The Proposition

Ella's pulse raced as she tried to pull free from Adrian West's grip. His fingers remained firmly clasped around her wrist, not painfully tight, but with enough pressure to make escape impossible.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, struggling to keep her voice steady. "I've never met you before, and I certainly don't owe you anything."

Around them, the coffee shop continued its afternoon bustle, customers oblivious to the tension crackling between them. Adrian's gaze never wavered from her face, those gray eyes as cold and unyielding as steel.

"Interesting," he said finally, releasing her wrist. His voice was low, almost thoughtful. "You truly don't know who I am beyond my name."

Ella rubbed her wrist, taking a step back from the table. "Should I?"

Adrian studied her for a moment longer, then shook his head slightly. "No. Perhaps not." He gestured to the untouched coffee. "Enjoy the drink. It's been paid for."

With that cryptic exchange, he stood, buttoned his impeccable suit jacket, and walked past her. The scent of his expensive cologne lingered as he moved toward the exit, never once looking back.

Ella remained frozen, watching his tall figure disappear into a sleek black car waiting at the curb. Only when the vehicle pulled away did she release the breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

"What was that about?" Lisa appeared beside her, eyebrows raised.

"I have no idea," Ella admitted, her mind racing. Why would Adrian West—heir to one of the city's largest fortunes—single her out? And what did he mean by saying she owed him?

"Well, whatever it was, your shift ended ten minutes ago," Lisa said. "And there's a woman at table seven who's been asking for you."

Ella glanced toward the indicated table. An elegantly dressed woman in her forties sat alone, stirring a cup of tea with manicured fingers. Something about her calculated poise made Ella immediately wary.

"Did she say what she wanted?"

Lisa shrugged. "Just that she has a business opportunity for you. Said she's been trying to reach you."

Reluctantly, Ella made her way to table seven. The woman looked up, a practiced smile stretching across her face.

"Ella Morrison? I'm Claire Bennett." Her voice was smooth as silk. "I've been hoping to speak with you about a potential opportunity."

"I'm not looking for a new job," Ella said, remaining standing.

Claire smiled, placing a sleek business card on the table. "I'm a talent scout of sorts. But this isn't the place to discuss details." She gestured around the busy coffee shop. "My office is downtown. Could you spare an hour this evening? I promise it will be worth your time."

Ella hesitated, picking up the card. "Elite Connections" was embossed in gold lettering, alongside an address in the financial district.

"What kind of opportunity?"

"One that could solve your current... financial difficulties." Claire's eyes flickered meaningfully. "Particularly regarding St. George's."

A chill ran down Ella's spine. How did this stranger know about her mother?

"I finish at nine," Ella said cautiously.

"Perfect. My driver will be waiting." Claire stood, collecting her designer handbag. "Trust me, Ms. Morrison, you'll want to hear what I have to say."

—

Claire's "office" turned out to be a luxurious suite in one of the city's most exclusive high-rises. The reception area screamed money—all cream leather and gleaming surfaces, with an attractive receptionist who greeted Claire by name and ushered them into a private room that looked more like an upscale living room than a business space.

"Please, make yourself comfortable," Claire gestured to a plush sofa. "Would you like something to drink? Water? Wine?"

"Water is fine," Ella replied, perching tensely on the edge of the sofa. The entire setup made her increasingly uneasy. This didn't feel like any job interview she'd ever experienced.

Claire handed her a crystal glass of water, then settled into an armchair opposite, studying Ella with calculating eyes.

"I'll be direct, Ms. Morrison. I represent wealthy individuals who seek... companionship. Discreet, temporary companionship."

Ella's suspicions crystallized. "You're a madam."

Claire's lips twitched. "I prefer 'exclusive matchmaker.' My clients are powerful men who value their privacy and have specific tastes."

"And why am I here?" Ella asked, though she already knew the answer.

"One of my most valued clients has expressed particular interest in you." Claire leaned forward slightly. "He's willing to offer five hundred thousand dollars for a single night in his company."

Slowly, Ella sank back against the sofa, her mind racing. That kind of money could provide for her mother's care for years. It could secure Sofia's place at St. George's, give Ella freedom from the constant financial anxiety that had been her companion since childhood. It was life-changing money.

It was also too good to be true.

"What's the catch?" she demanded.

Claire's lips curved into a knowing smile. "Smart girl. The catch is simple: one night with a very wealthy, very discreet client."

Ella's face flushed with anger as she stood abruptly. "I'm not a prostitute, Ms. Bennett."

"Of course not," Claire agreed smoothly. "Prostitutes are far cheaper. I'm offering you a unique business arrangement between consenting adults."

