Entrapment

Ella stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror, her face burning with humiliation. Claire's "outfit requirements" had been explicit and mortifying. Beneath the elegant trench coat she'd been instructed to wear was barely anything at all—just sheer, delicate lingerie that left nothing to the imagination, paired with garter belts and silk stockings. The coat itself was expensive camel-colored cashmere, perfectly respectable on the outside, while concealing what amounted to a command for her to arrive practically naked underneath.

"This is..." she couldn't even finish the sentence, clutching the coat closed with trembling fingers. The contrast between the modest exterior and what lay beneath felt like a cruel metaphor for her situation—a veneer of proper business arrangement hiding something far more degrading.

"Holy shit," Camila breathed from the doorway. "Is that what they told you to wear?"

"Under the coat," Ella confirmed bitterly. "It's... it's humiliating."

Camila crossed the room, her expression darkening. "This is wrong, El. This isn't a business deal anymore."

"It never was," Ella replied, securing the belt of the coat tightly. "But what choice do I have? Mom's transfer papers are right there on my desk. Without this money..."

After her return from the hospital yesterday, she'd told Camila everything—Claire's proposition, the looming threat of her mother's transfer, her decision to accept the offer. Her roommate had cycled through shock, outrage, and finally resigned concern.

"At least let me take pictures of you in this outfit and the address you're going to," Camila insisted. "If you're not back by morning, I'm calling the police."

"The contract specifically forbids photographs," Ella said, sliding her feet into the provided stiletto heels—another item from the package Claire had sent over that morning. "And I don't even know where I'm going. The car is picking me up."

Camila gripped her shoulders, turning Ella to face her. "This is how women disappear, El."

"He's not going to make me disappear," Ella replied, with more confidence than she felt. "Not after paying half a million dollars. That would be a terrible investment."

The doorbell rang, and both women froze. With a final glance back at Camila's worried face, Ella stepped into the hallway, feeling as though she were walking to her own execution.

—

The drive took nearly an hour, winding through the city and up into the exclusive hillside neighborhood where the elite made their homes. Security gates and long, private driveways hid mansions from curious eyes, each property separated from the next by acres of manicured grounds.

They finally stopped before a modern glass and steel structure that seemed to emerge organically from the cliffside. Floor-to-ceiling windows glowed with warm light, offering glimpses of minimalist luxury within.

"We've arrived, Ms. Morrison," the chauffeur announced, opening her door and extending a hand to help her navigate the stone pathway in her heels.

"Mr. West is in the main lounge," the chauffeur said, gesturing toward a hallway. "Second door on the right."

Ella froze mid-step. "West? As in Adrian West?"

Her mind raced back to the coffee shop, to those cold gray eyes studying her. The strange man who had claimed she owed him a debt. Now everything connected—his appearance at the coffee shop, Claire's subsequent proposition, the specific selection of her for this "arrangement."

Taking a deep breath, Ella forced herself forward, each step on the polished concrete floor echoing like a countdown. At the second door, she paused, gathering her courage before pushing it open.

The lounge was a study in restrained opulence—low-slung leather furniture, a wall of glass overlooking the twinkling city lights below, and a fireplace casting dancing shadows across the space. Adrian West stood with his back to her, a tumbler of amber liquid in his hand as he gazed out at the view.

"Right on time," he said without turning around. "Punctuality is a virtue I appreciate."

His voice sent a chill down her spine—the same deep, commanding tone from the coffee shop, but now laced with something darker.

"You planned this," she said, her own voice steadier than she felt. "From the beginning."

Adrian turned slowly, and Ella's breath caught. In the coffee shop, he had been intimidating. Here, in tailored black evening wear that emphasized his height and broad shoulders, he was devastating. His sharp features caught the firelight, shadows accentuating the hollows beneath his cheekbones and the intensity of his gray eyes.

His gaze traveled to her coat, still clutched tightly around her body despite the warmth of the room. A small, knowing smile played at the corner of his mouth.

"Aren't you going to remove your coat?" he asked, his tone deceptively casual.

Ella's grip tightened reflexively on the lapels. "I'm comfortable like this."

"Are you?" Adrian set down his glass. "I specifically selected that outfit for tonight's... activities. Claire assured me the measurements would be perfect."

Heat flooded Ella's cheeks as she realized he knew exactly what she was wearing—or barely wearing—beneath the coat. The thought of removing it, of standing before him in nothing but lingerie, made her skin crawl.

"I'm afraid I can't help you, sir," she challenged softly, bitterness edging into her voice.

Something dangerous flashed in Adrian's eyes, but he merely smiled. "We'll see about that."

"I plan everything, Ms. Morrison." Adrian gestured to a nearby chair. "Please, sit."

It wasn't a request. Ella remained standing, defiance flaring. "Why the charade? Why not approach me directly?"

"Would you have accepted if I had?" Adrian raised an eyebrow, taking a slow sip of his drink.

