AVA’S POV
I didn't sleep that night. I sat in my dorm room staring at the manila envelope Professor Thorne had given me, twenty-five thousand dollars in cash that felt like it was burning through the paper.
Sophie was at her boyfriend's place, so I had the room to myself to fall apart in private.
By morning, I'd made my decision. I called Elise first.
"Ava?" Her voice was thick with sleep and worry. "Is everything okay? You sound weird."
"I got the money," I said without preamble. "All of it. You're going to be safe."
The silence on the other end stretched so long I thought the call had dropped. Then she started crying.
"How?" she whispered between sobs. "How did you get that much money so fast?"
"It doesn't matter. What matters is that you can pay them back and this nightmare can be over."
"Ava, what did you do?"
I closed my eyes. "I made a deal. A job opportunity came up, and they gave me an advance on my salary."
It wasn't entirely a lie. Professor Thorne had mentioned a job, even if the rest of his offer was something else entirely.
"I'm wiring you the money this morning," I continued. "Pay them back today, and then we never have to talk about this again."
After I hung up, I sat staring at my phone for a long time. Elise was safe. That was what mattered. Everything else was just details.
The email from Professor Thorne arrived at exactly nine AM.
Miss Moreau,
Please come to my office at your earliest convenience to discuss the terms of your employment. I've taken the liberty of arranging more suitable accommodations for you, effective immediately.
The contract requires your signature by the end of business day.
Regards, Professor G. Thorne
My hands were shaking as I read it. More suitable accommodations. A contract that needed signing today. He was moving fast, not giving me time to change my mind or find another solution.
But what other solution was there? I'd already taken his money. I'd already used it to save my sister. There was no going back now.
His office was in the humanities building, tucked away on the third floor behind a door marked with his name in gold lettering. I'd never been inside before.
The space was exactly what I'd expected – floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, expensive furniture, degrees from prestigious universities mounted on the walls. It smelled like leather and old books and something distinctly masculine.
Professor Thorne sat behind a massive oak desk, still looking like he'd stepped out of a magazine despite everything that had happened between us.
When I knocked, he looked up from his papers with that same controlled expression he wore in class.
"Please, sit."
I took the chair across from his desk, the same one I'd imagined sitting in so many times when I'd fantasized about impressing him with my insights. Now I was here for an entirely different reason.
He slid a thick document across the desk. "The employment contract. I suggest you read it carefully."
The legal language was dense, but the basics were clear enough. I would work as his research assistant for a minimum of one year.
I would be provided with housing, a monthly stipend, and full tuition coverage. In exchange, I would be available for his professional needs twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.
"Available for professional needs," I repeated, looking up at him. "What exactly does that mean?"
"Research assistance. Correspondence. Accompanying me to academic conferences and social events." His voice was perfectly neutral. "Nothing more."
"And the living arrangements?"
"I've secured an apartment two blocks from campus. Fully furnished, all utilities included. You'll have complete privacy and independence."
I kept reading. The financial terms were generous – more than generous. The monthly stipend alone was more than I'd made at any part-time job. But buried in the middle of the contract was a clause that made my blood run cold.
This man spent a hundred and twenty-five at the auction for a night with me, gave me twenty-five dollars for save my sister and was now giving me employment?
What exactly does he want from me?
"Exclusivity agreement," I read aloud. "The employee agrees not to engage in romantic or sexual relationships with any party other than the employer during the term of this contract."
Professor Thorne didn't even blink. "Standard language for positions requiring this level of discretion and trust."
"You're saying I can't date anyone for a year?"
"I'm saying your personal life becomes a matter of professional consideration." He leaned back in his chair. "You'll find that the benefits far outweigh the restrictions."
I stared at the contract, at the signature line waiting for my name. This was insane. I was twenty-one years old, and he was asking me to sign away my freedom, my independence, my right to make my own choices about my personal life.
But Elise was safe. The money was already wired, already solving the problem that had started this whole nightmare.
And what did I have to give up, really? It wasn't like I had a boyfriend or any romantic prospects. I was a literature major who spent most of her time buried in books anyway.
"One year," I said.
"One year," he confirmed.
I signed my name at the bottom of the contract with a pen that probably cost more than my textbooks. As soon as the ink dried, I felt something shift inside me. Like a door closing, or maybe opening. I wasn't sure which.
"Excellent." Professor Thorne took the contract and filed it away in his desk drawer. "Your keys and address are in this envelope, along with your first month's stipend. I expect you moved in by tonight."
He handed me another manila envelope, this one lighter than the cash but somehow feeling heavier.
"Classes continue as normal," he said, standing to indicate the meeting was over. "But you'll find your workload significantly more... intensive."
I stood too, clutching the envelope to my chest. "Professor Thorne—"
"Gabriel," he corrected. "We're colleagues now, Ava. Partners, you might say."
The way he called me Ava and said partners made something flutter in my stomach that I didn't want to examine too closely.
He stood up from his desk and moved so quietly I hadn't heard him approach. His presence was overwhelming this close – the scent of his cologne, the perfect fit of his suit, the way he seemed to command the space around him without even trying.
He leaned down, his mouth close to my ear, his voice low enough that only I could hear.
"Don't be late to your first lesson."