Chapter 3 - The Contract
Three days later, a sleek black Maybach pulled up to the curb of Ava’s modest, drafty apartment in Logan Square. Ava stood by the window, clutching an oversized knit sweater around her aching frame. She had tried to run. She had packed a suitcase, intending to buy a bus ticket to her aunt's farm in Iowa, but walking up her own stairs had left her so breathless she had collapsed on the hallway rug for an hour.
A knock echoed through the door—firm, measured, polite.
When she opened it, Ethan stood in the doorway, dressed in a sharp charcoal suit beneath a cashmere coat. He held a leather portfolio in one gloved hand and a hot thermos of herbal tea in the other. Behind him on the sidewalk, two black SUVs idled silently.
""May I come in?"" he asked.
""Do I have a choice?"" Ava retorted, stepping aside.
""You always have a choice,"" Ethan replied, stepping inside and taking in the small, sparsely decorated room. Trophies lined the bookshelf, but the refrigerator hummed loudly, and a space heater rattled in the corner. He set the tea on her counter. ""Sophie made me brew chamomile. She read on the internet that it helps with coughing.""
Ava’s defensive armor cracked a fraction. She looked down at the steaming mug, feeling an unfamiliar warmth bloom in her chest. ""She’s too sweet for a man like you.""
""I know,"" Ethan admitted without arrogance. ""Which is why I'm here to offer you a legitimate business contract. No charity. No debts.""
He opened the leather portfolio on her kitchen table, turning several typed pages toward her. ""Sophie wants private lessons. One hour a day, three days a week. We have a private regulation rink inside my estate in Lake Forest. You will not have to skate aggressively—just teach her posture, basics, and guide her.""
Ava glanced at the pages. ""And what does this 'job' pay?""
""Full medical coverage through a private trust registered in Zurich. The experimental therapy team arrives in Chicago on Friday. They will administer treatments at my estate’s clinic wing,"" Ethan explained calmly. ""In addition, you receive a salary of fifty thousand dollars a month, deposited legally into an offshore account in your name. If at any point you wish to walk away, the medical trust remains funded. You owe me nothing.""
Ava stared at the contract, her heart hammering against her damaged lungs. It was an impossible sum, an impossible lifeline thrown to someone who had already resigned herself to the grave. ""Why do this? You barely know me.""
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""Because when I watched you on that ice, you were dying, yet you fought for every inch of air to finish your performance,"" Ethan said, his voice dropping into a low, resonant register. ""I spent three years living like a corpse after my wife died. Watching you reminded me what it looks like to fight. Sign the contract, Ava. Teach my daughter how to fly, and let me keep you alive.""
Ava looked at the pen on the table, then up into Ethan's piercing dark eyes. With trembling fingers, she signed her name.
