The offer

The city was never kind to Amara Bennett. The cold, indifferent streets were a constant reminder that life wasn’t meant to be easy, at least not for someone like her. It was nearing midnight, and she was still waiting tables at Le Croix, an upscale restaurant frequented by the city’s elite. The scent of expensive perfumes and cigars filled the air, a sharp contrast to the sour smell of sweat clinging to her own clothes after a long double shift.

She adjusted her apron and wiped her brow, trying not to let exhaustion show on her face. The bills at home weren’t going to pay themselves, and her younger sister, Olivia, was counting on her. The thought of her sister kept her going—pushing through one more table, one more hour.

“Table eight, Amara,” her manager called, snapping her back to reality.

She glanced at the far corner, where a man had just taken his seat. He was different from the usual clientele—tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in an impeccably tailored suit, but it was his presence that stood out. There was a heaviness to it, a quiet command that made everyone glance his way and then quickly avert their eyes.

As she approached, Amara noticed the intensity in his dark eyes, a predator scanning his territory. She hesitated, feeling a strange twinge in her gut. Something about him was unsettling.

“Good evening, sir. Can I get you something to drink?” she asked, her voice steady despite her nerves.

He looked up, his gaze locking onto hers. “Whiskey. Neat.”

Amara nodded, quickly turning away to get his drink. As she moved behind the bar, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still watching her. There was something about the way he sat—too comfortable, too at ease for someone with such power radiating off him.

“Here you go,” she said, placing the glass in front of him.

He took a sip, his eyes never leaving her. “What’s your name?”

“Amara,” she answered cautiously, gripping her tray tightly.

“Amara,” he repeated, like he was testing how it felt on his tongue. “Do you enjoy working here, Amara?”

His question took her by surprise. Customers rarely asked about her life, especially not the wealthy ones who dined here. “It’s a job,” she said carefully. “Pays the bills.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “And if there was a better way to pay those bills? One where you wouldn’t have to work long hours and scrape by?”

Amara frowned, unsure where this was going. “I’m not interested in charity.”

“I’m not offering charity.” His tone was smooth but edged with something darker. “I’m offering an opportunity.”

Her heart quickened. She’d been approached before—usually by rich men looking for something in return for their so-called “opportunities.” She knew better. “I think I’ll stick to what I know,” she replied, forcing a polite smile.

“You haven’t even heard the offer.” He leaned back in his chair, exuding a confidence that made her skin prickle. “You work hard. You’re smart. But this place?” He gestured around the restaurant dismissively. “This isn’t where you belong. You could have more, Amara. You could have a life you’ve never dreamed of.”

“I’m not for sale,” she said, her voice firmer now. She didn’t know who this man was, but she didn’t like the way he talked, the way his words wrapped around her like a trap.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “I’m not offering to buy you.” He paused, letting the tension hang between them. “I’m offering you a chance to escape the life you’re stuck in. Name your price.”

Amara’s breath caught. The audacity of him. The arrogance. Who did he think he was? She opened her mouth to tell him off, to walk away from this conversation, but something stopped her. The way he looked at her, like he already knew her situation, like he could see straight through her pride. The weight of Olivia’s medical bills, the rent that was overdue, the feeling of drowning with no way out—it all came crashing down on her in that moment.

“What kind of opportunity?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes darkened with satisfaction, like he’d been waiting for this moment. “Come with me tonight. We’ll talk about it.”

She stared at him, her mind racing. She didn’t even know his name, but the way he spoke, the way he carried himself, screamed that he was someone important—someone dangerous. Every instinct told her to walk away, but there was a small voice in the back of her mind whispering that maybe, just maybe, this was the break she needed.

“I can’t just leave. I’m working,” she said, a flimsy excuse.

“Consider this your last night here,” he said, rising from his seat and placing a crisp hundred-dollar bill on the table. “Meet me outside in ten minutes.”

Amara’s heart pounded as she watched him walk toward the exit, his broad back cutting a path through the room like he owned it. She looked down at the bill. It was more than she made in two days. What the hell was she doing? This was reckless, dangerous. But the alternative—going home to more unpaid bills, facing another day of scraping by—it felt suffocating.

Her legs moved on their own. She grabbed her coat from the back room, ignoring her manager’s questioning look as she clocked out early. Before she could second-guess herself, she was outside in the crisp night air, scanning the street for him.

He was waiting, leaning casually against a sleek black car. When he saw her, he smiled, and this time it was different. Darker. More dangerous.

“Good choice, Amara,” he said, opening the passenger door for her. She hesitated for a split second before sliding in, her mind screaming at her that this was a terrible idea, that she was making the biggest mistake of her life.

The door closed with a soft thud, sealing her fate.

As they drove through the city, silence filled the car, but it wasn’t peaceful. It was thick with unspoken tension, with the weight of whatever lay ahead. Amara stared out the window, the bright lights of the city blurring as they sped through the streets. Her mind raced with questions, but she stayed quiet. Something about him demanded silence, like he was a man who only spoke when necessary.

Finally, they pulled up to an imposing building—a penthouse high above the city. Dante stepped out first, opening the door for her again. “Welcome to my world, Amara.”

She followed him inside, her heart thudding with every step. The elevator ride was silent, and when the doors opened to his sprawling penthouse, she was greeted by luxury she’d only ever seen in magazines. Marble floors, floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the city skyline, and an air of wealth and power that was overwhelming.

He gestured for her to sit on a sleek leather couch, and she did, though her body felt stiff and out of place in the opulence surrounding her.

“You wanted to know about the opportunity,” Dante said, pouring himself a drink. “I need someone by my side. Someone I can trust, who understands how the world works, and isn’t afraid to do what’s necessary.”

Amara swallowed. “What exactly are you asking me to do?”

He walked over, standing in front of her, his gaze burning into hers. “I’m asking you to be mine. No strings, no commitments—just you and me, and I’ll make sure you never have to worry about anything again.”

Her breath caught in her throat. This was insane. But the way he looked at her, like she was the only thing he wanted in this world, made it hard to think straight.

“I don’t—”

“I can give you everything you’ve ever wanted, Amara,” he interrupted, his voice low and dangerous. “But you have to decide now.”

She stared at him, her mind screaming at her to run, to get out while she still could.

But something in his eyes told her that running was no longer an option.