TAINTED LOVE: RIDING WITH THE DEVIL

THE DEVIL’S SECRETARY

ISABELLA REYES

My name is Isabella Reyes, but at Voss International everyone just calls me “Ugly Betty” or “Ellie” in that pitying tone that makes me want to crawl under my desk and die. Twenty-five years old, but I look fifty on a good day. Braces, thick glasses that slide down my nose, baggy cardigans two sizes too big, and skirts that reach my ankles. I hide my body like it’s a crime scene. Tonight, though? Tonight my best friend Luna Vargas had other plans.

***

The bass vibrated through my bones as I stood on the dance floor of The Serpent’s Den, feeling like an impostor in my own skin. Luna had spent three hours transforming me: contacts instead of glasses, the braces still there but somehow less noticeable when I smiled nervously, and a dangerously short black dress that hugged every curve I usually smothered. My long dark hair cascaded in loose waves down my back, and the red lipstick made my mouth look fuller than I ever thought possible. For the first time in years, I felt… seen. Sexy, even. Luna had shoved me out the door with a wicked grin: “Go have fun, Bella. The world needs to see what I see.”

I was laughing, spinning under the neon lights with the music pulsing through me, when our eyes locked.

Storm-cloud gray.

My stomach plummeted like I’d missed the last step on a skyscraper.

No. No way. That is not—

Rafael Voss. My Rafael Voss. The billionaire CEO who made boardrooms tremble. The man whose voice could freeze hell over during quarterly reviews. He stood on the VIP balcony in black riding leathers that looked painted on, a fitted shirt unbuttoned low enough to reveal the edge of dark tattoos snaking across his chest. No suit, no polished Oxfords. Just raw, dangerous muscle and a slow, predatory smile that should come with a health warning.

Holy s**t. My boss is a biker?

Panic hit me like a freight train. My heart hammered so hard I was sure the entire club could hear it over the music. I wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to be here. This version of him; tattooed, leather-clad, radiating pure sin did not compute with the ice-cold executive who signed my paychecks.

I turned to bolt, heels already pivoting towards the exit. A strong hand wrapped around my wrist, firm but not bruising, stopping me mid-escape. Electricity shot up my arm.

“Going somewhere, beautiful?” His voice was low, rough, like gravel wrapped in velvet. The same voice that had calmly destroyed a competitor last week, now dripping with dark amusement.

I froze. Slowly, I looked up.

Up close he was even more devastating. The scar through his eyebrow, the stubble that looked rough enough to leave marks, those gray eyes that seemed to strip a person bare. He towered over me, broad shoulders blocking out half the club. The scent of leather, spice, and something dangerously masculine hit me, and my traitorous knees almost buckled.

He didn’t recognise me. Not even a flicker.

Of course he didn’t. Ugly Betty didn’t wear dresses that barely covered her ass or red lipstick that screamed “trouble.” Ugly Betty wore beige and hid behind spreadsheets.

I swallowed hard, trying to find my voice while my brain screamed "run, you i***t, run!"

“Uh… I was just… heading to get some air,” I managed, my words shaky.

Inside, my thoughts were a chaotic mess: This is a nightmare. Or a very spicy dream. Definitely going to get fired. Or murdered. Or both.

Rafe’s lips curved into that infamous panty-dropper smile. Up close it was lethal.

“Air can wait.” He tugged me gently but insistently closer, his grip warm and confident. “You’ve been driving half the club crazy out here. Including me.”

Me? Driving Rafael Voss crazy? I almost laughed out loud at the absurdity. If only he knew the mousy girl who brought him coffee and avoided eye contact every morning was currently one tug away from being pressed against his very hard, very tattooed chest.

“I—I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said, trying to sound casual while my pulse raced like a startled rabbit. Sarcasm bubbled up despite the fear. “You look like the kind of trouble that comes with a very expensive lawsuit… or a hospital bill.”

He chuckled, deep and genuine, the sound vibrating through me.

