Chapter 5
T he morning light filters through my curtains, painting stripes across the bed.
Across Ian. He's still asleep, his face softer in repose, his body taking up more than his fair share of the mattress.
I watch him for a moment, memorizing the lines of his face, the way his chest rises and falls with each breath.
This has become our routine over the past week. Him staying the night, making breakfast while I get ready for class, riding the subway with me to and from campus. It's domestic in a way that terrifies me, this quiet companionship, this easy intimacy.
I slip out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake him. The apartment is small enough that I can see into the kitchen from here, can see the evidence of his presence everywhere. His jacket draped over the back of a chair. His shoes by the door. His toothbrush by the sink.
It's too much. Too real. Too much like something permanent.
I dress quickly, pulling on jeans and a sweater despite the heat. Then I pad into the kitchen, starting the coffee maker, the familiar routine grounding me.
The knock at the door is sharp, insistent.
"Ms. Young. Open the door."
Richard Blackwood.
I cross to the door on silent feet, my mind racing.
What’s he doing here?
I open the door, steeling myself for whatever comes next.
Richard stands there, impeccable in his suit, his expression unreadable. His eyes scan me quickly, taking in my disheveled state, before settling on my face.
"We need to talk," he says, his voice leaving no room for argument.
I step back, opening the door wider in silent invitation. He steps inside.
"Coffee?" I ask, needing something to do with my hands.
Richard nods once, his gaze returning to me. "Please."
I turn to the kitchen, pouring two mugs, my back to him. "What's this about?"
"The contract."
I've heard the rumors about Richard Blackwood, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to get caught up in anything else he had to offer.
"What do you want from me?" I ask, the question burning my throat.
Richard studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "You're a medical student." He sets down his mug, his eyes meeting mine. "A smart one. One with potential. With drive."
I shake my head slightly, confusion swirling through me. "I don't understand."
Richard leans forward slightly, his voice dropping lower. "I have need of someone with your skills and discretion."
The implication hangs in the air between us, heavy with unspoken meaning. I've heard the rumors about what goes on in the upper floors of Rhapsody, about the things Richard Blackwood is involved in, about the lines he's willing to cross.
I've never wanted to be involved in any of it before.
Now, I'm not so sure I have a choice.
"What exactly are you asking?" I say, my voice steady despite the fear coiling in my stomach.
Richard's expression doesn't change, but something in his eyes softens slightly. "I'm asking you to consider an opportunity. One that would allow you to finish your education debt free. To secure your future."
"And in return?" The question burns my throat, but I need to ask it. Need to know what he expects, what he wants, what he's willing to take.
His voice is firm, certain. "Your skills, when I need them."
I stare at him, trying to process what he's saying. Trying to reconcile it with everything I've worked for, everything I've dreamed of, everything I've fought to become.
"You want me to be your doctor," I say finally.
Richard's expression doesn't change, but something in his eyes shifts slightly. "Yes."
"I need to think about it," I say finally, the words tasting like ash on my tongue.
Richard nods once, his expression unchanging. "Of course." He stands, straightening his suit. "But don't take too long. Opportunities like this don't stay open forever."
The words hang in the air between us, a promise and a threat wrapped in one. I watch as he leaves, his presence seeming to take all the air in the apartment with him.
I sink down onto the couch, my hands shaking, my mind racing. This is everything I've ever wanted—the chance to secure my future, to guarantee my education, to build the life I've dreamed of.
But at what cost? What will I have to do? What will I have to become?
And what will it do to me?
I don't know. Don't know if I can do this.
But as I sit there, the weight of Richard's offer pressing down on me, I know one thing for certain.
Everything has changed. And nothing will ever be the same again.
I try to breathe but my lungs won't expand fully. It's like there's a vice around my chest, tightening with each passing second. I press my palms against my thighs, feeling the rough denim under my fingertips, trying to ground myself in something—anything—tangible.
Richard Blackwood wants me to be his doctor.
