Chapter 2 Contract
Vossshire was the commercial heart of the city.
Office buildings and the CBD sprang up endlessly, crowding the city center with throngs of people year-round, showcasing the city's bustling prosperity.
Near the Blackwood Heritage Group building, the area was eerily quiet, with only the occasional car passing by.
No one questioned the building's desolation or lack of foot traffic. It didn't need the hustle and bustle to adorn it.
The cold glass and steel gleam like a silent, confident beast lying in Vossshire, its towering structure piercing the sky, battling only with the elements.
Elara looked up from the base of the building, feeling as insignificant as a speck of dust.
Entering through the revolving door, the massive chandelier in the atrium poured down a cold, luxurious light.
The marble floor beneath her feet gleamed like an ice lake, and the faint scent in the air seemed to freeze in that moment, creating an atmosphere of tight, oppressive order and majesty.
A man in a sharp black suit, his expression as hard as stone, walked straight up to her and said bluntly.
"Jasper Hale, Mr. Blackwood's assistant. Miss Voss, follow me, please."
Jasper's voice matched the space perfectly, devoid of any warmth. He hadn't even looked directly at Elara since she arrived.
The elevator ride to the top floor was uninterrupted, with no one else getting on.
In the mirrored walls, Elara's face appeared slightly pale, but her expression remained calm.
She wore a neat shirt and jeans, her hair tightly pulled back.
Jasper noticed Elara's composure and glanced at her, slightly surprised, but said nothing.
The top floor arrived.
The elevator doors slid open, and an even thicker, invisible pressure hit her.
The view from the top floor was expansive, but the lighting was dim. All the decor, including the carpet, was in cool tones.
Elara, who had spent years studying art, understood that such color schemes in large companies emphasized rationality and grandeur, along with a sense of authority.
But Kieran's top floor went beyond that—it was not just rational but cold, more like a prison.
Elara stopped in front of a heavy, massive black and gold double door, slightly ajar, with a deeper light source emanating from within.
Jasper stood by the door like a soldier, emotionless, gesturing for Elara to enter.
Elara took a deep breath, the cold air stinging her lungs, making her more alert as she stepped inside.
Kieran's office felt like a beast's solitary wilderness, like a lifeless tomb.
Years later, Elara would describe her first impression of the CEO's office this way.
Outside the large floor-to-ceiling windows, the cityscape stretched to the horizon. A wide black leather chair faced away from the door, like the throne of a lurking beast.
Elara stopped a short distance away, her gaze fixed on the chair, her pale lips tightly pressed together.
After a long pause, the chair slowly turned around.
Kieran leaned back, his posture relaxed but exuding a deep-seated laziness and control. His dark, tailored suit highlighted his broad shoulders and narrow waist.
He looked like a cold sculpture, with sharp jawlines and thin lips pressed into a straight, cruel line.
The most captivating were his eyes, deep like bottomless ice chasms, devoid of any human warmth, filled only with scrutiny, evaluation, and a near-indifferent interest.
Kieran's gaze fell on Elara's face, unabashedly examining her as if appreciating a piece of art up for auction or a specimen about to be pinned to a wall.
Elara remained unfazed, meeting his gaze with fearlessness and calm, with a hint of anger hidden in her beautiful eyes.
Kieran noticed this and his lips twitched slightly, not in a smile but in a mocking gesture of absolute superiority.
Neither spoke, the atmosphere suffocating in its silence.
"Mr. Blackwood, hello."
Elara struggled to maintain her inner calm, breaking the standoff first. She was here to ask for help; pride would not save Thorne.
"Miss Voss, you're more composed than I expected."
Kieran frowned, his mood seemingly displeased. His voice, with a unique raspy quality, was clear and chilling.
He stood up slowly, like a mountain rising, and walked around the desk, retrieving a thick file from the bookshelf, tossing it onto the desk.
"Look."
The two words left no room for refusal.
