Maryam’s hands trembled as she held the thick envelope, its smooth surface cold against her skin. She had seen this insignia before—every detail meticulously embossed in gold. The Blackwood crest. The same one she had sworn she would never see again.

Her apartment was silent except for the low hum of the refrigerator and the distant traffic outside. Yet in that silence, the weight of the envelope pressed against her chest, heavy as stone. Three years had passed since she’d run from the Blackwood Estate, from Dominic, from the life that had suffocated her in more ways than she could count. Three years, and now she was faced with a choice she had no right to refuse.

I can’t go back. She repeated the words to herself, voice shaking, as if saying them aloud would make them true. But the contract inside the envelope demanded an answer. It wasn’t a request. It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a mandate, and one she couldn’t escape without losing her only chance at stability.

Maryam’s fingers grazed the seal. The penultimate temptation she had fought against for years now sat in her hands. She had been determined to build a life on her own, to escape the suffocating rules, the constant surveillance, the quiet but relentless control that Dominic Blackwood had wielded over her life. And yet, here it was again. The path she had taken to independence now looped cruelly back to him.

A knock on her apartment door jolted her. Her heart leapt. She clenched the envelope closer to her chest.

“Delivery for Ms. Maryam,” said a courier, holding another envelope, slightly smaller, sealed in wax.

Maryam took it with a trembling hand. “Thank you,” she murmured, barely able to meet his eyes.

The courier gave a polite nod and left. She set the envelope down on the kitchen counter, staring at it like it might explode if she touched it again. Inside lay a single sheet of paper: “Prepare to arrive at the Blackwood Estate by 6 PM. Your life, as you know it, is about to change.”

Her stomach lurched. The words seemed simple enough, almost mundane in their phrasing. But Maryam knew better. Everything Dominic said or did carried weight. Everything he wrote, every instruction, was a subtle assertion of his control.

He’s everywhere, even when he’s not. She shivered involuntarily.

Her thoughts raced back to the last time she had been at the estate. The polished floors that reflected every mistake, every misstep. The way Dominic’s eyes could pierce through pretense, seeing not just her body but her mind, her thoughts, her fears. She had hated him then. Hated the way he could make her feel so small, so vulnerable, and yet… she hadn’t been able to ignore the way he fascinated her, terrified her, drew her in against her will.

Shaking her head, Maryam tried to dismiss the memory. Don’t think that. Not now. You can’t afford it.

She unfolded the contract, her eyes scanning the fine print: rules, obligations, schedules, consequences. Every word reinforced the fact that this was not merely a job. This was a return to a life she had sworn to leave behind, to a man she had thought she could forget.

If I refuse… I’m ruined. If I accept… I’m walking back into hell.

Her phone buzzed. A message from her friend, urgent and worried: “Are you seriously considering this? Him? After everything?”

Maryam’s fingers hovered over the keyboard. She wanted to type, to explain, to reassure, but no words could encapsulate the chaos inside her. She typed a single, hesitant reply: “I have no choice.”

She stared at the screen for a long moment before placing it face down on the counter.

I can survive this. I have to.

Her mind wandered to Dominic. She hadn’t seen him in three years, yet she could picture him as clearly as if he stood in the room. Broad shoulders, perfectly tailored suit, hair always immaculately in place. His eyes—storm-gray and unreadable—had the uncanny ability to dissect her thoughts, to see through any pretense she dared to project.

I can’t let him see fear. Not yet. Not ever.

And yet, she knew she would tremble the moment he looked at her. She had felt that pull before—the combination of fear, anger, and a strange, undeniable attraction that both infuriated and unsettled her. She shook her head. Focus. This isn’t about him. This is about survival.

Maryam carefully signed the contract. Her pen felt heavier than expected, as if the paper itself bore the weight of destiny. One signature, and there was no turning back.

A deep exhale escaped her lips. She set the pen down and looked around her apartment, the familiar walls now feeling suffocating in their safety. In a few hours, she would be stepping into a world she had left behind—a mansion of polished stone, quiet halls, and rules that had been etched into the very air she breathed.

The clock ticked. 4:45 PM.

She began preparing herself. Clothes carefully chosen to be neat, presentable, and neutral. Her suitcase packed with the essentials—nothing extravagant, nothing flashy. Everything she owned now seemed trivial compared to the storm that awaited her at the estate.

As she zipped her suitcase, a memory surged: the first time she had met Dominic, the contract she had unknowingly signed with her own compliance, the rules she had broken and the consequences she had suffered. Her chest tightened.

I will not let him control me again. I can’t. I won’t.

Her reflection in the mirror stared back at her, pale and determined. But behind that determination, she felt a flicker of something she wasn’t ready to name: anticipation. A dangerous, thrilling anticipation that reminded her why the past had never truly left her.

By 5:30 PM, she was ready. Taxi ordered. Bags by the door. Heart hammering, she walked to the door, picked up the envelope with the instructions, and glanced at the address. Every part of her screamed to turn back, to flee, to run into the safety of her own apartment. But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

The Blackwood Estate. Dominic Blackwood. My past. My future.

The taxi arrived promptly, the driver polite, silent. Maryam settled into the back seat, clutching her bag, staring out the window at the city she had called home for three years. The familiar streets blurred past as her mind raced, rehearsing the moment she would step onto the estate grounds.

I am stronger than I was. I am smarter. I am cautious.

The mansion appeared on the horizon, sprawling, majestic, and terrifying. Iron gates glimmered in the evening light, flanked by tall hedges that seemed to guard secrets better than any lock. Maryam’s pulse quickened.

The taxi stopped. She paid quickly and stepped out, her shoes clicking softly on the marble driveway. Every step forward felt like stepping into a dream, or a nightmare—she couldn’t tell which.

The door to the mansion opened before she could knock.

“Maryam,” a voice said, calm, smooth, commanding. Her stomach dropped.

Dominic Blackwood. He had not changed. His eyes, storm-gray and unreadable, scanned her. He didn’t smile. He didn’t need to. His presence alone sufficed.

“I… I’m here,” she stammered, though it sounded weak even to her own ears.

He gestured toward the foyer. “Come in. Your contract has been acknowledged. We’ll begin immediately.”

Maryam swallowed hard and stepped inside, every nerve on edge. The mansion smelled of polished wood and faint vanilla, the familiar scent flooding her senses. Every corner, every shadow, reminded her of the rules she had once broken, the consequences she had endured.

I can survive this. I have to.

But even as she repeated the mantra, a small, unbidden thought crept in: And yet… something tells me this time, I won’t be the same Maryam who left.

The doors closed behind her. The sound echoed through the foyer, final and ominous.

The game has already begun.

Maryam arrives at the Blackwood Estate, fully aware that Dominic’s watchful presence and the contract rules will control every step, setting up the slow-burn tension and power dynamics.