“Bold. I like that.” His thumb brushed lightly over my wrist, right over my racing pulse. “Name?”

I hesitated half a second. Should I lie? But the way he was looking at me, like I was the only woman in the room made something reckless spark inside my chest.

“Isabella,” I said, leaving out the last name. “Bella.”

“Bella,” he repeated, tasting it. His gray eyes darkened with clear interest. “Fits. You’ve got that whole ‘angel who snuck into hell’ vibe tonight.”

If only you knew how often I feel like the devil’s secretary in your office.

I glanced towards the exit again. Part of me still wanted to run. This man ruled the city in ways I was only beginning to understand, but another part, the part Luna had tried to awaken for years, wanted to see what happened if I stayed. Just for a minute. What harm could one conversation do?

“You’re not from around here, are you?” he asked, still not letting go of my wrist. “I’d remember a face like yours.”

I nearly choked on a nervous laugh.

Oh, you remember me every Monday when I nearly spill your espresso.

“New to the scene,” I lied smoothly, surprising myself. “My friend dragged me out. Said I needed to live a little.”

“Smart friend.” Rafe stepped closer, invading my space in that effortless way powerful men do. The unbuttoned shirt gave me a better view of the ink; a coiled viper, tribal lines, hints of more disappearing beneath fabric. My boss had tattoos. Multiple. I was never going to recover from this visual.

“Tell me, Bella,” he murmured, leaning down so his breath brushed my ear, “are you the kind of woman who runs from trouble… or the kind who dances with it?”

My mouth went dry. Fear, thrill, and a very inconvenient surge of attraction warred inside me. I was standing in a club, dressed like sin, being hit on by the most dangerous and handsome man in Barcelona, who also happened to sign my paychecks and could ruin my life with one email.

I looked up at him, heart pounding, and gave him a small, shaky smile that still carried a hint of sarcasm.

“Tonight? I’m still deciding.”

Rafe’s grin widened, slow and devastating.

“Good answer.”

He finally released my wrist, only to slide his hand to the small of my back, guiding me towards the VIP stairs with the confidence of a man who already knew how the night would end.

And God help me… I let him. I let him guide me.

Rafael Voss’s hand rested possessively at the small of my back, warm through the thin fabric of the dress Luna had forced me into. Every step up the VIP stairs felt like walking a tightrope over an abyss. My heart was doing violent gymnastics... half terror, half something far more dangerous.

This is insane, Bella. This is career suicide wrapped in leather and tattoos.

As we reached the private VIP lounge, the noise of the club dulled slightly behind heavy velvet curtains. Rafe gestured for me to sit on a sleek black leather couch, then lowered himself beside me with that fluid, predatory grace. Close... too close. His thigh brushed mine, and I had to fight the urge to bolt again.

“You look like you’re thinking about running again,” he said, voice low and amused.

A server appeared instantly with two glasses of something dark and expensive. Rafe didn’t even have to ask.

“Relax, Bella. I don’t bite…” He smirked, storm-gray eyes flicking over me. “Unless you ask nicely.”

I forced a laugh that came out shaky.

God, if only you knew how many times I’ve wanted the floor to swallow me whole just for existing in your building.

While he took a slow sip of his drink, my mind spiraled back, the way it always did when anxiety tightened its grip.

.

I wasn’t always like this. Or maybe I was.

My mother was a former beauty queen who never let anyone forget it.

“You’d be so pretty if you just lost the baby weight, mija.” I was eight the first time she said that. By twelve, my teeth were a disaster. Crooked, gapped, and the thick glasses made me look like a startled owl. School was hell. The boys called me “Metal Mouth” and “Four Eyes.” The girls were worse. They mocked my developing curves, saying I looked “fat and sloppy” in anything that wasn’t three sizes too big. I learned early: hide. Baggy clothes became armor. Silence became safety.

My father wasn’t much better. A cold, distant accountant who valued perfection and numbers. When I brought home straight A’s, he’d simply nod. When I asked for braces at fifteen, he sighed like it was a burden. “You’re already expensive enough.” The temporary ones I wear now? I paid for them myself last year with my first decent bonus from Voss International. Twenty-five years old and still fixing the smile I was mocked for as a kid.

