haunted me since his text message yesterday. Since Richard Blackwood handed me that envelope with its weighted offer and unspoken expectations.
Nothing comes without a price. Especially not when it involves men with power over me.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself, and knock twice. Sharp. Decisive. The opposite of how I feel inside.
"Come in." Ian's voice, muffled through the door, sends a shiver down my spine.
I turn the handle, stepping into his domain.
The office is surprisingly understated. A large desk, a few filing cabinets, a couch that looks more functional than comfortable. No personal touches. No photographs or mementos. Just a space for conducting business.
Ian sits behind the desk, his large frame making the furniture seem almost delicate. He looks up as I enter, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that steals my breath.
"Claire." He says my name like it's a secret we share. "Thank you for coming."
I nod, not trusting my voice. I cross to the chair in front of his desk, lowering myself into it with a grace born of years on stage. Armor donned, walls up.
"You wanted to talk," I say, proud of how steady my voice sounds.
Ian leans back in his chair, studying me. "I wanted to make sure you were okay. After everything with Theo."
Surprise flickers through me. Concern was not what I expected from this meeting.
"I'm fine," I say automatically. The lie I've told so often it almost feels like truth.
"Are you?" Ian's gaze doesn't waver. "Because what he did—what he threatened to do—that's not something you just shake off."
I look away, focusing on a point over his shoulder. "I'm used to men trying to take things from me."
Silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken understanding.
"I'm not Theo," Ian says finally, his voice low. "And I'm not going to ask you for anything you don't want to give."
My eyes snap back to his, searching for the catch. The hidden agenda. "Then why did you help me?"
"Because it was the right thing to do." He says it like it's that simple. Like decency isn't a foreign concept in the world we inhabit.
I want to believe him. Want to trust the sincerity in his eyes and the steadiness of his voice. But experience has taught mecaution. Has taught me that men only offer favors when they expect something in return.
"And the contract?" I ask, hating the way my voice wavers slightly. "Richard's offer?"
