Page 1 of Seduced By Contract

Zeus

PROLOGUE

Past

GREECE

There’sa crack in the wooden floor, preventing the viscous liquid from continuing its path, turning the blood flowing from my father into a sort of unfinished painting or an abstract drawing.

Strangely enough, it's not the scene in front of me that makes me want to turn away but the smell.

I think I'll never forget this sickly sweet, nauseating odor.

I glance at the watch on my wrist.

My brothers will arrive at any moment, and I need to decide what to do. Call the police or contact the lawyer first? I try to decide, as if that question were more important than the fact that I will never talk to my father again.

As if I hadn't just lost my idol.

"A Kostanidis never bends, no matter the situation,"I seem to hear him say, as he always did during Sunday lunches when we were growing up.

But you bent for her. You let her trample on your pride. You put her above your children, above our family.

I hold the letter in my hands. In it, my father says that he has just discovered that my mother died earlier today trying to escape with her lover. The only thing I can think is that she got what she deserved.

The door opens behind me, and without needing to turn around, I know who it is by the shuffling footsteps.

"I was the one who found him first. I read the letter. It doesn't matter how many years it takes, but promise me that you will restore our pride, Zeus," my grandfather says, stopping beside me. "I don't have much time left, but I need to die knowing that the family name will be honored."

As always, his voice shows no emotion. A Kostanidis never shows weakness.

"It will be so, Grandfather. I will do whatever it takes to avenge my father."

Madison

CHAPTER ONE

Present Day

NEW YORK CITY

I gaze downat the front of the cheap black pump I'm wearing and notice a tiny, chipped white spot. Most people probably wouldn't even notice, but I know myself well enough to realize that I'll spend the entire interview tense because of this imperfection.

For a while now, I've suspected that I suffer from OCD, even though I haven't seen a doctor about it. It's the details that have led me to this conclusion, not a precise diagnosis.

I like everything to be just right. No, I'm not talking about being a neat freak or anything like that, but rather having a genuine obsession with perfection.

I did some research and found out that there are various types of OCD. In my case, it's related to aesthetics. I need to fix what's out of place, or I can't focus on anything else.

And God only knows how much I need to focus to do well in this interview, so for a quick fix, I open my bag, take out a black eyeliner pencil, and make the imperfection on the shoe disappear as if by magic. You'd need laser vision to detect it now.

I tap my foot on the floor, but when the man standing in front of me inside the elevator looks back, I freeze in embarrassment.

I could hardly believe it when I was selected for the interview. I applied out of sheer desperation, but now that the opportunity is within reach, I silently pray that everything goes well.

Just passing through the building's door, which I believe is the headquarters of other businesses owned by billionaire families and where they manage SIN, made me anxious and left me feeling like an outsider—which isn't entirely untrue.

However, it's when the elevator stops on the floor where I'll have the interview that I want to run away. There are at least a dozen women sitting in the waiting room who seem to have walked straight out of a fashion magazine.

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