Chapter 6 TERMS AND CONDITIONS
Constantine's POV
He's dressed in a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms that are far too distracting for seven in the morning. His hair is damp, like he just stepped out of the shower, and his expression is as cold and unreadable as ever.
He doesn't look surprised to see me awake. He doesn't look anything. He just stands there, one hand in his pocket, watching me like I'm an exhibit in a museum he's already bored of.
‘You're awake,’ he says flatly, his eyes boring into me.
I yank my dress down, clutching it to my chest as I glare at him. ‘What—’ I point an accusatory index finger at him, ‘the hell did you do to me?’
His eyebrow arches, just slightly. ‘I didn't do anything you didn't ask for.’
‘I didn't—’ I stop, my voice cracking as the memories slam into me again. The way I pressed myself against him. The way I whispered please. The way I…
Oh God.
‘I was drunk,’ I spit out, trying to salvage some dignity. ‘You should've stopped.’
‘You were drunk,’ he agrees, his voice calm, almost bored. ‘But you were also very insistent.’
‘That doesn't make it okay!’
‘Doesn't it?’ He tilts his head, studying me like I'm a puzzle he's mildly interested in solving. ‘You came to me, Птичка. You begged me to fuck you. And I did.’
The casual way he says it like it's nothing, like I'm nothing…makes my blood boil. I march toward him, my fists clenched at my sides, and I don't care that I'm half-dressed or that I probably look like a mess.
‘You're a bastard,’ I hiss.
‘I've been called worse,’ he says, unbothered.
I want to slap him. I want to scream at him. I want to do something to wipe that infuriating calm off his face. But instead, I just stand there, trembling with fury and humiliation and something else I refuse to name.
‘I'm leaving,’ I say finally, turning toward the door.
‘No, you're not.’
I freeze, my hand on the doorknob. Slowly, I turn back to look at him.
‘Excuse me?’
He crosses his arms, leaning casually against the wall like he has all the time in the world. ‘I said you're not leaving. I have something to talk about with you.’
‘We have nothing to talk about.’
‘I disagree.’ He pushes off the wall, stalking toward me with slow, deliberate steps. ‘Sit down, Constantine.’ He drawls, his voice cold.
‘I'm not sitting down. I'm leaving.’
‘Sit. Down.’
His voice drops, low and commanding, and something in my chest tightens. I hate that my body responds to it, that some primal part of me wants to obey. But I force myself to stay standing, to hold my ground.
‘Why?’ I demand. ‘So you can humiliate me again? So you can remind me what a mess I am?’
‘You are a mess,’ he says coldly. ‘But no. Not because I want to remind you.’ He stops in front of me, so close I can smell his cologne, feel the heat radiating off his body. ‘So I can make you an offer.’
I blink, confused. ‘An offer?’
‘A job.’
I laugh. I actually laugh, the sound sharp and bitter. ‘You already made it clear I'm not getting a job at your company.’
‘Not as an employee,’ he says, his gaze boring into mine. ‘As my personal assistant.’
I stare at him, waiting for the punchline. But his expression doesn't change. He's serious.
‘You're joking.’
‘I don't joke.’
‘Then you're insane.’
‘Maybe.’ His lips twitch, almost like he's amused. ‘But I'm also the only person who can solve all your problems.’
I shake my head, backing away from him. ‘I don't need your help.’
‘Don't you?’ He takes a step forward, closing the distance I just created. ‘Your mother's nursing home called yesterday, didn't they? Threatening to kick her out if you don't pay?’
My stomach drops. ‘You sicko! How do you—’
‘I know everything about you, Constantine.’ His voice is soft, dangerous. ‘Your student loans. Your father in the hospital. Your eviction notice. I know you're drowning, and I'm offering you a lifeline.’
‘You really are a jerk,’ I scoffed in pain, ‘How dare you run a background check on me? How fucking dare you?!’ I yell. But he doesn't even flinch. He only looks at me like I'm some minor disturbance to him. He doesn't even say a word and I think about it. Everything he says.
I want to deny it. I want to tell him to go to hell. But the truth is sitting heavy in my chest, suffocating me.
‘What do you want in return?’ I ask quietly.
His eyes darken, and for the first time, I see something flicker in them. Something predatory. ‘You.’
The word hangs in the air between us, heavy and suffocating.
‘I want you to work for me,’ he continues, his voice low and deliberate. ‘During the day, you'll be my personal assistant. At night…’ He leans in, his breath brushing against my ear. ‘You'll be mine.’
I shiver, my body betraying me even as my mind screams at me to run.
‘That's insane,’ I whisper.
‘That's the deal.’ He pulls back, his expression cold and unreadable once more. ‘Take it or leave it.’
I stare at him, my heart pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears. The silence stretches between us, very thick and I can feel his eyes on me, waiting. Like he already knows what I'm going to say. Like he's already won.
But he hasn't. I won't let him.
'You…' My voice comes out strangled, raw. I force myself to take a breath, to steady the trembling in my hands. 'You think I'm what? Some kind of whore you can just buy?'
His expression doesn't change. Not even a flicker.
'Is that what you think of me?' I continue, my voice rising with every word. 'That because I'm broke, because I'm desperate, I'll just—just sell myself to you? Let you use me whenever you feel like it?'
Still nothing. He just stands there, watching me with those cold, unreadable eyes.
'You don't even see me as a person, do you?' I laugh, but it sounds broken, bitter. 'I'm just some… some toy for you to play with. Some object you can control because you have money and I don't.'
My hands are shaking now, my nails digging into my palms so hard I'm sure they'll leave marks.
'You want to ruin me,' I whisper, my voice cracking. 'You want to take whatever dignity I have left and crush it under your expensive fucking shoes. That's what this is, isn't it? Some sick power trip because you can?'
He doesn't move. Doesn't speak. Just watches me fall apart in front of him like it's the most boring thing he's seen all day.
And that? That is what breaks me.
'Fuck you,' I spit, my voice trembling with rage and humiliation and something dangerously close to tears. 'Fuck you and your offer and your money. I'd rather live on the streets than let you turn me into… into that.'
I grab my bag from the floor, my hands fumbling with the strap as I turn toward the door. My vision is blurry, my chest so tight I can barely breathe, but I force my legs to move. One step. Then another and he doesn't stop me. He doesn't even say a word. He just stands there, silent and still, watching me walk away.
I wrench the door open, my hands shaking so badly I almost drop my bag. I don't look back. I can't. If I do, I'll fall apart completely, and I refuse to give him that satisfaction.
I step into the hallway, the door slamming shut behind me with a vedy loud sound.
And then I run.