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The penthouse was exactly what Elara expected and nothing like what she imagined. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city skyline, the glass walls making her feel suspended in midair above forty stories of lights and noise. She clutched her small handbag like a lifeline as Adrian Wei poured two glasses of wine without asking.
“Sit,” he said. Not unkindly. Not kindly either.
She sat on the edge of a leather couch, back straight, mind racing. What had she gotten herself into? She had followed him from the auction hall like someone in a trance, and now here she was, alone with the most powerful man in the room.
“The terms are simple,” Adrian said, sliding a folder across the glass coffee table. “One year. You live in the apartment on the fifty-second floor. You manage my calendar, my correspondence, and any social obligations I require. You do not ask questions about my business. You do not contact anyone from your previous life. And you do not fall in love with me.”
Elara blinked. “That last one seems oddly specific.”
A ghost of a smile crossed his face. The first one she had seen. “Previous assistants have had… complications.”
She picked up the folder and opened it. A contract. Clean, precise, almost surgical in its language. Her eyes scanned down to the salary figure and nearly choked.
“This is…””
“Double what you currently earn? Yes. I checked.” He leaned back against the window, silhouetted against the city lights. “I also know you have sixty thousand in student debt, a younger brother in medical school, and a mother whose health is failing. This address solves all of those problems.”
Elara felt heat crawl up her neck. Being researched by Adrian Wei felt like being x-rayed. Every private corner of her life suddenly exposed and catalogued.
“How do you —”
“I have resources. Everyone does. Mine simply have better databases.” He set down his wine glass with a soft click. “You have until tomorrow morning to decide. Here is my card. Call only if you accept.”
He turned and walked into the darkness of the hallway, leaving her alone with the city glittering below.
Elara stared at the card in her hand. Thick cream stock. Embossed letters. Nothing else.
She should leave. She should walk out of that door and never look back. This was too fast, too strange, too much like a fairy tale that would inevitably poison her.
Instead, she photographed the contract with her phone and sent it to her brother.
Three hours later, she signed it.