"I don't even understand what your proposition is," she countered. "Half a million dollars for one night seems excessive, even for someone of your wealth."

Adrian moved toward her with the fluid grace of a predator, setting his glass on a side table as he approached. "Perhaps I believe you're worth it."

"You don't even know me."

"I know far more about you than you realize, Ella." He circled her slowly, his gaze traveling from her face down the length of her body with clinical assessment. "Nineteen years old. Only child. Your mother was institutionalized for four years. You work two jobs while attending university. You avoid relationships. You sleep with the light on."

Each detail hit like a physical blow. Ella wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling naked despite the coat. "You've been watching me."

"Researching," he corrected. "I'm thorough in everything I undertake."

"Why?" she demanded. "Why me?"

Adrian stopped directly in front of her, close enough that she could smell his cologne—something expensive and subtle that made her dizzy. "Because you have something I want."

"My body?" she spat, disgust replacing fear.

The corner of his mouth lifted in a cold smile. His eyes never left hers, his expression one of cold satisfaction rather than desire.

"That's merely incidental," he said softly, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face. Ella flinched away from his touch.

"I don't understand any of this," she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. "What do you want from me?"

"Compliance," Adrian replied simply. He circled her once more, his footsteps silent on the thick carpet. "The terms of our agreement are clear. You signed a binding contract."

"For one night," Ella insisted.

"Check the contract," Adrian replied coldly. "Clause sixteen, paragraph three. 'The arrangement shall continue at the client's discretion, with additional compensation to be determined based on duration and services required.'"

"You tricked me," she realized aloud, her voice barely audible.

"I made an offer. You signed without reading the fine print." His voice was devoid of emotion. "Your carelessness is not my concern."

"The money," she said shakily. "My mother's hospital bills."

Adrian nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "The payment has been made. Your mother is secure at St. George's. Unless, of course, you decide our arrangement is no longer to your liking."

The manipulation was so complete, so thorough, that Ella felt physically ill. "You're sick."

"I'm thorough," he corrected. "And now I have you exactly where I want you."

He reached out, trailing one finger down her cheek in a parody of tenderness. "Now, shall we begin with your first lesson in obedience? Remove the coat."

Ella slapped his hand away, fury overriding fear. "I won't let you do this."

Adrian caught her wrist in a grip that was just shy of painful. "You already have." He pulled her closer, his lips nearly brushing her ear. "The agreement is binding. The money is paid. Your mother is secure. And you, Ella Morrison, belong to me now."

"For one night," she insisted desperately.

Adrian's laugh was soft and without humor. "Oh, my dear. This is only just the beginning."

In one swift movement, he released her wrist and stepped back. "Now, remove the coat. Or I will make a call to your mother tomorrow morning."

Ella stood frozen, trapped by the impossible choice. Slowly, with trembling fingers, she untied the belt of the coat. The heavy cashmere slid from her shoulders, pooling at her feet and leaving her exposed in the sheer, revealing lingerie Claire had provided.

Shame burned through her as Adrian's eyes methodically traveled over her body, his expression one of cold satisfaction rather than desire. This wasn't about attraction—it was about power, about stripping away her dignity piece by piece.

"Turn around," he commanded softly.

Ella hesitated, then compiled, fighting the urge to cover herself as she slowly rotated, feeling his gaze like a physical touch on her exposed skin.

"Perfect," Adrian said when she faced him again. His voice was calm, almost businesslike, which somehow made the humiliation worse.

When she instinctively reached for the coat at her feet, Adrian's voice stopped her.

"Leave it there."

She froze, her arms wrapped around herself in a futile attempt at modesty.

"Arms at your sides," he instructed, moving to a nearby desk. "You won't be needing that coat anymore tonight."

Fighting back tears of humiliation, Ella forced her arms to her sides, standing exposed and vulnerable as Adrian pressed an intercom button.

"Martha, prepare the guest suite for Ms. Morrison. She'll be staying."

"How long?" Ella dared to ask, her voice barely audible.

Adrian studied her, a small, cruel smile playing at his lips. "Until I'm satisfied."

An older woman appeared in the doorway in response to Adrian's call. Her expression remained professionally blank at the sight of Ella standing nearly naked in the middle of the room, though a flicker of pity crossed her eyes before she quickly masked it.

"This way, miss," she said quietly.

"Ms. Morrison will not be needing any clothes for the evening," Adrian added, his tone casual as if discussing the weather. "Make sure her suite is prepared accordingly."

Ella's face burned with fresh humiliation at the thought of walking through this stranger's house in nothing but lingerie. It was a calculated move—forcing her to parade through the halls exposed, stripping away the last shreds of her dignity.

As Ella followed Martha from the room, painfully conscious of each step, each movement of her barely covered body, she could feel Adrian's eyes on her back.

Only then did the full weight of her situation crash down upon her. This wasn't about money. This was about something else entirely, something she didn't understand. She was trapped in the home of a man who clearly intended to break her, piece by methodical piece.

And she had walked willingly into his trap.