Bound by Contract to the Alpha Chapter 22

Rebecca's POV

"I hope you don't mind," I said, my voice embarrassingly breathless. "I thought you might be hungry when you woke up."

"I don't mind at all," he murmured, his breath stirring the hair at my temple. Then, to my surprise, his arms encircled my waist, and he leaned down to inhale deeply near my neck. "You're a woman of hidden talents, it seems."

My heart hammered against my ribs, my body responding traitorously to his proximity. "It's just steak and mushrooms. Nothing fancy."

His hands remained at my waist, thumbs making small circles against the fabric of my blouse. "Where did you learn to cook?"

"Self-taught, mostly," I managed, focusing on the sauce to distract myself from his touch. "My mom worked double shifts when I was in high school, so I took over dinner duty. Taught myself from cooking shows and YouTube videos."

Dominic was silent for a moment, and I felt his chest expand against my back as he took a deep breath. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, almost gentle. "Your life hasn't been easy, has it?"

The unexpected perception in his question caught me off guard. I shrugged, uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. "Lots of people have it worse."

He released me then, stepping back to give me space. "Dinner will be ready soon?"

I nodded, both relieved and oddly disappointed by the loss of his warmth. "About ten minutes. You can sit down if you want."

Instead of leaving, Dominic leaned against the counter, watching me work. The weight of his gaze made my movements self-conscious, but I continued preparing the meal.

---

We ate at the kitchen island, the formal dining room seemingly too stuffy for just the two of us. Dominic had shed his tie entirely, and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt, revealing strong forearms dusted with dark hair. The sight was unexpectedly intimate, as though I was seeing a side of him few others witnessed.

"This is excellent," he commented after his first bite of steak, his expression one of genuine appreciation. "The sauce especially."

A flush of pleasure warmed my cheeks at the compliment. "Thank you. I'm glad you like it."

We ate in relative silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the soft clink of silverware against plates and the occasional appreciative hum from Dominic. I found myself sneaking glances at him, still adjusting to the reality of sharing meals with this powerful, enigmatic man.

"Rebecca," he said finally, setting down his fork. "There's something we need to discuss."

My appetite immediately vanished, tension knotting my stomach. "Yes?"

Dominic reached beside him, producing a thick folder I hadn't noticed before. He placed it on the counter between us.

"This is the agreement we discussed. It outlines everything in explicit detail. I believe in absolute clarity when it comes to... arrangements of this nature."

I stared at the folder, my stomach churning. The clinical term "arrangement" made my skin crawl.

Dominic opened the folder, his finger tracing over sections as he spoke. "Section one covers the financial compensation. Your father's medical expenses—$1,500,000 for the surgery, post-operative care, and rehabilitation—will be paid in full upon your signature. Additionally, I'll pay for your personal expenses and fashion studies."

The exact figures made me flinch. Seeing the worth of my body calculated so precisely was nauseating.

"Section two," he continued coldly, "outlines your obligations. You will reside here, in my home. You will be available to me whenever I require companionship, both in public and private settings."

His eyes met mine, unflinching. "Section three specifies the physical expectations of our arrangement. You will share my bed when requested. You will participate willingly in all intimate activities I desire. There's a list of exceptions you may specify—anything beyond that is considered within the scope of our agreement."

Heat rushed to my face, burning with humiliation. My throat constricted as I forced myself to maintain eye contact.

"I've included a confidentiality clause," Dominic added, turning to another page. "You will not discuss the true nature of our arrangement with anyone. Publicly, you are my personal assistant. Privately..." His voice dropped lower. "You are mine. Purchased and paid for, until I become Alpha or choose to terminate our agreement."

The word "purchased" hit me like a physical blow. I felt dirty, cheapened—reduced to a commodity with a price tag.

"The final section addresses termination," he said. "Should you wish to end our arrangement prematurely, you will be required to repay all medical expenses and advances in full, immediately. With interest."

I swallowed hard, knowing such repayment would be impossible. "So I'm trapped."

"Not trapped," Dominic corrected, his voice eerily reasonable. "You're making a choice. Trading something you possess—your body, your time, your companionship—for something you need. It's a simple transaction."

A simple transaction. The words echoed in my head as bile rose in my throat.

"Once you sign," Dominic continued, "your father will be transferred immediately to Silvercrest Medical Center. The surgery can be scheduled for next week."

Dad. The mention of his surgery sent a painful jolt through my chest. Just yesterday, Mom had called with his latest test results—the tumor was growing more aggressively than expected. "Time is of the essence," she'd said with that careful, measured tone doctors use when delivering bad news.

My hand trembled as I turned the pages, scanning clauses that reduced me to little more than a high-priced escort. One paragraph specified that I would "maintain an appearance pleasing to Mr. Sterling," including any changes to my hair, clothing, or body weight he might request. Another detailed how I would "enthusiastically participate" in intimate relations.

"You're selling yourself short," William's voice echoed in my memory from our last fight. "That's always been your problem, Becca. No ambition."

Would he laugh if he could see me now? Putting a price tag on myself like this?

"Is there a problem with the terms?" Dominic asked, breaking my reverie.

I looked up at him, vision blurring. "Do you have any idea how humiliating this is? To have my... services... itemized like a business contract?"

Something flickered in his eyes—not sympathy, but perhaps understanding. "Would you prefer I pretended this was something else? Offered false promises of love or affection? I respect you enough to be honest about what I'm buying and what you're selling."

His brutal honesty cut deeper than any lie. At least William had pretended to love me before betraying me.

"I'm not a prostitute," I whispered, the words barely audible.

"No," Dominic agreed, sliding an expensive pen toward me. "You're a woman making a calculated decision to save her father's life. The motivation doesn't change the nature of the transaction, but it does make it more... honorable."

Honorable. The word was so wrong in this context that I almost laughed.

I stared at the signature line, tears welling in my eyes. With each passing second, I could feel my self-respect crumbling, replaced by a desperate pragmatism. Dad was dying. This man could save him. The cost was merely my dignity, my body, my freedom.

"I need a minute," I whispered.

Dominic nodded, his expression unreadable. "Take your time."

I closed my eyes, remembering my father's pale face in the hospital bed. "Don't worry about me, Dear," he'd insisted, even as pain creased his forehead. The resignation in his eyes had terrified me more than his diagnosis.

What would he say if he knew what I was doing to save him? Would he be disgusted? Heartbroken? Or would he understand that sometimes love means sacrificing everything, even your self-worth?

With trembling fingers, I picked up the pen. "Where do I sign?" I asked, my voice hollow.