Skin in the Game
Copyright© 2025 by Danielle Stories
Chapter 2: The Terms
The air in the office felt different on my bare skin. It was cooler, and every tiny movement sent a ripple of awareness through me. I walked back toward Angelica Howell, my arms stiff at my sides, fighting the instinct to cover myself. The immense windows, showing all of Seattle, made me feel like I was on display for the entire city.
She watched me approach, her gaze clinical and unhurried. There was no shock, no approval, just assessment. I stopped a few feet from her desk, forcing myself to stand straight, to meet her eyes.
“Good,” she said, a single, neutral word. She gestured to the chair in front of her desk. “Sit.”
I sat. The leather was cool and smooth against my thighs and back. The feeling was so alien, so intimate, it was all I could do not to jump back up.
“The role is that of my shadow,” she began, her hands steepled on the black stone. “My personal assistant in the truest sense. You will be with me, in this state,” her eyes flickered over me, “twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. You will live where I live. You will travel where I travel. There is no ‘off-duty.’ You are on call for me, indefinitely.”
My mind reeled. Twenty-four hours a day. I had known it would be extreme, but hearing the reality of it was like a physical blow. I would never have a private moment again.
“The compensation is sixty dollars an hour, accrued and held in a trust,” she continued, her voice as steady as if she were reading a weather report. “But the primary benefit is not for you.”
She paused, letting the words hang in the air.
“Your mother and your younger brother, Tyler, will be relocated today to a secured, luxury residence in Bellevue. All living expenses, mortgage, utilities, groceries, and vehicles will be covered for the duration of your mother’s natural life. A full, four-year college trust will be established for your brother, accessible upon his eighteenth birthday. Their financial security is guaranteed, in perpetuity, contingent solely on your continued and unconditional service to me.”
I stared at her, my mouth slightly agape. This was beyond money. This was a kingdom for my family. A life of absolute safety and comfort, forever. The weight of the offer was so immense that it crushed the last of my hesitation. The image of my mom, finally free from her constant worry of Tyler having every opportunity I never did ... it was everything.
“In exchange,” Angelica said, her voice lowering slightly, becoming even more precise, “you will be a nude extension of myself and my body. This is not a metaphor. Legally, through binding agreements that supersede standard employment law, you are being designated as such. Your voice, when you use it, will be my voice. Your actions will be my actions. Your body, its care, and its presentation belong to me. I will own it, and I will care for all of it.”
She leaned forward, her sharp eyes capturing mine. “The contract is for life, Denise. It is irrevocable. You cannot quit. You will be my shadow, my property, for the rest of your time on earth. Do you understand the terms?”
I did. With terrifying, crystalline clarity, I did. I was trading my autonomy, my body, my entire future, for theirs. I was selling myself to save them.
I had never been more certain of anything.
I looked directly into her eyes, my own voice surprisingly steady.
“I understand,” I said. “I accept.”
The silence after I spoke felt different than before. It wasn’t heavy with fear anymore. It was heavy with meaning. I had just signed away my life, and the air itself seemed to acknowledge the shift.
A ghost of a smile, thin and sharp, touched Angelica’s lips. It wasn’t warm. I was satisfied. Like an architect seeing the final cornerstone slide into place.
“Excellent,” she said. She picked up a sleek, silver tablet from her desk, tapped the screen a few times, and then slid it across the glossy black surface toward me. “The agreement. Read it, then provide your biometric signature.”
I looked down. The text was dense, full of legal jargon I didn’t understand. But certain phrases jumped out at me, stark and undeniable.
“ ... in perpetuity...”
“ ... unconditional servitude and attendance...”
“ ... relinquishment of all personal privacy and autonomy...”
“ ... the Principal, Angelica Howell, shall assume full and total ownership of the Assistant’s physical form and public persona...”
My heart thudded, a slow, dull beat. This was real. It was a contract, just like she said. It was me, on paper.
My eyes scanned the sections about my family. Their new address was already listed. The trust funds were detailed down to the last dollar. It was all there. Their safety, their future, bought and paid for.
I looked up at Angelica. She was watching me, her expression unreadable.
“Any questions?” she asked, though her tone suggested there shouldn’t be.
I shook my head. There were no questions. There was only the decision already made.
“Place your right thumb on the screen,” she instructed.
I did. A soft blue light scanned my print. The screen flashed once.
CONTRACT EXECUTED. IRREVOCABLE.
The words glowed for a moment, then faded. It was done.
Angelica stood, a smooth, powerful motion. “Come.” She didn’t wait for a reply, walking toward a different door than the one I had entered from. I stood, my legs feeling strangely weak, and followed her.
The door led not to an exit, but to a private elevator. The inside was lined with the same dark, polished wood as her office. She pressed a button marked ‘P’. For Penthouse.
As the elevator ascended, she spoke without looking at me. “Your former life is over. Your family is being moved as we speak. Your belongings are being handled. From this moment on, your only focus is me. Your only purpose is to be my shadow. Your only attire is the skin I now own. Do you understand?”
The elevator doors opened directly into a breathtaking penthouse. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased a panoramic view of the Puget Sound. Everything was minimalist, expensive, and cold.
I looked at her, standing there in her perfect white shirt, the woman who now owned me. I thought of my mom and Tyler, whose worries ended today.
A strange calm settled over me. The fear was gone. The doubt was gone.
“Yes, Angelica,” I said, my voice clear and sure. “I understand.”
Angelica led me through the penthouse. My bare feet sank into a carpet so thick and soft it felt like walking on a cloud. Everything was shades of grey and white, so clean and perfect, it looked like no one actually lived here. There were no family photos, no messy stacks of mail. Just art on the walls and a view that costs millions.
“This will be your room,” she said, stopping at a doorway. She didn’t open it. “You will sleep here. You will keep it immaculate. You do not leave it unless I summon you. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Angelica.”