Elena barely slept that night.
Damien Cross's business card sat on her cracked bedside table like a curse. She'd stared at it so long, she could recite every curve of the embossed letters by heart.
Cross & Vale International. Damien Cross, CEO.
Her brother, Liam, coughed from the next room—a low, raspy sound that sliced through her gut like a blade. The medicine he needed cost more than her monthly salary. The hospital had already called twice this week.
She knew what she had to do.
By 8:45 a.m., Elena was standing in front of a skyscraper that looked like it belonged in a different world. The building stretched toward the heavens, glass shimmering like ice under the sun. Men in suits walked past her, speaking into Bluetooth earpieces, while women with heels sharp enough to kill glided by without a glance.
She clutched her bag tightly, her thrift-store coat feeling like a joke in this place.
Inside, the lobby was marble and silence. A grand chandelier sparkled overhead like a crown. At the reception desk stood a woman with perfectly pinned hair and an expression of mild disdain.
"I'm here to see Mr. Cross," Elena said, nerves fluttering in her chest.
The woman looked her up and down, clearly unimpressed. "Name?"
"Elena Carter. He—uh—he told me to come."
The receptionist raised a brow, typed something, then paused. "Top floor. He's expecting you."
The elevator ride was endless. Her reflection stared back at her in the mirrored walls—pale skin, dark circles under her eyes, lips chewed from nerves. She looked like someone about to be devoured.
Ding.
The doors opened to a private office suite that felt more like a luxury penthouse than a workspace. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the entire city, sprawling beneath them like a conquered kingdom.
And there he was.
Damien Cross, seated behind a sleek black desk, his fingers steepled, his expression unreadable.
"You're on time," he said without looking up.
"You told me not to be late."
He glanced at her then, something flickering in those steel eyes. Amusement? Annoyance?
"Sit."
She did, perching on the edge of the leather chair across from him.
"Do you know why you're here, Miss Carter?"
"To... apologize? I already did. And I meant it."
He ignored her answer.
"I'm in need of a woman. For appearances," he said.
Her stomach dropped.
"What kind of appearances?"
"My company is finalizing a merger. The board prefers CEOs with a stable personal image. The media loves a love story. And I need a fiancée."
Elena blinked. "I—I'm sorry, what?"
"A fake fiancée," he clarified, voice calm as if discussing weather. "Temporary. Three months. You'll attend events, wear a ring, smile at cameras. I'll compensate you very, very well."
"This is insane," she said, standing. "You don't even know me."
"I know enough," he replied coolly. "You're poor, desperate, and stubborn. Your brother is sick. You work two jobs. You have no criminal record. And you're too proud to ask for help."
Her throat tightened. "You had me investigated?"
"I always know what I'm buying."
"I'm not for sale," she hissed, eyes flashing.
He stood slowly, walking around the desk until he was in front of her. Close. Too close.
"I'm not asking you to love me," he said. "I'm offering you a deal. Three months of pretending. No intimacy. No strings. Just a performance. In exchange, your brother's medical bills disappear. And you walk away with more money than you've ever seen."
She swallowed hard. Her heart thundered. It was madness. A trap. A mistake.
But Liam's face flashed in her mind—frail, smiling through the pain.
"How much?" she whispered.
"Enough," he said. "But if you walk out now, the offer vanishes."
She looked at him, really looked. Power clung to him like a second skin. Every move was deliberate, every word a test.
"I want it in writing," she said.
His lips curled. "Smart girl."
He extended his hand. "Welcome to the performance of your life, Miss Carter."
She shook it, ignoring the chill that crawled up her spine.
Because she'd just made a deal with a devil.