Chapter 2: The Devil’s Playground
577 Words
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The silence that followed her signature was heavy, almost suffocating. Arvin’s gaze slid from the black ink on the paper back to her eyes. A slow, chilling smirk played on the corner of his lips—a look that promised danger rather than satisfaction.
He reached out, his long, scarred fingers lifting the contract. "An excellent choice," his deep voice resonated, smooth yet laced with a silent threat. "You just sold a year of your life to the devil, sweetheart. I hope you’re ready for the flames."
She didn't flinch. Instead, she leaned forward, resting her chin on her interlaced fingers. "I've dealt with worse than you, Mr. Arvin. Just remember, a Fixer doesn't get burned; she manages the fire. Now, what are the rules of this little charade?"
Arvin leaned back, crossing one elegant leg over the other. "Rule number one: total obedience in public. When the cameras are on, you belong to me. You will look at me as if I am your entire world. Rule number two: you move into my estate by tomorrow morning. My family keeps tabs on my every move, and a fake fiancé living across town won’t sell the story."
Her eyebrows shot up. "Move in? That wasn't part of the initial discussion."
"It is now," Arvin replied coldly, his dark eyes narrowing. "And rule number three... the most important one. No questions about my past, and absolutely no feelings. If you catch feelings, the contract is void, and you leave with nothing."
She let out a dry, cynical laugh. "Trust me, falling for a tyrant is nowhere on my to-do list."
Before Arvin could respond, his eyes shifted down to the desk, landing on the damp leather envelope left behind by her previous client, Bijan. His expression instantly darkened, the cold marble of his face turning into pure granite. He reached out and picked it up before she could stop him.
"Hey, that’s client confidentiality," she snapped, her hand immediately moving to snatch it back.
Arvin effortlessly caught her wrist mid-air. His grip was like steel—unyielding and burning hot against her cold skin. He held her gaze, refusing to let go, while his other hand flipped the envelope open, pulling out a partially wet document.
As his eyes scanned the text, a dangerous, low growl escaped his chest.
"What is it?" she asked, her professional curiosity piqued despite the tightening grip on her wrist.
Arvin finally released her wrist, tossing the document back onto the desk. The name stamped in bold red ink at the top of the page was 'Morrison Industries'—the exact rival syndicate that had been trying to dismantle Arvin’s empire from the inside.
"It seems your cowardly client, Bijan, was stealing blueprints for the people trying to destroy me," Arvin said, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. He looked at her, a new, calculating glint in his eyes. "Tell me, Fixer... did you know about this?"
She looked at the paper, then back at him, her lips curving into a sharp, knowing smile. The game had just gotten a lot more complicated, and she loved a challenge.
"I didn't," she whispered, leaning closer until she could smell his expensive cologne mixed with the scent of rain. "But now that I do... it looks like your billion-dollar fiancé just became your most valuable weapon."
- Writer