Elara stepped forward, her fingers cold with tension, struggling to turn the pages at first.
The first page: Thorne's haggard, terrified face captured in a police photo.
The second page: A magnified photo of the scene—the legendary, priceless "Snowy Journey" painting, torn and damaged beyond recognition.
A close-up showed Thorne's commonly used patented mineral restoration powder, faintly staining the damaged edges of the painting.
The third page: Handwriting analysis, surveillance timestamps proving Thornewas the last to leave the warehouse and lock the door, vague witness statements...
Each piece of evidence was meticulously, coldly, and despairingly woven together.
Elara flipped through quickly, reaching the final page.
"Estimated loss: approximately $857 million (excluding brand reputation and other intangible losses)."
The cold numbers imprinted in Elara's eyes, she smiled faintly, closed the file, and calmly said.
"We can't afford to pay, nor are we obligated to. This is a false accusation, clearly a setup..."
"Evidence."
Kieran interrupted Elara, his voice still devoid of emotion, his cold eyes sharp as knives. "Miss Voss, here, only evidence and results matter."
Kieran stepped closer to Elara, slightly bending down, his gaze level with hers, exerting an overwhelming pressure to make her submit.
"This evidence is enough to keep Thorne in prison for life. As for compensation..."
Kieran paused deliberately, enunciating each word.
"Bankruptcy or selling everything, you couldn't pay it off in your lifetime!"
From the moment Elara entered the office, Kieran's every word and action had been pressuring her.
This wasn't about Kieran's deep scheming or showing off his power; it was instinct, the confidence of controlling everything.
Kieran had seen many similar scenes, countless women crying uncontrollably in this office, kneeling and begging, losing their minds, even voluntarily stripping...
This time, Kieran miscalculated.
"I think, Mr. Blackwood, you didn't call me here just to tell me this."
Elara's eyes were calm.
Kieran stared coldly at Elara, searching for weaknesses in her, then returned to his seat.
A hidden compartment silently slid open on the side of the desk. A black pen was taken out.
Simultaneously, Kieran picked up a thin, sharp steel paper cutter.
He placed the pen on the signature line of the document.
Then, he pressed the sharp blade against Elara's pale hand.
The piercing cold seemed to enter Elara's veins.
"Sign it."
Kieran's voice was like it came from the deepest ice abyss of hell, clear, slow, enunciating each word, "I'll have Thorne out within a day. You work for Blackwood Heritage Group as a permanent restoration consultant—your skills, time, body, loyalty, everything."
Kieran's icy gaze swept over Elara's brows and lips, with a naked possessiveness. "Everything belongs to me. From now on, you have only one identity: my exclusive artfact restorer, at my beck and call, with no excuses."
Was this Kieran's condition?
Elara lowered her eyes, her long lashes casting heavy shadows, her mind racing with countless thoughts.
Thorne's desperate face. The astronomical compensation, cold shackles, and disgrace.
Time passed, and the CEO's office plunged into silence.
Finally, Elara raised her hand, avoiding the cold blade, and picked up the pen.
The pen was heavy and cold, like holding a knife severing her past.
Her fingertips turned pale from the pressure, trembling slightly.
Elara stared at the blank signature line, as if looking into a narrow abyss.
Eventually, the cold metal tip touched the paper—Elara.
She wrote slowly, each stroke heavy as if carved into bone, with the weight of humiliation.
The final stroke fell, and Elara seemed to have exhausted all her strength.
Elara lightly tapped the desk with her fist, a dull sound like the closing of a major auction deal.
"Contract signed! Done! Release my father!"
Elara looked up sharply, her anger no longer hidden, blazing in her eyes.
In Kieran's deep pupils, a sharp glint flashed, like a beast seeing its prey finally caught.
His frozen lips curved into a clear, cold, emotionless smile.
"Your command?"
Kieran's voice was low, with a hint of amusement, as he leaned closer. "It seems you haven't adapted to your new role yet."