The Billionaire's leash: Kneel for me, Prince Chapter 13: Negotiations

The young foreigner’s words hung in the private dining room like a challenge accepted. "Let’s get to the real business then."

The atmosphere changed imdiately. The other four representatives straightened in their seats, the earlier irritation giving way to the business of today. Silas set his wine glass down.

One of the older foreigners leaned forward, fingers steepled. "We have the information you requested on the target operation. Detailed files, contacts, tilines—everything you need to move forward cleanly. In exchange, we want equity. A aningful share in Voss Capital. Fifteen percent minimum."

Silas’s lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile, though it held no warmth. "Four percent. That’s what I’m prepared to offer for the full package."

A ripple of disbelief crossed the table. The older man’s face reddened. "Four percent? That’s insulting for the risk we’re taking and the value we’re providing. We want twenty percent. Nothing less."

The negotiation had begun in earnest. Silas leaned back slightly, exuding the confidence of soone who held all the cards. "Four percent is generous considering the nature of the information. It’s a one-ti transaction. I’m not handing over control of my company."

Another representative jumped in. "Twenty percent ensures our continued cooperation if complications arise. You know how valuable that can be in this line of work."

Silas didn’t blink. "I said four. Take it or leave it."

The back-and-forth intensified. Voices rose and fell as the foreigners pressed their case, citing risks, market value, and long-term strategic benefits. They countered repeatedly at twenty percent, then dropped to eighteen, then fifteen, each ti t with Silas’s calm, immovable refusal.

"Seven percent," Silas stated finally, his tone leaving no room for further debate. "That is my highest and final offer. Take it, or the deal ends here. I have other avenues."

The room fell silent for a tense beat. The older n exchanged uneasy glances, clearly frustrated by Silas’s adamance. They knew his reputation—ruthless in negotiations, rarely willing to yield more than necessary.

To everyone’s shock, the young foreigner at the head of their side leaned forward, a slow smile spreading across his sharp features. "Seven percent it is."

The other foreigners stared at him in stunned silence. They knew him well—he was notorious for never conceding ground easily, for squeezing every possible advantage. His quick agreent sent visible ripples of surprise through his own team.

"Sir?" one of them ventured cautiously.

The young man waved a dismissive hand, eyes still locked on Silas. "We accept. Seven percent equity in Voss Capital for the complete information package."

Lena, who had been quietly observing from her seat beside Silas, slid the thick contract folder across the table. The docunts inside were ticulously prepared—pages of legal language outlining the exact terms, share allocation, non-disclosure clauses, and tilines.

The young foreigner flipped through the top pages, scanning quickly. "I’ll need to run this by my stakeholders for final approval, but the frawork looks acceptable."

Silas rose smoothly from his chair, extending his hand across the table. The young foreigner stood as well and t the handshake with a firm grip. For a brief mont, their eyes t again—mutual respect mixed with lingering wariness.

"Pleasure doing business," Silas said, voice even.

"The sa," the young man replied, a hint of amusent still lingering in his tone.

Silas released the handshake and turned toward the door without another word. Lena gathered the remaining docunts and followed him out of the private room.

The foreigners remained behind, already beginning to murmur among themselves about the unexpected concession.

Silas and Lena descended the stairs and exited the restaurant. The sleek black sedan waited at the curb, but Silas paused on the steps, pulling out his phone as it began to ring. He answered with a curt greeting, listening intently for several seconds.

"Change of plans," he told the driver after ending the call. "Go pick up Sylvain and take him back ho. Lena and I will be heading elsewhere."

Lena was already on her own phone, speaking with soone. "Bring the secondary car around imdiately—the one we use for ergencies. We’ll need it within ten minutes at the restaurant entrance."

Silas slipped his phone back into his pocket, his expression hardening slightly as he stared out at the busy street. The successful negotiation had gone exactly as he anticipated, yet his mind was already shifting to the next matter.

The driver nodded and pulled the sedan away from the curb, heading toward the modest house where Sylvain waited with his brother. Lena continued coordinating on her call, her voice low and professional.

Silas stood motionless for a mont longer, the deal was done, equity given away in asured doses, but the real ga—the one involving Sylvain—continued uninterrupted.

He turned to Lena as the ergency vehicle approached. "Let’s move."

The car door opened, and they slid inside, the engine purring to life as they sped off in a different direction, leaving the restaurant and the completed negotiation behind.

Back at the modest house, Sylvain sat with Leon, the conversation having drifted into lighter territory—shared mories, small jokes that felt like lifelines. Yet beneath the surface, the lie about the "old friend" weighed heavily on him. Every reassuring word he offered his brother felt like another thread in the web Silas had woven around his life.

His phone buzzed once—a ssage from Silas. The driver was on the way.

Sylvain squeezed Leon’s shoulder one last ti. "I have to head back soon, but I’ll check in as often as I can. Rest. Don’t push yourself."

Leon nodded, though worry still shadowed his eyes. "Be careful, okay?"

"I will."

As the sleek sedan pulled up outside, Sylvain stepped out onto the pavent, glancing back at the simple house that had offered a brief taste of normalcy. The illusion was already fading. Silas’s world was calling him back.

The driver opened the door for him without a word. Sylvain climbed in, the leather seat cool against his palms. The car pulled away smoothly, heading toward the penthouse that now served as his prison.

He stared out the window, the city blurring past, wondering what fresh demands the evening would bring—and how much more of himself he would have to surrender before the three months were over.

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