Richard Blackwood. The man whose name is whispered with equal parts fear and reverence throughout this city. The man who owns half of downtown but appears in no official records. The man whose enemies have a habit of disappearing without a trace.
He wants me .
"Fuck," I whisper, the word inadequate for the storm raging inside me.
My student loans flash through my mind—the six-figure number that haunts my dreams, that follows me through every waking moment.
The debt that will take decades to pay off, that will shape every decision I make from the moment I graduate.
The weight that's been crushing me slowly since the day I decided to chase this dream.
Freedom from that would be... God, it would be everything.
But what's the real price?
I stand up suddenly, needing to move, to do something besides sit here drowning in possibilities. The apartment feels too small, the walls closing in. I pace from the couch to the window and back again, my thoughts spinning faster with each step.
What does he mean, he needs my skills? What kind of medical services would a man like Richard Blackwood need that he can't get through legitimate channels? Patching up gunshot wounds in the middle of the night? Performing surgeries off the books? Falsifying medical records?
Or worse?
I stop at the window, pressing my forehead against the cool glass. Outside, the city continues its relentless pace—people walking, talking, living their normal lives while mine fractures around me.
"I can't do this," I whisper to my reflection, pale and wide-eyed in the glass.
Can't you?
The thought slithers through my mind, cold and dangerous. Because the truth is, I've already crossed lines I never thought I would. Working at Rhapsody. Getting involved with Ian. Turning a blind eye to the things that happen behind closed doors.
I've been compromising piece by piece, justifying each step with necessity, with survival. Is this really so different?
Yes. It is.
This isn't some gray area. This would be a deliberate choice to enter Blackwood's world fully, to tie my future to his, to become complicit in whatever he's involved in.
I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the warmth of the apartment. What happens if I say no? Blackwood isn't a man accustomed to rejection. What if refusing him puts a target on my back?
And Ian…. Would he be relieved I'm staying out of it, or would he push me to take the deal? After all, he's Blackwood's man through and through. Would this drive us apart or pull us closer together?
My stomach twists at the thought. Things with Ian are already complicated enough—this tangled web of attraction and fear, of tenderness and violence. This would add another layer I'm not sure we could navigate.
I turn away from the window, my gaze landing on the stack of medical textbooks on my coffee table. Years of work. Years of sacrifice. Years of holding onto this dream with both hands even when it felt impossible.
Would I be betraying that dream by taking Blackwood's offer? Or would I be ensuring it comes true?
The cold, practical part of my brain—the part that's gotten me this far—whispers that I'd be stupid to turn him down. That this is an opportunity that comes once in a lifetime. That pride is a luxury I can't afford.
But the part of me that still believes in right and wrong, in the oath I'll someday take to do no harm—that part screams that this is wrong. That some prices are too high, no matter how tempting the reward.
I drop back onto the couch, my head in my hands. The truth is, I don't know if I'm strong enough to say no. Don't know if I'm brave enough to walk away from the solution to all my problems, even if that solution comes with strings that might strangle me.
Because beneath the fear and the moral quandaries and the what-ifs, there's a terrible certainty growing in the pit of my stomach:
Richard Blackwood isn't really asking. He's telling.
The "opportunity" is an illusion of choice. The contract is already written. The future already mapped out.
And deep down, I know there's only one answer I can give.
The realization leaves me hollow, a shell filled with dread and resignation. I've been kidding myself thinking I had any real agency in this situation. From the moment Richard walked through my door, the decision was made. The rest is just... processing. Acceptance.
I wipe at my eyes, surprised to find them wet. When did I start crying? I don't even know anymore.
The club is different tonight. Rhapsody pulses with a nervous energy that wasn't here before. The music throbs through the floorboards, vibrating up through my bones, but there's a tension beneath it—something electric and dangerous.
Security at the entrance was tighter. No phones. No cameras. No exceptions. The bouncers checked bags and pockets with methodical precision, their faces grim masks of determination.
I slide through the crowd, hyper-aware of every gaze that lingers too long. Are they recognizing me? My skin crawls with the possibility.