A DEAL WITH THE DEVIL

Married

The first week of Clara’s “marriage” to Maxwell Thornfield had been nothing short of a nightmare. He’d warned her from the start that everything about this union would be strictly business. But what she hadn’t anticipated was just how insufferable, unrelenting, and, frankly, unbearable he would be.

It was one thing to sign a contract—quite another to live it. And with Max, living it meant a constant barrage of his sharp words, cold stares, and unrelenting temper. He had little patience for mistakes, and every time Clara made one—no matter how small—it was like she’d committed a capital crime.

This morning was no different.

Clara sat at the large desk in his office, her hands trembling slightly as she reviewed the spreadsheets he’d asked her to prepare. Max stood at the other end of the room, staring out the window, hands behind his back. The air was thick with the tension he always carried with him.

“You’re late,” he said without turning around. The words were clipped, almost mechanical, but she could hear the anger beneath them. He hadn’t even given her the courtesy of a greeting.

Clara swallowed, biting back the snarky remark that instantly came to mind. She had spent the last two hours revising the financial reports, trying to make sense of numbers that seemed to taunt her.

“I was finishing up the revisions,” she said, her voice steady but with an underlying strain.

Max’s back stiffened. He finally turned to face her, his dark eyes narrowing as though she had just committed a mortal sin.

“Revisions? You were supposed to have those done last night, Clara. Last night.” His voice was ice-cold, his words dripping with disdain. “How do you expect to run a business if you can’t even meet simple deadlines?”

Clara’s face flushed, the sting of his words cutting deeper than she cared to admit. She’d tried. She really had. But Max had a way of making her feel like everything she did was never good enough.

“I’m sorry, it won’t happen again,” she muttered, though she wasn’t sure if she was apologizing to him or to herself.

Max’s lips tightened into a thin line. “It better not. I don’t tolerate incompetence, Clara. You’re not here for my amusement. You’re here to get this company back on track.” He took a few purposeful steps toward her, his presence looming over her like a dark cloud. “If you can’t handle the pressure, I can find someone who can.”

Clara straightened, resisting the urge to flinch. Someone who can. The words echoed in her head, taunting her. He had said it before. He would say it again.

“I’m handling it,” she bit back, her voice a little firmer now, despite the nerves still twisting in her stomach. “I’m just trying to keep up with everything, Max.”

“Try harder,” he snapped, his eyes flashing. “I shouldn’t have to babysit you. You signed a contract. You agreed to this. Now live up to it.”

His words stung, but Clara gritted her teeth, refusing to show any sign of weakness. She was no stranger to pressure. And if there was anything she knew how to do, it was handle it. Even if Max seemed to think otherwise.

She turned back to the spreadsheets, trying to focus on the numbers in front of her. But the silence between them was suffocating. Max stood behind her, his eyes never leaving her as if watching for any sign of failure. She could almost feel the weight of his judgment pressing down on her.

Clara didn’t want to admit it, but she was starting to resent this arrangement. Every task was a test. Every moment felt like she was walking on eggshells, and Max had no interest in making her feel anything but inadequate.

“Clara, the quarterly projections are wrong.” Max’s voice sliced through the silence.

She froze, her heart sinking into her stomach. “What?”

He stepped closer, looking over her shoulder at the screen. “You’ve miscalculated the revenue growth in Q3. You’re off by ten percent.” His tone was sharp, laced with frustration.

“I—” Clara’s mind raced, but her hands were shaking, unable to move fast enough to correct the mistake. “I didn’t realize—”

“Of course you didn’t,” Max interrupted, his voice rising with irritation. “That’s exactly what I mean. You didn’t realize. You don’t pay attention to the details. Do you even understand what’s at stake here?”

She nodded, her chest tightening. “I do, Max. I’m trying.”

“No, you’re not,” he countered, his voice like ice. “If you were trying, you wouldn’t be making these rookie mistakes.”

Clara opened her mouth to protest, but the words died on her lips. What was the point? He didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t care.

Max’s gaze never wavered. He was dissecting her every move, every mistake. And all she could do was sit there, feeling smaller and smaller under the weight of his expectations.

“Fix it,” he said finally, turning away to sit behind his massive desk. His tone was final, as though the conversation was over. “And make sure it’s right this time.”

Clara took a shaky breath, forcing herself to focus on the screen in front of her. She couldn’t afford to make another mistake. If she did, he would pounce. He always did.

As she worked to correct the projections, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Max was watching her every move. He didn’t trust her. He didn’t believe in her. And every time she made a mistake, every time she faltered, it was another reminder that she wasn’t good enough.

Max had made it clear from the beginning that this marriage wasn’t about feelings. It wasn’t about love. It was a business arrangement, nothing more. He’d never shown an ounce of warmth, and Clara had long since given up hope that he would.

But what hurt more than anything was how easily he dismissed her. How every failure, no matter how small, was met with his cold, biting criticism. It felt as though he enjoyed making her feel small, insignificant.

“I’m done for the day,” Max said abruptly, his voice cutting through her thoughts. He stood and straightened his suit jacket, his eyes scanning the room like a king surveying his domain.

Clara blinked, a little disoriented. “Done?” she asked, though it was more of a statement than a question.

“Yes,” Max replied, his eyes now focused on her. “The numbers can wait. You’ll fix them by tomorrow. But you’re wasting my time with your incompetence.”

She clenched her jaw, feeling the hot sting of frustration flare in her chest. “I’m doing the best I can.”

Max’s lips curled into a smirk, but it wasn’t kind. It was condescending, dismissive. “Your best isn’t good enough.”

His words cut deeper than she cared to admit. But she wouldn’t let him see how much they affected her.

With a curt nod, Max grabbed his coat and headed for the door. “Get it right, Clara. Or I’ll find someone who can.”

The door slammed shut behind him, and Clara let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

She stared at the computer screen, the weight of his words pressing down on her chest. Not good enough. He had said it again. And the worst part was, she wasn’t sure he was wrong.

It was the third time in as many days that Max had snapped at her. The third time he had reminded her of how much she was failing. The third time she wondered if this marriage—this arrangement—was even worth it.

But she had no choice, did she? Max had made it perfectly clear that this was her last chance. No room for mistakes. No room for anything less than perfection.

The company, her father’s legacy, depended on her.

And as much as it hu

rt, she knew one thing for certain: she couldn’t afford to let Max Thornfield break her.