The Devil's Offer
1865 Words
The Devil's Offer
Chapter one
The night keeps secrets. Tonight it had picked me.
Soraya Harris never wanted to be anyone’s secret — but the eviction notice in my coat pocket changed that. By dawn I would either be out on the street or making a deal with a man rich enough to buy countries.
I never wanted this life. Never asked for the shadows to wrap around me like a second skin.
Now, the game’s on, and trust me — the stakes are way higher than you think.
Ready to dive in? Welcome to the game. Don’t blink, or you just might miss it.
Remember, they’re always watching.
Walking to my fashion house was… depressing.
This wasn’t what I had dreamed of. I thought by now I’d have more clients, better social media engagement, a name buzzing on everyone’s lips.
Instead, all I saw when I opened i********: was a girl posing with her luxury cars and glittering jewelry.
That was the life I always wanted—glamour, recognition, success.
Not this.
Not a broke girl with a handful of coins, too many dreams, and a bucket list that felt longer than her lifespan.
This wasn’t how I imagined my twenties.
I dropped my cookies on the pavement, earning a look from a passerby. My mom always said I was too dramatic. Maybe she was right.
By the time I reached my fashion shop, I forced myself to get to work, pushing pins into fabric, sketching lines that felt heavier than usual. That was when the door creaked open.
My landlady walked in.
“Hey, Soraya, how are you?” she asked casually.
Weird, I thought. Miss Anya never came without a reason.
“I’m… good,” I said slowly. “What are you doing here?”
“Just came to say hello.” But her eyes were already scanning every corner of the place, sharp and calculating.
“My rent isn’t due until next month,” I blurted out.
“About that…” Her voice softened in a way that made my stomach twist. “Some buyers are offering triple what you pay. I’m afraid you’ll have to leave by next week.”
My heart stopped. “That is not happening. I just need some time—there are offers I can execute—”
She cut me off with a thin smile. “That won’t work. I’m being nice because you’re a good girl. But I can go bad.”
My pulse raced. “What does that even mean?”
“You have twenty-four hours to move.”
“Twenty-four hours? That’s your idea of nice?”
“Good day, girl,” she said—and on her way out, she snatched my cookies without looking back.
The door shut, leaving silence heavier than the fabric rolls stacked against the wall.
“How am I supposed to find another shop in one day?” I whispered to myself.
Dragging my feet home felt heavier than carrying stones. By the time I pushed the front door open, my parents looked up from the living room.
“Why are you home so early?” they asked almost in unison.
I didn’t answer. I shut the door behind me, locked myself in my room, and let the tears come—loud, ugly, shout-crying tears that rattled the walls. I didn’t show up for lunch. Or dinner.
It was my sister who finally came knocking.
“Hey, sis. You good?” she asked gently, slipping inside.
I wiped at my swollen eyes. “I lost my shop. Some rich people threw money at Miss Anya and she sold it.”
She blinked. “Actually… I was coming to ask if you had enough to help with the rent.”
I stared at her. “What? Rent? You mean our rent is due?”
Her jaw dropped. “Wait—your shop is gone?!”
“Yeah,” I said bitterly. “Miss Anya sold it to people who could pay triple. So, why are we suddenly behind on rent?”
“Because we are.” Her voice was flat, almost too casual.
My pulse quickened. “What about Jenna? Does she know?”
She shifted uncomfortably. “Big sis gave Dad the rent money. He thought he could double it with an investment. He got scammed.”
My stomach sank. “What the… What about Mum?”
“She used her salary to cover Dave’s tuition and a bunch of school expenses,” she murmured.
I threw my hands up. “Great. Out to the streets we go.”
“You don’t even have money,” she reminded me, arms crossed.
I forced a shaky smile. “Correction. I am twenty dollars rich—according to my bank account.”
She arched a brow. “What about your clients? Don’t you still have orders to finish?”
I froze. “s**t. I completely forgot. One of them already paid half… but I used it to buy that upgraded machine. I’m still paying it off—plus the little matter of my vacation trip to L.A.”
“Then finish the dress!” she snapped.
“It’s not that easy,” I groaned, flopping back onto my bed. “I don’t work well under stress—especially not without a shop. I might have to refund the money.”
Her eyes widened. “How much are we talking?”
“One hundred dollars,” I admitted.
“WHAT?!” she screamed.
I shrugged helplessly. “I know. Doesn’t even look that good, honestly.”
She threw a pillow at me, but I was already sinking deeper into the mattress.