"The answer is no."

"Pity," Claire said, opening a drawer and extracting an envelope. "I thought you might be interested in securing your mother's future at St. George Psychiatric Hospital."

Ella froze, her blood turning to ice. "How do you know about my mother?"

"My client is very thorough," Claire answered, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "He knows you're drowning in debt. He knows the hospital is threatening to move Sofia to the state facility if payments aren't made by the end of the month."

Each word struck like a physical blow. Ella slowly sank back into her chair, suddenly feeling exposed, vulnerable.

"Who is your client?" she whispered.

Claire shook her head. "I'm not at liberty to reveal that information until you've agreed to the arrangement. All I can tell you is that he's young, attractive, and extremely wealthy."

"Why me?" Ella asked, her voice barely audible. "There are countless women who would happily take his money."

"True," Claire conceded. "But he doesn't want them. He specifically requested you."

"Why?"

Claire's smile never faltered. "Let's just say you have... qualities that interest him."

Ella stared at the envelope, her thoughts a chaotic storm. "I need time to think."

"Of course, take twenty-four hours." Claire stood, smoothing her designer skirt. "My card is in the envelope, along with details of the arrangement and proof that the funds can be immediately transferred. Call the number when you've made your decision."

She leaned down until her perfume—expensive but not overwhelming—enveloped Ella. "And a word of advice? Don't try to learn more about the client beforehand. Such curiosity could... jeopardize the opportunity."

Before Ella could respond, Claire walked away, leaving behind only the lingering scent of her perfume and an envelope that felt as heavy as lead in Ella's trembling hands.

From across the street, seated in his parked car, Adrian West watched the entire exchange through the coffee shop window. He observed every shift in Ella's expression, every moment of shock and consideration. When she finally took the envelope, he allowed himself a small, satisfied smile.

The trap was set.

–

"She offered you WHAT?" Camila Hall's voice echoed through their small apartment. Ella's roommate and best friend gaped at her from across their tiny kitchen table. "Half a million dollars? For ONE night?"

Ella nodded miserably, staring at the papers spread before her—Claire's indecent proposal spelled out in clinical, contractual language, alongside bank documents showing the exact sum.

"And she knows about your mom?" Camila continued, her initial shock giving way to suspicion. "That's creepy as hell, Ella. How does this woman's client even know you exist?"

"I don't know," Ella admitted. "But they know everything—where I work, my financial situation... everything about mom."

Camila grabbed the contract, scanning it with narrowed eyes. "This is basically a fancy prostitution agreement."

"I know."

"With a strict non-disclosure clause."

"I know."

"And she wants you to decide by tomorrow?"

Ella nodded again, rising to make another cup of tea with shaking hands. She'd been trembling since the encounter with Claire, unable to shake the memory of those calculating eyes. And beneath it all, the strange meeting with Adrian West kept resurfacing in her mind. Two unusual encounters in one day couldn't be coincidence, could they?

"You can't seriously be considering this," Camila said, following her to the kitchen counter. "This whole thing screams danger."

"I don't have a choice, Cam." Ella's voice cracked. "The hospital called this morning. Mom's being transferred next week if I can't come up with the payment."

"There are other ways—"

"What ways?" Ella turned suddenly, tears of frustration welling in her eyes. "I've applied for every assistance program. I'm working two jobs already. Mom needs specialized care or she'll never get better."

Camila's expression softened. "I'm worried about you. This isn't just about money; it's about your safety. You don't even know who this guy is."

"It's one night," Ella whispered, though the words tasted bitter. "One night for my mother's future."

"And what if it's not just one night? What if he hurts you?"

A chill ran down Ella's spine. There was danger here, certainly. But what choice did she really have?

"I need to visit Mom," Ella said abruptly, grabbing her jacket. "I need to see her before I decide."

Camila caught her arm. "Promise me you won't agree to anything yet. Sleep on it, at least."

Ella nodded, though her mind was already racing ahead to what she would tell the hospital administrators when they came to transfer her mother next week. What excuse would she give this time? What more could she possibly sacrifice?

As she stepped outside their apartment building, a sleek black car idled at the curb. The driver's window lowered, revealing Claire's perfectly composed face.

"Perfect timing, Ms. Morrison," she called. "I was just about to call you."

Ella stopped, instantly on guard. "How do you know where I live?"

Claire's smile never wavered. "As I said, my client is thorough. May I give you a ride to St. George's? I imagine that's where you're headed."

"How did you—"

"It's what I would do in your position," Claire interrupted smoothly. "Visit the person for whom I'm making such a significant decision."

