Chapter 2 - The Voss Proposition
The vehicle waiting outside The Linden Room wasn’t just a car; it was a mobile fortress. A long, armored Mercedes-Maybach pulled up to the curb, its tinted windows black as obsidian.
The driver, an older gentleman with pristine silver hair and immaculate posture named Thomas, opened the rear door with a respectful bow.
"Good afternoon, Miss Carter. Miss Helena," Thomas greeted warmly.
Helena beamed, tucking her arm through mine. "Come along, Sophie dear. Don't be shy. If Adrian tries to scowl at you, I’ll rap his knuckles with my umbrella just like I did when he was twelve."
I couldn't help the small laugh that escaped my throat, despite the absurdity of the situation. Adrian Voss—the man whispered about in hushed, terrified tones in Chicago’s darkest alleyways and highest boardrooms—glanced at his aunt with a mixture of fond exhaustion and genuine reverence.
"Aunt Helena, please," Adrian sighed, holding the door open for both of us. "You're ruining my reputation."
"Your reputation is built on nonsense and stubbornness," Helena scoffed playfully as she settled into the buttery leather seat. "Get in, Sophie. The heated seats do wonders for lower back pain."
I hesitated for a second, glancing down Michigan Avenue. The wind off Lake Michigan was picking up, whipping my loose brown hair across my face. In my worn canvas purse, my phone buzzed. A text from my landlord: *Rent reminder: $1,250 due on the 1st. Late fee applies after 5 PM.*
I felt the crushing weight of reality pressing down on my shoulders. Swallowing my pride, I climbed into the luxury car. Adrian slipped in beside me, his long legs nearly brushing against mine. The door clicked shut with the heavy, vacuum-sealed resonance of a bank vault. The chaos of Chicago traffic vanished into complete, muffled silence.
As the car pulled out into the afternoon traffic, heading north toward the ultra-exclusive Gold Coast, Adrian opened a small wooden compartment between the seats, pulled out a chilled bottle of sparkling water, and poured two glasses. He handed one to his aunt, then offered one to me.
"Drink," he said. "Your hands are shaking."
"I'm fine," I said defensively, though my fingers betrayed me as they trembled against the cold glass.
"You aren't fine," Adrian said bluntly, his dark eyes never leaving my face. "You just lost your livelihood over a twelve-dollar sandwich, and you're currently riding in a car with a man who could buy your apartment complex and tear it down for a parking garage."
"Is that a threat, Mr. Voss?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.
Helena let out a sharp tut. "Adrian! Behave!"
Adrian held up a hand in surrender, though a ghost of a smirk played on his lips. "It's a statement of fact, Miss Carter. I prefer dealing in realities. For instance, the reality is that your mother, Evelyn Carter, suffers from a severe autoimmune deficiency that requires bi-weekly immunoglobulin infusions. Treatments that Blue Shield recently classified as 'experimental,' leaving you with a seven-thousand-dollar out-of-pocket balance."
My heart stopped. The glass almost slipped through my fingers.
"How do you know that?" My voice shook, this time not with fear, but with hot, defensive fury. "Have you been stalking me? Who gave you the right to dig into my family's private medical records?!"
"I have resources," Adrian replied calmly, leaning back into the leather. "The moment you stood up to Daniel Mercer, Marcus ran your name through my private network. By the time you walked over to my table, I knew your credit score, your employment history, and the fact that you haven't bought yourself a new pair of shoes in eighteen months because every spare dollar you make goes to the pharmacy on 4th Street."
"Adrian," Helena warned, her voice tightening. "You are frightening the poor girl."
"I am showing her that I do not make offers blindly, Aunt Helena," Adrian said, turning his gaze back to me. "I don't believe in random acts of kindness. In my world, people who give away what little they have are usually fools or martyrs. But you didn't hesitate. You didn't do it because you knew Helena was connected to me. You did it because you genuinely couldn't stomach seeing an old woman cry."
"It’s called being human," I snapped, blinking back angry tears. "Maybe you've forgotten what that feels like."
Thomas, driving up front, visibly flinched in the rearview mirror. No one spoke to Adrian Voss that way.
Adrian, however, didn't flare with rage. Instead, his gaze deepened, an unreadable storm brewing behind his dark irises.
"Perhaps I have," Adrian conceded quietly. "Which is precisely why I need someone like you."
The car turned onto a private, tree-lined drive barricaded by soaring wrought-iron gates that slid open automatically. We were entering the private Voss compound—a sprawling, limestone manor overlooking Lake Michigan, tucked away behind towering hedges and state-of-the-art security towers.
"What are you talking about?" I asked as the Maybach glided to a halt beneath a grand portico.
Adrian leaned forward, his face just inches from mine. His presence was overwhelming, magnetic, and completely suffocating.
"My aunt’s health is declining," Adrian said, his voice dropping into a low, private frequency meant only for me. "She insists on living independently, but she wanders. She forgets things. Most importantly, she refuses to let my men near her because she despises guns and bodyguards. She trusts no one. But in ten minutes, she trusted you."
He reached inside his suit pocket and pulled out a crisp, folded contract.
"I am offering you the position of Personal Companion and Estate Coordinator for Helena Ellis," Adrian stated. "Your duties will include accompanying her during the day, managing her appointments, and keeping her safe from her own stubbornness. In exchange, Voss Enterprises will pay you an annual salary of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Full comprehensive medical coverage—effective today—which will cover one hundred percent of your mother's treatments at Northwestern Memorial. And a company vehicle."
My jaw dropped. My head spun so violently I had to grab the armrest.
"One... one hundred and fifty thousand?" I stammered. "For being a companion?"
"There is one condition," Adrian added, his voice dropping into a darker, colder register.
"What?"
"My world is not clean, Sophie," he whispered, his eyes locking onto mine with hypnotic intensity. "I have enemies. Men who would use Helena's vulnerability—or yours—to strike at me. If you accept this contract, you enter my shadow. You will be protected by my men, but you will also be a target by association. You will see things you cannot speak of. You will obey security protocols without question."
He opened the car door and stepped out into the crisp Chicago air, extending a hand to help me down.
May you like
"So, Miss Carter," Adrian said, towering over me against the backdrop of the massive stone mansion. "Do you want to go back to scraping pennies for your mother's medicine? Or do you want to work for the devil?"
***
