Episode Three
1186 Words
CHAPTER TWO: Deal with the Devil
Chapter 3 Leah's pov
The next few days were a blur of transformation.
Damian brought in a stylist, and a fabricated backstory. I became Leah Park, only child of a wealthy shipping family with a private education and a degree from some European university I couldn’t pronounce.
It felt like playing dress-up in someone else’s skin.
I watched in the mirror as they altered me — hair trimmed, makeup flawless, scars hidden under silk. They removed Me, the real woman, and built a fantasy in her place.
“She needs to impress my grandfather,” Damian explained, handing me a file. “He hates social climbers and gold diggers. He thinks old money’s the only money worth trusting.”
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. My throat felt tight from the lies I was being wrapped in.
I was finally at the mansion to meet Damian’s grandfather, and no matter how much I told myself to stay calm, my nerves were stretched thin. The place alone was enough to intimidate anyone—grand, old, and heavy with authority. Every hallway felt like it carried echoes of past conversations, of decisions that had shaped lives long before I ever existed.
To my surprise, his grandfather was welcoming. Warm, even. But that warmth came wrapped in relentless curiosity.
He asked so many questions that I almost laughed from sheer disbelief. If I hadn’t rehearsed my answers with Damian over and over again, I would have crumbled within minutes. Thank God I had a practiced script. How else would I have survived that interrogation? At some point, I half expected him to ask for my blood group and full medical history.
Where did I study? Why did I choose that field? What were my parents like? Did I cook? Did I plan to keep working after marriage? Each question was delivered calmly, but his sharp eyes missed nothing. I answered carefully, politely, aware that one wrong word could unravel everything.
When dinner was announced, I felt a small wave of relief. At least eating would give me something to do with my hands.
As we settled at the table, his grandfather cleared his throat and said casually,
“Elias couldn’t make it to dinner. He had a meeting to attend.”
I paused mid-movement, confused. The name wasn’t familiar to me at all. Before I could ask, Damian immediately spoke up.
“He’s my stepbrother.”
There was a slight edge in his voice, barely noticeable but unmistakable once you caught it. His jaw tightened as he said it, and I filed that reaction away quietly. Whatever the story was there, it clearly wasn’t simple.
His grandfather nodded, unconcerned, and turned his attention back to us.
“So,” he said, folding his hands together, “when is the wedding happening? Have you started planning?”
“Next weekend,” Damian answered instantly.
I almost choked.
I managed to keep my expression neutral, but inside, my heart skipped violently. Next weekend? That was not in the script. I glanced at Damian, but his face was calm, confident, as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb.
His grandfather raised an eyebrow.
“Why the rush?” he asked slowly. “Or is she pregnant?”
The silence that followed was unbearable.
It was so quiet you could hear the clink of cutlery being set down somewhere in the distance. My breath caught in my throat.
“No, Grandfather,” Damian and I said at the exact same time.
Damian stood up then, pushing his chair back. He walked around the table toward me, every step deliberate. He bent slightly, placed an arm around my shoulders, and pulled me gently closer.
“I just can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with her,” he said smoothly.
I froze for half a second, completely taken aback. His voice was warm, sincere—too sincere. But I recovered quickly and leaned into him, forcing a soft smile.
His grandfather watched us closely, then smiled in clear approval.
“I can’t believe you finally decided to settle down,” he said, sounding genuinely pleased.
He leaned forward again.
“So tell me, what kind of wedding do you want to have?”
“Something intimate,” Damian replied without hesitation. “Just a court marriage.”
His grandfather’s expression changed instantly.
“No way,” he said firmly. “I need to invite my friends and business partners.”
Damian sighed, straightening up but keeping his hand on my shoulder.
“Look, Grandfather, that would be too much drama. I don’t want people swarming her, asking questions. And she doesn’t want a big wedding either.”
He glanced down at me briefly, as if checking that I was still with him.
“We wanted to elope,” he continued, “that was the plan. But I need you there when I get married. That part matters to me.”
His grandfather studied him for a long moment, then turned his attention to me.
“Well,” he asked, “are your parents going to be attending?”
My chest tightened, but I kept my expression composed.
“No,” I said softly. “They won’t be attending.”
Both men looked at me now.
“They want me to marry someone else,” I continued, choosing my words carefully. “But I love Damian, and he makes me happy. My family will come around eventually and accept him.”
The words felt strange in my mouth—half lies, half truths. But I said them with conviction, because right now, they had to be real.
His grandfather nodded slowly.
“Love is important,” he said at last. “More important than people realize.”
The wedding came quickly.
It wasn’t grand or romantic. Just cold and calculated — like everything else about this arrangement.
It was held in Damian’s grandfather’s library, a cavernous old room with velvet drapes and antique portraits glaring down at us like we were frauds. Maybe we were.
There was no white gown. No bouquet. Just a pale blue designer dress someone else picked for me, and a faint trace of perfume that didn’t feel like mine.
His grandfather, a sharp-eyed man in his eighties, wore a tailored suit and a faint smile. The officiant looked bored.
Damian stood beside me in his three-piece suit, unshakable and unreadable.
“Do you, Damian Black, take Leah Park to be your lawfully wedded wife?” the officiant asked.
“I do,” he said without pause.
“And do you, Leah Park, take Damian Black—”
“I do,” I whispered.
There was a silence that followed. An echo of a life I didn’t ask for.
A kiss was expected, but Damian only took my hand and gave it the briefest, coldest brush of his lips.
The old man clapped, pleased. “Finally. I’ll be dead before the year ends — I want great-grandchildren, not headlines.”
I smiled thinly, like a woman who had everything.
But inside, I was screaming.
- Writer