“It’s fine,” I muttered. “I’ll find another shop. Something cheap. Something… affordable.”
Earlier that night we sat in the parlor, the air heavy with silence, while I scrolled endlessly on my phone, looking for shop spaces I couldn’t afford.
“Found one yet?” Ivana asked.
“No. Every price is double what I used to pay. Bottom line—I’m screwed.”
On the rug, Tiara—Ivana’s two-year-old daughter, the result of a one-night stand—looked up at me. Her big blue eyes, clearly from her father, were far too knowing.
“You just realized that?” she piped.
I blinked at her. “That was a grammatical error. yes, sweetheart, we’re all screwed.”
“We’ll get through this together,” Mom said firmly.
“Like we have a choice,” Dave muttered.
“I promise I’ll work as hard as I can,” Dad offered.
“You should,” Mum replied coolly, not even looking up.
I slammed my phone down. “F*** this. I’m calling Jenna.”
Ivana groaned. “The person you never call? The one you ghost on holidays because she was right about your money habits?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I shot back, already dialing.
The line clicked. “Hey, Jenna! How’s my favorite elder sister doing?”
“I don’t have any money,” Jenna cut in, sharp as a blade.
I rolled my eyes. “Relax. It’s about rent. Didn’t anyone tell you?”
“I heard. And no, I’m not helping. You’re all adults—figure it out. Send Tiara and Dave to my place when you get evicted.”
“Promise I will cha—” Click. She hung up.
“I wish I could say ‘I told you so,’” Ivana said dryly.
“Enough!” I snapped. “Why am I the only one getting grilled here? And I swear, Ivana, say one more thing and—”
“’Cause you deserve it,” Dave muttered under his breath.
“You’re about to deserve a slap if you don’t stay quiet,” I hissed, jaw tight.
“Let’s look for a way forward,” Mum interjected calmly, though her eyes betrayed exhaustion.
“I’m going to take babysitting puppies more seriously,” Dave announced, puffing out his chest.
“That’s… thoughtful,” Mum said with a faint smile. Then she turned to me. “Soraya, what about you?”
I groaned. “I don’t have a job. Not one I can think of, anyway.”
“Well, my office needs a desk clerk. And the café near here is hiring an extra hand.”
“Ew. Hell no.”
“There we go again,” Ivana sighed.
“Wow,” I said, pushing back from the table. “How loud! Coming someone who scraps pennies as a gamers live streaming for spare change. Let’s be real—none of those jobs will pay off our debts. I need a real solution. And clearly, I’m the only one thinking about it.”
I shoved my chair back and stormed off to my room, leaving the silence heavier than when we’d started.
I scrolled through my phone, typing absurd searches like “how to make 100,000 dollars in a day.”
Pathetic. Futile. Still, I couldn’t stop.
God, I’m exhausted. I need a drink, I thought.
I grabbed what little cash I had left and slipped out to the club down the street.
The neon lights buzzed, the air thick with smoke and sweat. I bought a couple of bottles and leaned against the bar, trying not to think too hard. That’s when I overheard a voice—a girl’s—bright, careless, almost proud.
“I just made five hundred grand entertaining those men in the VIP section,” she said.
The bartender laughed, shaking his head. “Damn, girl. That’s a hat trick.”
I froze. Five hundred. Thousand. Dollars.
I didn’t wait to hear more. I bolted, my heels clicking hard against the pavement all the way home.
Back in my room, I cracked open the beer and drank like it might drown my thoughts. It didn’t.
I really need this money, I told myself. But my shame. My worth.
Another swig.
But isn’t it still shame to be poor? To be thrown out of your own home like trash?
The thought stung. My chest tightened.
Just once. I’d do it just once. Never again. God, have mercy on me.
Sleep never came. I tossed and turned, replaying the girl’s words in my head. Everyone was doing it. It wasn’t that bad, was it? Then again, the idea of selling my body made my skin crawl.
By dawn, I sat upright, staring at the ceiling. Decision time.
I would not go down that road. I’d sell my things instead.
But when I tried, the buyers circled like vultures, slashing the price of every dress, every machine, every little dream I had built.
We had only two days left.
I called Jenna. She didn’t pick up. Tried again. This time the call didn’t even ring—she had blocked me.
Figures. She was once like us too, broke and cornered. But she had gotten lucky—married rich—and now acted as if she’d never struggled a day in her life.
Fine. Let her turn her back now.
When I finally made my money, I would make sure Jenna regretted every single second of it.
- Writer
