BOUND TO MR BLACK

Prologue

Adam

Adam Black lay face down on the bed, one arm hanging off the edge. His dark hair was messy, his sheet barely covering him. Sunlight pushed through the curtains, hitting his face, but he didn’t move. He didn’t want to get up. He didn’t want to face his father. Or his life.

He hated mornings like this—quiet, too bright, and filled with the weight of everything he didn't ask for.

Miss Becky walked in. She’d been the housemaid since he was a kid. She didn’t knock. She never had to.

“Time to get up, Adam,” she said gently.

Adam groaned and rolled over. “Morning, Miss Becky,” he said, voice low and tired.

“You’re not five anymore,” she smiled. “You’ve got meetings today. Your father’s waiting.”

Of course, he was.

Adam dragged himself into the shower, the water hitting his face like a slap. He went through the motions—shave, towel, blazer. He didn’t have to try too hard. At thirty-two, he knew how to look like the man the world expected him to be. Rich, confident, untouchable.

He looked in the mirror, tightening his tie. His reflection showed a tall, white man with piercing blue eyes and sharp features. The kind of man people noticed when he walked into a room. The kind of man people assumed had everything.

But that was all it was—a look.

He stood there a moment longer, remembering how it used to be. Before things turned cold. Before his mom died.

He was just eleven when it happened. She had a stroke in her sleep. One day she was there, reading him bedtime stories. The next day, silence. No goodbye.

Everything changed after that. His father buried himself in work. Adam buried himself in women, cars, parties—anything that felt fast and loud enough to drown the ache in his chest. He didn’t let anyone in. He didn’t do love. That part of him died the day she did.

By the time he turned seventeen, Adam was already the center of attention. Girls chased after him. Not just for his looks, which were striking enough, but for the charm he wore like a second skin. He was smooth, clever, and always knew what to say to make them melt. At parties, women lined up for a chance to talk to him, to dance with him, to be seen on his arm.

But it never lasted. Adam didn’t keep anyone close. Relationships to him were like fashion trends—short-lived and forgettable. He loved the chase, the thrill, the temporary affection. But the moment someone wanted more, he pulled away. He wasn’t built for long-term. He wasn’t interested in love.

He built a reputation—the city’s most eligible bachelor. A billionaire heartbreaker with an ice-cold heart.

He stepped into the dining room, smelling fresh coffee. His dad was at the head of the long table, glued to his tablet.

“Morning, Dad,” Adam said.

“You’re late,” his father replied.

“I’m here.”

His father looked up. “The Aston Martin broke down?”

“Yeah,” Adam said casually, grabbing a slice of toast. “No big deal. I’ll send it to the shop. Or maybe just get another one.”

His father didn’t even blink. “Whatever makes you show up tonight looking like a proper Black.”

“Of course,” Adam said, forcing a smirk. “You know I never disappoint.”

“Just keep it together at the reception. No scandals. No drama. And don’t bring that model.”

Adam didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. Nita was just like the others—fun, loud, and good in photos. But temporary. Always temporary.

He got in his second car, another luxury ride with more buttons than he cared to use, and texted her:

“Ready in 10?”

Nita was waiting outside her penthouse when he pulled up. Long legs, tight dress, red lipstick—everything expected.

“Good day, baby,” she said, leaning in for a kiss.

“Morning.”

“Excited for the gala tonight?” she asked, slipping into the passenger seat.

“Not really,” he replied, starting the engine. “But I play the part.”

She laughed like she didn’t hear the weight in his voice.

---

Tia

Tia Nelson jumped off the bus, her shoes slapping against the pavement as she ran toward the hotel gates. Her chest was tight. She was late. Again.

Miss Pat was already waiting at the entrance, arms folded, lips thin.

“You’re late. Again,” she said sharply. “What now? Your brother? A sick cat? The bus refused to stop?”

“I’m sorry, ma,” Tia said, catching her breath.

Miss Pat rolled her eyes. “You're always sorry. Doesn’t pay the bills, does it? You’re staying late today. We’ve got VIPs.”

“Yes, ma.”

Tia headed inside, her feet already sore. She didn’t even get a chance to put her things down before she was handed a cleaning cart.

She was just nineteen, but life had aged her. She’d been in foster care most of her life, working part-time since she was fifteen, and now had one mission: keep her little brother alive.

Freddy was fifteen. He had cancer. The chemo was rough. The bills were worse.

College? That was a dream she let go of a long time ago. Right now, survival was all that mattered.

As she wiped down marble counters and vacuumed rich hallways, her thoughts stayed on Freddy. His smile. His shaky hands. The way he always told her, “You’re doing great, T.”

She didn’t feel like she was.

At 4:45 p.m., she was assigned to clean the VIP suite. Her chest sank. The elites were the worst—loud, spoiled, and used to stepping on people like her.

She entered quietly and froze.

There he was.

Adam Black.

Rich. Untouchable. And painfully handsome.

She kept her eyes down. He didn’t even look at her. He was too busy making some joke to the tall, glamorous woman beside him.

His skin was pale, hair dark, posture relaxed like someone who never had to worry. His voice smooth and confident, like he knew the world belonged to him.

Tia sighed and got to work, hoping—just this once—she could pass through invisible.

But somehow, she felt his presence like a heat in the room. Every time she moved, she worried he might suddenly turn and ask why she was even breathing the same air.

She didn’t belong here. Not in this world of wealth and cold beauty.

Still, she kept her head down and cleaned, wiping and scrubbing and trying not to exist.

Because one wrong move could ruin everything.

And Tia had too much to lose.