A DEAL WITH THE DEVIL

Behind closed door

The next few days felt like a whirlwind of meetings, handshakes, and forced smiles. Clara had gotten used to the cold, businesslike atmosphere that seemed to permeate every interaction with Max Thornfield, but now she was expected to put on a show for the world—one that involved acting as if their marriage were real. As though they were a happy couple, devoted to each other, partners in both business and life.

It was a role she wasn’t sure she was ready to play.

The idea of pretending, especially in front of Max, was something she’d never imagined herself doing. But here she was, sitting at a lavish dinner table with the most powerful people in the city, pretending that the man sitting beside her was someone she could call her husband.

“Clara,” Max said, his voice low, cutting through her thoughts as she picked at her food. “Smile.”

She blinked, forcing a smile onto her face. It felt stiff, unnatural, but it was all she could manage under the intense pressure he placed on her. It wasn’t just dinner; it was a high-profile event for potential investors. The whole point was to show the world that they were a perfect couple—united, stable, and ready to take on whatever challenges came their way.

Max was looking at her now, his dark eyes assessing her every move, like a hawk watching its prey. His jaw was set, his posture perfect, and though he didn’t show it outwardly, she could see the slightest tension in his shoulders.

“Perfect,” he said after a moment, though his voice held no warmth. It was the same praise he gave her when she did something that met his impossibly high standards. She knew better than to expect anything more from him.

They had been married for a week, and already the lines between their “relationship” and the world around them felt blurry. To the guests at the dinner party, they were a picture-perfect couple, exchanging pleasantries and laughing at the right moments. But to Clara, everything felt like an act—a performance she wasn’t prepared for, one that she was forced into by the terms of the contract.

Max, on the other hand, seemed to slip into the role effortlessly.

As they mingled with the guests, Max was the consummate businessman, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries with the same people who would play a key role in ensuring the company’s future success. His sharp eyes never missed a detail, always calculating, always thinking two steps ahead. Clara couldn’t help but watch him from a distance, trying to figure out how he could make it look so easy. Was he truly this cold? Or was this simply his mask for the world?

Max’s attention snapped back to her when one of the guests, an older man named Gregory Clarke, approached. “Ah, Mr. Thornfield, I see you’ve finally convinced your lovely wife to accompany you tonight,” Gregory said with a hearty chuckle. “How are you two settling into married life?”

Clara’s smile froze on her face as she felt Max’s hand subtly brush against hers beneath the table. His touch was impersonal, calculated, and cold, as though it was all part of the act. But the effect was unmistakable—her heart skipped a beat, though she hated herself for it.

“We’re doing just fine, Gregory,” Max replied smoothly, not missing a beat. “It’s been an adjustment, of course. But Clara has been a quick study. I couldn’t be more pleased with how things are going.”

Clara felt her pulse race at his words. Quick study? It was a compliment, but a backhanded one, like everything with Max. He didn’t know how to give anything without reminding her of her inadequacies.

Gregory smiled widely and clapped Max on the back. “I’m glad to hear it. Marriage can be a challenge, especially with the kind of responsibilities you two are carrying. But it looks like you’ve got it under control.”

“Yes,” Max agreed, his tone as cold and smooth as ever. “We’re managing just fine.”

Clara forced another smile. It felt like her cheeks would crack from the effort. But she couldn’t let it show. Not here, not in front of the investors, not in front of Max.

As the conversation continued, Clara found herself retreating into her own mind. She was just a prop in this charade, a decoration on his arm. The whole evening felt like a blur, a series of well-rehearsed exchanges and fake smiles.

Later, as the event wound down and the guests began to leave, Max led her outside toward the car waiting to take them back to the Thornfield estate. The moment they stepped out of the building, the cool night air hit her like a slap in the face, the noise from the party still ringing in her ears.

“Let’s get this over with,” Max muttered as they climbed into the backseat of the limo. His voice was distant, and Clara couldn’t decide if it was his usual indifference or if he was truly irritated by the evening’s performance.

For a long time, neither of them said anything. The silence in the car was thick with unspoken words. Clara leaned back against the plush seats, staring out the window as the city lights blurred past. She hadn’t expected any of this—none of it. The constant tension, the need to pretend, the emotional distance.

Max cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “You did well tonight. You played your part.” His voice was still cold, but there was something about his words that made Clara's chest tighten. Was he... complimenting her? Or was he just stating a fact?

“I played my part?” she repeated, her voice sharp. The words felt like a slap in the face.

Max turned toward her, his gaze narrowing, and Clara couldn’t help but notice how unsettlingly sharp his features were in the dim light. “That’s what this is, Clara,” he said slowly, each word clipped. “A part. We’re both playing a role, and we’re doing it because it’s necessary. You agreed to this. You signed the contract.”

She swallowed, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach. The words were like daggers, and she didn’t know how much longer she could pretend it didn’t hurt.

“You know this isn’t real, right?” he added, his voice barely above a whisper. “This marriage. This life. It’s just business.”

Clara wanted to argue. To shout. To demand that he at least try to make this work, even if it was just for show. But the words caught in her throat. What was the point? Max had made it clear from the start—this was a contract, not a partnership.

She nodded silently, her heart heavy in her chest.

When they arrived at the Thornfield estate, Max didn’t even wait for the car to fully stop before stepping out. Clara followed behind, still processing everything.

As they made their way into the grand house, the staff bowed their heads in greeting, their faces polite but distant. The house felt too big, too cold—much like the man who now shared it with her.

Max didn’t look at her as he removed his coat and tossed it onto the chair by the door. “You’re free to go to your room for the night. But remember, Clara, this is a marriage of convenience. Don’t forget that.”

He didn’t wait for her reply. He was already disappearing down the hallway, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

Clara stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty space he had just vacated. He was right, of course. This was a marriage of convenience. But was it really supposed to feel like this? So cold, so distant? So full of pretense and lies?

With a deep sigh, she turned and walked to her room, determined to play her part. Because that’s all she could do now. Play the role. And pray that somewhe

re along the way, the mask they were both wearing wouldn’t crack.