The Monster I Crave

A Deal with the Devil 2

Another pause. "Perhaps. In time."

The words settled in Aria's chest, heavy and cold. She didn't know why they bothered her. She was a servant, a possession. His marriage plans were none of her concern. But the thought of him with Vivienne, of him touching another woman the way he touched her, sent a sharp, unexpected pang through her.

She pushed the feeling down, locking it away in the same dark place where she kept her fear and her shame. "Goodnight, Silas," she said, using his first name for the first time.

She didn't wait for his response. She walked out into the dark hallway, the door clicking shut behind her. The corridor was cold, the silence pressing in. She leaned against the wall, her body trembling.

The tears came then, silent and hot, streaming down her cheeks. She cried for the confusion in her heart, for the hatred that was slowly being eroded by something she couldn't name. She cried for the girl she had been, and the woman she was becoming-a woman who hated a man who owned her, but who also craved his touch, his presence, his dark, twisted attention.

She pressed her forehead to her knees, her body shaking, and wondered how much more of herself she would lose before this was over.

The next morning, Aria was summoned to the kitchen early. Marta, the cook, was already busy, her hands covered in flour as she kneaded dough. She looked up as Aria entered, her expression softening slightly.

"Sit," Marta said, nodding to a stool in the corner. "Eat. Before he sees you looking like a ghost."

Aria sat, accepting the plate of scrambled eggs and toast Marta placed in front of her. The warmth of the kitchen, the smell of baking bread, was a comfort she hadn't realized she needed.

"You're not the first," Marta said quietly, her back to Aria as she worked. "The ones he brings up there. The ones he keeps."

Aria looked up, her fork frozen. "What do you mean?"

Marta sighed, wiping her hands on her apron. "I've worked here for fifteen years. I've seen women come and go. Models, socialites, women with money and power. He uses them, then discards them. But you..." She turned, her dark eyes meeting Aria's. "You're different. He's never kept one this long. He's never brought one to a public dinner."

The words settled in Aria's chest, heavy and confusing. "I'm not different. I'm a debt payment. A possession."

Marta gave her a look that was almost pitying. "Maybe. But possessions don't usually make him look at them the way he looks at you."

Before Aria could respond, the door swung open. Mrs. Higgins entered, her expression severe. "Mr. Sterling wants you in the study. Now."

Aria set her plate down, her appetite gone. She followed Mrs. Higgins through the house, her legs stiff. The study door was open, Silas standing by the window, his back to her. The morning light streamed in, casting long shadows across the room.

Mrs. Higgins left, closing the door behind her. Aria stood in the center of the room, her hands clasped in front of her.

Silas turned, his grey eyes finding hers. "Close the door," he said, his voice calm.

She did as she was told, the latch clicking softly. He walked toward her, his movements slow and deliberate. He stopped in front of her, close enough that she could smell his cologne-sandalwood and something sharper, like cedar.

"We need to discuss last night," he said, his voice low.

Aria lifted her chin, meeting his gaze. "There's nothing to discuss."

His smile was cold. "I disagree. You snuck into my office. You found the contract. You learned about the amendment. And now, you know the truth about your father."

The words hit her like a physical blow. She had hoped, in the dark hours of the night, that she had imagined the whole thing-that the amendment was a fake, a trick to keep her compliant. But the look in his eyes told her otherwise.

"What do you want from me?" she asked, her voice tight.

He reached out, his hand cupping her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "I want you to understand your situation. Completely. No more sneaking around. No more trying to find a way out. You are here because your father sold you, and then tried to cheat me. You are here because I allow it. And you will remain here until I decide otherwise."

His thumb brushed over her lower lip, the touch surprisingly gentle. "But I'm not a monster, Aria. Not entirely. I'll make you a deal."

She stared at him, wary. "What kind of deal?"

"Stop fighting me," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Stop trying to escape. Stop trying to find loopholes. Accept your place here. And in return, I'll make your life... bearable. You'll have better quarters. Better food. You won't have to scrub floors with toothbrushes. You'll be my companion, not my servant."

The offer hung in the air, tempting and terrifying. Better food. Better quarters. An end to the degrading tasks. But the price was her surrender, her acceptance of his ownership.

"And if I refuse?" she asked.

His smile was cold, predatory. "Then things will get much, much worse. I have a imagination, Aria. And I haven't even begun to use it."

She looked at him, at the cold arrogance radiating from him, and felt the familiar surge of hatred. But beneath it, something else stirred-a dark, confusing realization that she had no power here, no leverage, no way out.

She was trapped. And the only person who could make her life bearable was the man who had trapped her in the first place.

"I'll think about it," she said, her voice steady.

He released her chin, stepping back. "Don't think too long. I'm not a patient man."

He turned and walked to his desk, sitting down and picking up a document. The audience was over. Aria stood for a moment, watching him, then turned and walked out of the study, the weight of his offer pressing down on her like a physical force.

In the hallway, she leaned against the wall, her body trembling. The house was quiet around her, a tomb of secrets and power. And at the center of it all was Silas Sterling, the man who owned her, who wanted to break her, who offered her a gilded cage instead of an iron cage.

She closed her eyes, exhaustion pulling her under. The line between hatred and something else was blurring, and she was terrified of what lay on the other side.