I didn’t mean to find it. I was just trying to finish the Q3 reports before midnight so I wouldn’t get dinged again. My card shouldn’t have worked on the service elevator—but it did.

The ride took me up, not down. When the doors opened, I stepped into a penthouse that doesn’t exist in any building registry. Marble floors, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, and in the center of the living room—a steel frame hanging from the ceiling, lined with padded cuffs.

Then she walked in. Elara Voss, CEO, wearing a tailored blazer and nothing underneath. Her voice was calm, almost amused. 'You’re not supposed to be here, little mouse.'

She didn’t call security. Instead, she handed me a contract. 'Page twelve,' she said. 'That’s your job description now. Shackles included.'

I looked at the clause: Full physical and psychological compliance required during assigned sessions.

'You can walk away,' she said, stepping closer. 'But if you stay, your debt disappears. Your future is guaranteed. All I need is your signature… and your surrender.'

My hand trembled. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real.

But my rent was due Monday.