Boys Band Owns Me

"They signed the contract. You’re their property now."

Mina dropped her backpack. The zipper rattled against the floor, and the sound snapped through the narrow hallway.

Her father stood by the kitchen doorway with a sheet of paper in his hand. Late light from the window behind him washed the page white except for the logo at the top.

One Way.

Mina stopped moving.

Everyone knew that name. Their faces were pasted over bus stops and pharmacy windows. Four voices, four perfect smiles, arena tours, ad campaigns, crowds screaming themselves hoarse.

Dorian, her father, smiled at her from under the paper.

"Congratulations," he said. "You're going to be working for them."

For a second, Mina thought she had missed a line, some setup, some joke too stupid to land.

"What?"

He held the paper out.

She didn't touch it.

"I signed the contract this morning," he said. "You start tonight."

The hallway seemed to narrow another inch. Mina glanced at the front door behind her, then back at the page with her future on it.

"You can't sign for me."

His smile slipped.

"I can when the debt's mine and you're the only way to settle it."

She stared at him, waiting for him to laugh, to say he'd gone too far this time. He only gripped the paper harder.

"Settle it how?"

"House staff," he said. "Cooking. Cleaning. Errands. Easy work. You move in, do your part, and this gets handled."

House staff.

For One Way.

The words scraped across her head without fitting together. She had come home with a backpack full of notes and a dead phone battery, thinking about leftovers and maybe ten quiet minutes before her evening shift. Instead she had her father in the hall, selling her life back to her in practical terms.

"No," she said.

She bent, yanked up her backpack, and turned for the door.

"Mina."

She caught the knob.

He moved fast for a man who usually treated the couch like a full-time job. His arm hit the door before she could pull it open, and then he was there, filling the thin strip of hall between her and the frame.

"Move."

"You walk out now," he said, "and we're both finished."

"Get out of my way."

"Listen to me."

"No, you listen to me. You don't get to hand me over because you blew money you didn't have."

His face tightened. The nervous shine in his eyes made him look sick and mean at once.

"I didn't have a choice."

"There's always a choice before this."

He looked past her shoulder, then back again, already irritated that she wasn't making this easy.

"How much?"

He said nothing.

Mina stepped closer. "How much did you take?"

His jaw worked.

"Enough that they wanted collateral."

The word sat between them, ugly and plain.

Mina laughed once, short and sharp. "Collateral. That's what we're calling daughters now?"

Dorian flinched, but only for a beat.

"Don't do that. I'm fixing a problem."

"By creating a bigger one? Great plan. Very on brand."

From the kitchen, the old refrigerator kicked on with a shaky hum. Somewhere above them, a child ran across the floor hard enough to shake dust from the doorframe. The apartment building always sounded tired, pipes ticking, neighbors arguing through thin walls, somebody dragging furniture at the wrong hour.

Mina had spent years learning how to study inside that noise. Now every familiar sound pressed in on her, trapping her in a place she had been trying to outgrow one shift, one class, one paid bill at a time.

"I can stay with Jess," she said. "I'll grab my stuff and go."

"No, you won't."

"Watch me."

She tried the knob again. He planted his hand flat against the door.

"You can't hide from One Way," he said. "These aren't local idiots from the bar downstairs. They have lawyers. Managers. Security. You disappear, they come after me for the debt and you for breach. They'll put a lien on this place before the week is over."

Mina almost said let them. Then she looked at the stained wall near his shoulder, the seam of paint bubbling by the baseboard, the cheap lock she had replaced herself last winter when the old one jammed.

Rent had only stayed paid because she covered what he missed. Power stayed on because she knew which bill could wait two days and which one couldn't. If she ran, he would drown fast. Part of her wanted to watch it happen. Part of her was still counting consequences out of habit.

"You used my name?"

He lifted the contract a little. "It had to look serious."

"It is serious."

