Chapter 2: A Deal with the Devil
1129 Words
The interior of the Rolls-Royce was a different world. It smelled of expensive leather, sandalwood, and the crisp scent of ozone. It was warm, hermetically sealed against the storm raging outside, but I couldn't stop shaking. The cold was inside me now, deep in my marrow.
I sat on the edge of the plush leather seat, hugging my muddy, wine-stained knees. I dripped dirty water onto the pristine floor mats, waiting for Victor to yell at me. To tell me I was ruining his car.
But he didn't. He sat beside me, typing on his phone, completely ignoring my existence. He was like a statue carved from ice—imposing, beautiful, and utterly devoid of warmth.
"Here," he said suddenly, tossing a silk handkerchief at me without looking up. "Wipe your face. You look like a raccoon."
I caught the fabric. It was monogrammed with the initials V.T. It felt softer than anything I had ever touched. I dabbed at my mascara-stained cheeks, feeling small, foolish, and incredibly young next to him.
Bzzt. Bzzt.
The vibration of my phone in my pocket made me jump. I pulled it out. The screen was cracked from the fall, but the name flashing on it made my heart stop.
Doctor Green.
Panic, sharp and immediate, surged through me, displacing the humiliation. My sister. Lily.
"Hello?" I answered, my voice trembling so hard I could barely speak.
"Miss Davis," Doctor Green’s voice was grim, devoid of his usual bedside manner. "I'm afraid we have a catastrophic problem. The insurance policy for your sister's surgery... it has been cancelled."
My blood ran cold. The world tilted on its axis.
"Cancelled? That's impossible," I stammered, gripping the phone until my fingers ached. "Liam... Liam paid for it. He put it on his company account. He promised me!"
"Mr. Thorn contacted the administration an hour ago," the doctor said, his voice heavy with pity. "He revoked the authorization. He said... he said he is no longer responsible for 'charity cases'."
A scream trapped itself in my throat. Liam hadn't just broken up with me. He was killing her. He was murdering my little sister to spite me.
"We need $500,000 by morning, Emma," the doctor continued. "Or we have to disconnect the life support machines. It's hospital policy. I'm sorry."
"No!" I screamed, forgetting where I was. Forgetting Victor Thorn sat two feet away. "Please! You can't! She's only seventeen! I'll find the money! I'll sell everything! I swear!"
The line went dead.
I dropped the phone. It slid across the leather seat. I buried my face in my hands, sobbing uncontrollably. The pain was too much. It was physical agony, tearing me apart from the inside out. Lily was all I had. She was the only reason I survived.
"Five hundred thousand," a deep baritone cut through my sobbing.
I looked up, gasping for air. Victor was watching me. He had put his phone away. His gray eyes were intense, unreadable, like a storm cloud before the lightning strikes.
He pressed a button on the car's intercom.
"Driver," he said calmly. "Transfer half a million dollars to St. Mary's Hospital immediately. Reference: Lily Davis. Priority transaction."
"Done, sir," the driver replied instantly, as if transferring a fortune was as mundane as turning left.
I stared at him, my mouth agape, unable to breathe. The silence in the car was deafening.
"Why?" I whispered, my voice breaking. "Why would you do that? You don't even know me."
"Because I need something from you," Victor said.
The car slowed down and pulled up to the curb. I looked out the window. We weren't at a hotel. We weren't at a hospital. We were in front of a massive glass skyscraper that pierced the night sky like a black needle.
Thorn Corp.
"And now," Victor said, opening his door, "you owe me. Come."
I followed him, stumbling in my broken shoes, numb with shock. We took a private elevator that shot up to the top floor in seconds. My ears popped.
Victor’s office was vast. It was a fortress of glass and steel, overlooking the rainy city. It smelled of espresso, money, and power.
Victor walked to his massive mahogany desk and threw a thick file onto it. Thud.
"Sit," he commanded.
I sat on the edge of a chair, shivering in my damp dress.
"Liam wants my chair," Victor said, pacing behind his desk like a panther in a cage. "He is impatient. Reckless. Stupid. He thinks because he is getting married to that vapid Chloe creature, the board will hand him the keys to my kingdom."
He stopped and looked at me.
"Chloe wants my money. Her father is a shark. They are circling me, waiting for me to show weakness."
"I don't understand," I whispered. "What does this have to do with me?"
"I need a shield," Victor said. "I need a distraction. I need a wife."
"A wife?" I blinked, confused. "You want me to be your... secretary? Pretend to be your fiancée?"
"I have secretaries," Victor walked around the desk and stopped in front of me. His towering frame cast a shadow over me, blocking out the light. "I don't play pretend, Emma. I need a legal wife. Someone who hates my son as much as I despise his stupidity."
He pushed the contract toward me.
"A fake marriage. Contractual. One year. You get luxury, protection, and your sister gets the best medical care money can buy. I get peace. I get to stop the gold diggers, and I get to teach my son a lesson he will never forget."
I looked at the contract. The words blurred before my eyes. Marriage License. Confidentiality Agreement.
"And if I refuse?" I asked, looking up at him.
Victor’s expression didn't change. He was utterly ruthless.
"I recall the payment," he said simply. "I call the hospital, tell them it was an error. Your sister dies at dawn."
I looked at him with horror. He wasn't a savior. He was a monster. A manipulative, cold-blooded monster. But he was a monster with the power to save the only person I loved.
"You're blackmailed me," I whispered.
"I'm offering you a trade," Victor corrected. He pulled a Montblanc pen from his pocket and held it out. "I'm a businessman, Emma. Emotions are liabilities. Results are assets. Sign. Or leave and start planning a funeral."
I looked at the photo of my sister on my cracked phone screen. Her smiling face. Her hope.
Then I looked at Victor.
I grabbed the pen. My hand shook violently, but I forced the tip onto the paper. I pressed down so hard the paper tore as I scrawled my name.
Emma Davis.
I had just sold my soul to the devil.
- Writer
