THE DEVIL FIANCE

CHAPTER 3: THE BOARD ROOM PROOF

We didn’t sleep.

By 3 AM I had two duffel bags in the back of Dahlia’s town car and a ring box burning in my pocket. By 3:15 we were pulling up to a building that looked like it cost more than my hometown.

Glass tower. 24/7 doorman. Private elevator.

Her penthouse.

My new home. For 4 months.

“Rules,” Dahlia said as the elevator doors closed. She looked exhausted for the first time. No makeup. Hair in a clip. “The guest room is yours. Don’t go to my office. Don’t touch my files. And if the board calls, we answer together.”

I nodded. My throat was dry.

The elevator opened and I stopped breathing.

The whole wall was windows. New York spread out below us like it belonged to her. Marble floors. White couch. I couldn’t play the piano. And one bedroom that was clearly hers. King bed. Black sheets. Photos on the dresser, all turned face-down.

“You’ll be comfortable,” she said quietly.

It wasn’t a question.

I dropped my bags in the guest room. One bed. One bathroom we’d have to share.

Forced proximity. Right.

At 7 AM sharp, her phone rang.

BOARD CHAIRMAN

Dahlia put it on speaker.

“Ms. Cross. The board requires visual proof of cohabitation by 9 AM. Photos. Together. In the penthouse.”

“Understood,” she said.

The line clicked.

She looked at me. “You ready?”

We took photos in the kitchen. Her in a robe. Me in the tux shirt from last night. Coffee mugs. Her hand on my shoulder. My arm around her waist.

We looked like a couple.

God help me, we looked real.

She sent them.

For ten minutes nothing happened.

Then:

FROM: BOARD OF DIRECTORS

PROOF ACCEPTED. TEMPORARY STAY OF REMOVAL GRANTED.

NEXT REVIEW: 30 DAYS.

Dahlia exhaled. Like she’d been holding her breath for 2 days.

“Thank you,” she said. To me.

I didn’t know what to say.

She left for work at 8. “Stay here. Don’t talk to reporters. I’ll be back late.”

And then it was just me.

In a $20 million penthouse.

With nothing to do but think.

I tried not to snoop. I really did.

But the guest room had no TV. No books. And the second bedroom door was cracked open.

I told myself I was just looking for towels.

The room was her bedroom.

Dresser. Walk-in closet. And a nightstand with a drawer slightly open.

Inside wasn’t jewelry.

They were photos.

I shouldn’t have looked.

The first one: Dahlia, younger. Laughing. In a sundress.

And next to her, arm around her waist.

Victor.

They were engaged. Ring on her finger. Same smile I’d never seen.

The second photo: the two of them at a gala. His forehead pressed to hers.

The third: a handwritten note. _“You’re mine, D. Always.”_

My chest felt tight.

This was before. Before the betrayal. Before _The Devil in Heels_.

I was putting the photos back when I heard it.

Keys in the door.

I froze.

It was 2 PM. She wasn’t supposed to be back for hours.

Dahlia walked in. Still in her suit. But her face was different. Tired. Angry.

And she wasn’t alone.

Victor followed her in.

“Get out of my house,” Dahlia said. Low. Dangerous.

“You invited me,” Victor said. He saw me immediately. Standing in her bedroom doorway with the drawer open.

His smile was slow. Ugly.

“Well well. The assistant is already making himself at home.”

Dahlia stepped between us. “Vic. Leave.”

“Not until we talk about the board.” He held up his phone. “They’re nervous, Dahlia. About your _assistant_. About his background. About how fast this all happened.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“It is when it’s my money.” He looked right at me. “Elias. You got a minute?”

I didn’t answer.

Dahlia did. “He’s not talking to you.”

Victor laughed. “Fine.” He walked to the kitchen island and dropped an envelope on the marble.

“Open it.”

Dahlia didn’t move.

I did.

Inside: copies. Bank statements. My dad’s hospital bills. My sister’s tuition invoice.

And a photo of me, from yesterday, signing the PRIVATE AGREEMENT in Dahlia’s office.

Someone had been in the room.

“This is blackmail,” Dahlia said.

“This is leverage,” Victor corrected. “Leave her, Elias. Today. Or I send this to every news outlet in the city. _Gold Digger Assistant Traps Billionaire CEO._ Your dad loses his treatment. Your sister loses her tuition. And Dahlia loses the company.”

The room went silent.

I looked at Dahlia.

She was staring at the envelope. Jaw tight. But she didn’t look at me.

“Is that what you want?” I asked her. My voice sounded wrong. “For me to leave?”

She finally met my eyes.

And I couldn’t read her.

Victor broke the silence. “You have until midnight, kid. Then I will make the call.”

He left. The door closed.

Dahlia and I stood there. With $200,000 worth of paper between us.

She walked to the window. Back to me.

“You should go,” she said. Barely a whisper.

“What?”

“You heard him. If you stay, he ruins you.”

I took a step toward her. “Is that what you want?”

She didn’t answer.

I picked up the envelope. My hands were shaking.

“Four months,” I said. “That’s the deal, right?”

“Elias”

“Do you want me to leave?”

She turned. And for one second, just one, the mask cracked.

She looked scared.

“I don’t”

Her phone buzzed.

UNKNOWN NUMBER

She answered. Listened.

And all the color drained from her face.

“What?” she whispered.

She hung up.

“Who was it?” I asked.

Dahlia looked at me.

And then in the bedroom drawer. Still open.

With one photo missing.

“The board,” she said.

“They just got an email.

Anonymous.

With a photo of you in my bedroom.

And the caption: "The fiancé is already going through her things.”

The board thinks I’m a spy. I have 9 hours until midnight. And Dahlia doesn’t know if she can trust me.