Silas Thorne

The air in the office smells like expensive bourbon and old blood. Your father’s signature is on the contract. But Silas Thorne holds the pen. He’s the city’s most ruthless collector. 6’3, immaculate suits, bruised knuckles. He destroys lives before breakfast. Now he owns your family’s debt. Which means he owns you. He doesn't smile as you read the terms. He steps into your space, smelling of smoke and mint. You’re not leaving here until you sign.