Then there was Javier. My college boyfriend. The one who was supposed to prove everyone wrong. “You’re lucky I’m with you,” he’d say after s*x, while I lay there pretending the comment didn’t carve pieces out of me. “Most guys wouldn’t touch a girl with your body.” He cheated. Of course he did. With a slim, confident girl who wore crop tops without dying inside.

After that, I doubled down. Oversized cardigans, ankle-length skirts, the severe bun. At Voss International, it worked too well. I’m efficient, quiet, invisible. They promoted me to executive assistant because I never make mistakes and never draw attention, but the nickname followed me anyway: Ugly Betty. I hear the whispers in the break room. The pitying laughs. “Poor Ellie. She tries, I guess.”

I’m twenty-five, but I move through the world like a ghost in beige, because being seen means being judged. Being desired means being eventually discarded when they see the real me underneath.

.

“Bella?” Rafe’s voice pulled me back.

I blinked, realising I’d been staring at the amber liquid in my glass. His hand had moved to the back of the couch, fingers lightly brushing my bare shoulder. The contrast was dizzying... this dangerous, beautiful man touching me, while the version of me he knew at work was probably organizsing his Monday morning agenda right now in his mind.

“Sorry,” I murmured, taking a sip. The liquor burned nicely. “Just… zoned out. This place is a lot.”

He studied me with those sharp gray eyes. Not the cold boardroom stare I knew from 9 a.m. meetings, but something hotter and hungrier.

“You’re different from most women who come through those doors. They throw themselves at the VIP section. You look like you’re calculating escape routes.”

I couldn’t help the little huff that escaped.

“Maybe I am. You don’t exactly look like the boardroom type tonight, Mr…” I caught myself just in time. Don’t say Voss. Don’t you dare. “You look like you break hearts and bones for fun.”

Rafe chuckled, deep and rich. The sound did unfair things to my stomach.

“Guilty on both counts, depending on the night.” He leaned in, his scent of leather, spice, and pure male, wrapping around me. “But right now I’m more interested in why a woman who looks like this—” his gaze dragged slowly down my body, making heat flare across my skin “—is so nervous. You’re stunning, Bella. You know that, right?”

Stunning.

The word hit like a slap and a caress at the same time. I wanted to believe him. God, I did. But the insecure girl who still heard her mother’s voice and Javier’s insults screamed liar. How could he think that when the real me, the one in frumpy clothes and braces made people look away?

“I clean up okay when my best friend kidnaps me and plays dress-up,” I said lightly, forcing a smile that showed a hint of my temporary braces. “Luna basically held me at gunpoint. Told me the world needed to see the ‘real Bella’ for one night. I think she’s regretting it right about now.”

He smiled that slow smile again.

“Remind me to send your friend flowers.” His fingers traced lightly along my shoulder. “Tell me something real. What do you do when you’re not out here making men lose their minds on the dance floor?”

Oh, you know. I schedule your meetings, fetch your coffee exactly two creams no sugar, and hide in the supply closet when I feel too visible.

I swallowed.

“I work in corporate. Nothing exciting. Spreadsheets, emails, trying not to get noticed.” The truth, wrapped in vagueness. “What about you? You look like you own the night.”

Rafe’s eyes darkened with something dangerous and amused.

“Something like that.”

My insecurities swirled again, louder now. If he knew who I really was; the mousy assistant they all laugh at; he’d drop me in a second. This dress, this makeup, the contacts… it’s all a lie. A pretty mask that’ll crack by morning.

But as his hand slid to my waist and he pulled me fractionally closer, the fear mixed with a reckless thrill I hadn’t felt in years.

For one night, maybe I could pretend I wasn’t Ugly Betty. For one night, I could let the dangerous, tattooed version of my boss look at me like I was worth devouring.

Even if it terrified me.