Ella hesitated, eyeing the luxurious vehicle suspiciously.

"It's just a ride, Ms. Morrison," Claire added. "No strings attached. Though I am available to answer any questions you might have about the arrangement."

After a moment's deliberation, Ella opened the car door and slid into the plush leather seat. As they pulled away from the curb, she couldn't help feeling that she had just taken another step into a carefully laid trap.

What she didn't see was the black sedan parked half a block away, or Adrian West watching intently as she entered Claire's car.

—

The state facility where Sofia would be transferred was a far cry from St. George's. Ella had visited once, to prepare herself for the worst. The building had been dilapidated, overcrowded, with patients wandering aimlessly through dingy hallways. The thought of her mother in such a place made her physically ill.

Now, as she sat beside Sofia's bed at St. George's, watching her mother stare vacantly out the window, Ella fought back tears. Sofia looked smaller somehow, frailer, her once beautiful features hollowed by years of medication and illness.

"Mom," Ella said softly, taking her mother's thin hand. "It's me."

Sofia didn't respond, didn't even blink. These silent visits had become routine, but Ella never stopped hoping for a moment of recognition, a flicker of the vibrant woman she remembered from childhood.

"I might have found a way to keep you here," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I'm scared, Mom. I'm scared of what I'd have to do."

She thought of Claire's offer, of the half-million dollars that could secure her mother's care for years to come. One night with a stranger. One night to secure her mother's future.

"What would you tell me to do?" Ella asked the silent woman. "Would you want me to protect myself, or protect you?"

Sofia's fingers twitched in Ella's hand—not a response, the doctors had explained, just a muscle spasm common with her medication. But Ella clung to it anyway, desperate for any sign.

"Ms. Morrison."

Ella looked up to see Dr. Patterson in the doorway. The hospital administrator who had been so patient with her late payments, who had given her extension after extension.

"Can we speak outside?" he asked.

In the hallway, Dr. Patterson didn't mince words. "Ms. Morrison, I need to remind you that your mother's monthly payment is due by the end of the week."

Ella's shoulders slumped. "I know. I'm working on it, Dr. Patterson. I just need a little more time—"

"I'm afraid we're out of time," he interrupted gently but firmly. "We've extended as many courtesies as we can. If we don't receive payment, we'll have to transfer your mother to the state facility by next Monday."

"Please," Ella whispered, "she won't survive there. You've seen what that place is like."

Dr. Patterson looked uncomfortable. "I understand your concern, but this is a business. Without payment, our hands are tied." He handed her an envelope. "These are the transfer papers. If by some miracle you can secure the funds, let us know immediately."

Ella took the envelope with numb fingers, the weight of it crushing her chest.

Ella took it with numb fingers, her mind racing. Adrian West. The strange man from the coffee shop. Claire's mysterious client. It all connected.

"Thank you," she managed.

Back at her mother's bedside, Ella sat in silence, the envelope clutched in her hands. Through the window, she could see Claire waiting by the car, her posture impeccable, her eyes occasionally drifting up to Sofia's window.

Ella gently brushed a strand of hair from her mother's face. "What happened to us, Mom?" she whispered. "What did we do to deserve this?"

For a flicker of a moment, she thought she saw something change in Sofia's eyes—a fleeting shadow of awareness, of pain. But then it was gone, and Ella was left wondering if she had imagined it.

Rising, she pressed a kiss to her mother's forehead. "I'll be back soon. And you're going to stay right here, in this nice room. I promise."

As she walked toward the exit, her decision solidified with each step. By the time she reached Claire, who was waiting in the hallway, her jaw was set, her eyes dry.

"I'll do it," she said, her voice steady despite the storm inside her. "One night. Five hundred thousand dollars."

Claire's smile widened slightly, like a predator sensing victory. "A wise decision." She reached into her handbag and produced a document. "If you'll just sign the agreement..."

With trembling fingers that belied her resolute expression, Ella took the pen and signed her name. Each stroke felt like she was signing away a piece of her soul, but the image of her mother in that squalid state facility strengthened her resolve.

"When?" she asked, handing back the pen.

"Tomorrow night. A car will collect you at eight. Wear something elegant—the outfit requirements are detailed in this envelope." Claire handed her a thick cream-colored envelope. "Everything else has been arranged."

The car door closed behind Ella with a soft, expensive thud. As they drove away, she didn't notice the black sedan that had been parked across from the hospital, or the man inside it who had been watching her all along.

Adrian West made a single phone call before starting his engine.

"She accepted," he said simply, then hung up and followed Claire's car at a discreet distance.

The trap had sprung shut.