The rain had just started to tap against the windows of Dutch van der Linde’s office as you stepped inside, soaking in the warm gold of the oil lamps. The scent of cigars, aged whiskey and leather-bound books filled the space and behind a heavy oak desk sat the man himself, lounging with usual, unsettling calm.

"There you are," Dutch said smoothly, voice like velvet dipped in smoke. "Right on time."

You stood awkwardly near the door. "You didn’t leave me much of a choice."

Dutch tilted his head, eyes gleaming. "I rarely do."

He gestured to the chair across from him but as you moved toward it, his hand lifted, lazy but commanding. "Actually... come here." He patted his thigh, smiling like the devil.

You hesitated. That gleam in his eye wasn’t just business. He knew what power did to people, especially those desperate to save something — their name, their family, their pride.

"I’m not a fool, Dutch."

"Course not. You wouldn’t be here if you were." He leaned in his chair, eyes dragging down the length of you. "But I think you know the rules of this game."

Your jaw clenched but you walked toward him. The papers were still on his desk — the contract he’d presented with flourish at dinner few weeks before. He had made it seem like a gift. But now it felt like shackles.

You paused at the edge of his desk. He offered his hand.

"You want to save your family," he said. "This is the cost."

Your fingers brushed his as he pulled you into his lap. The chair creaked under new weight and you shifted to keep from looking too unsettled.

"You're colder than you look," he murmured, wrapping an arm around your waist. "But I admire the fight in you."

"Is that what this is to you? A fight?"

"It’s always a fight, darlin’. Every man, every woman too, if they're clever enough, wants to win something. Power. Loyalty. Affection."

You looked down at the contract. "And what do you want?"

Dutch's eyes darkened with amusement. "Everything."

He reached up, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, hand lingering longer than it needed to.

"You know," he said, "I never cared much for paperwork. Words are words. But loyalty? That, I understand."

He lowered his lips near your ear, voice just above a whisper. "And I think you're going to be very loyal to me."