"Exactly." He pointed the paper at her like that made his case. "So stop acting like this is kidnapping. It's work. Rich people work. You'll have a room. Meals. Probably better than this place."

Probably better than this place.

Mina looked at the cracked edge of the bathroom mirror visible through the half-open door, at the patch on the hall wall where the paint never matched, at the grocery receipt tucked under the sugar jar on the kitchen counter because she still meant to balance the week. He said it like he was offering her an upgrade.

"I graduated," she said. "Two weeks ago."

He waved that away. "And?"

The laugh she gave him now had no humor in it. "And I was supposed to be done here."

"You can still be done here. Do this for a year, maybe two. Clear the debt. Then go get your office job."

"My office job. Right."

"Mina, be practical."

"Jess said that too," Mina snapped. "She kept telling me, 'Just make it to graduation, then you never have to cover for him again.'"

Dorian's mouth twisted. "Your friend doesn't pay these bills."

"Neither do you." She shifted her backpack higher on her shoulder. "I paid the electric when they shut us off threat by threat. I paid rent when you 'forgot.' I took doubles on weekends. I did classes in between. And you signed me into somebody else's house like I'm extra furniture."

He went quiet.

That landed. Good.

For one second, Mina thought she saw shame. Then he straightened and reached for the tone he used with clerks, landlords, anyone he wanted to charm past a problem.

"They need someone useful around the house," he said. "You've been running a home since you were old enough to reach the stove. You're good at it. Better there than wasting time at some cafe or call center."

Useful.

The kitchen doorway sat open behind him, sink full, one cabinet hanging crooked on its hinge. A dish towel she had washed before class drooped over the oven handle. He stood in the middle of her work and talked as if competence erased choice.

"Say I go," she said. "What happens if I say no once I get there?"

He didn't answer quickly enough.

Mina watched his eyes slide away and understood more from that than any contract language.

"So that's the plan," she said. "You send me in and hope they lock the door for you."

"Don't be dramatic."

"You're selling me to a band with a merch line and a security team, and I'm the dramatic one?"

His temper finally broke through the fear. "I am trying to save this family."

"There is no this family. There's me cleaning up after you. Again."

He stepped in close enough that she caught old coffee on his breath.

"If you make a scene when they come upstairs, you'll ruin the only deal keeping us out of court. Understand?"

Us.

Always us when he needed something.

Mina looked at his hand braced on the door, then at the dead bolt above it, then at the narrow slice of hall he had left her. If she shoved him, she might get the door open. If she missed, he'd lock it first. If she got to the stairs, would those people downstairs drag her back? She hated that she even had to think like that.

"When?" she asked.

Relief loosened his face so fast it made her want to hit him.

"Tonight."

A car door shut outside.

Both of them went still.

Mina turned toward the front window at the end of the hall. Down on the curb, a black sedan waited with the engine running, polished enough to throw back the whole block in warped reflections. It looked obscene against the chipped sidewalk and the row of tired cars missing hubcaps and hope.

Her hand went for the lock on instinct.

Dorian caught her wrist.

His grip bit hard enough to stop her cold.

"Be useful for once," he said. "They're here."

Later that evening, the foyer of One Way's mansion gleamed with polished marble, floor-to-ceiling glass, and a steel staircase curving up without visible support. The whole place was built to remind strangers whose house this was.

Mina already knew.

Dorian reached for her elbow as they crossed the threshold. She pulled away so fast his hand closed on air.

"Mina." His voice was low, warning wrapped in her name.

She kept her eyes forward. Two of the band members stood near the staircase, watching. The third leaned against a console table, arms crossed. The fourth was nowhere in sight.

Kai Cullen stepped forward first. He looked exactly like his press photos—sharp cheekbones, dark eyes, the kind of calm that looked practiced.

"Ms. Vale," he said. "Welcome."

She let the silence answer for her.

Dorian gave a quick smile that didn't hold. "She's just tired. Long day."

"I'm sure." Kai kept his attention on Mina. "We'll get her settled."