The Devil’s Offer
1728 Words
Why was he calling me?
I stared at the name flashing on my screen, convinced that the alcohol from last night had finally damaged my brain.
**Devil Boss. Damon Cross.**
For three years, Damon had never called my personal number. Not once. Everything between us had gone through company phones, official emails, or carefully scheduled meetings. Damon did not do personal, so why was he using my number now?
“Claire!” Tori’s annoyed voice came from beneath the blanket. “Turn it off!”
I ignored her and climbed out of bed, taking my phone with me. My head was pounding, and my thoughts were even worse.
Maybe this was about my severance pay. Maybe HR had made a mistake. But that did not make sense. Damon Cross was the CEO of Cross Enterprises; he did not personally handle payroll issues. He had entire departments for that.
My resignation letter?
I froze.
No. Surely not.
I had left it on his desk last night. It had been dramatic, I knew, but after everything that happened with Ethan, staying another minute at Cross Enterprises had felt impossible.
My phone rang again, and I jumped when I saw the notification.
Eight missed calls.
Eight?
Damon Cross had called me eight times. That was more unsettling than the fact that he had my number.
Before I could create another impossible explanation, the phone rang again. This time, I answered.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then his voice came through—deep, calm, and controlled.
“Ms. Bennett.”
My entire body stiffened.
“M-Mr. Cross.”
Of course, there was silence afterward. Damon Cross had mastered the art of making silence feel like a threat.
Finally, he spoke.
“You have one hour.”
I blinked.
“One hour for what?”
The call ended.
I stared at my phone, completely speechless. Was he expecting me to return to the office?
“Seriously?” I muttered. “You’re not my boss anymore, Damon Cross.”
Unfortunately, even after quitting, he still managed to ruin my morning.
Then a terrifying thought occurred to me.
“What if this is about my severance pay?”
My stomach dropped.
That money was not just money. It was the only thing keeping my life from completely collapsing. I could not lose it. Not now. Not after Ethan.
I grabbed my clothes and rushed out.
Apparently, quitting Cross Enterprises did not mean Damon Cross was finished with me. Somehow, that was the most terrifying part.
---
“Ms. Bennett.”
The moment I heard his voice, my body reacted before my mind did. Three years of hearing that calm, emotionless voice had taught me one thing: when Damon Cross spoke, people listened.
I turned around slowly.
And there he was.
Damon Cross stood in the doorway of his office, perfectly composed, as if he had not called me eight times that morning and forced me back into the place I had tried to leave behind. His dark suit was flawless, and his expression was unreadable.
Nothing about him suggested urgency.
Nothing about him ever did.
“Mr. Cross.”
I straightened automatically, then immediately hated myself for it. I was no longer his employee. I did not have to stand there like I was waiting for an evaluation.
At least, that was what I told myself.
His eyes moved over me—not with interest, but with assessment. Like I was a situation that needed to be corrected.
“You came.”
I frowned.
“Well, you gave me one hour.”
A tiny change crossed his expression.
“You still have your attitude.”
I blinked.
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing.”
His voice remained calm as he stepped aside.
“My office.”
Two words. A command.
The old instinct inside me wanted to obey immediately, but I stopped myself. I was no longer his assistant.
I walked past him anyway.
Not because he ordered me to, but because I needed answers.
His office looked exactly as it always had: floor-to-ceiling windows, a perfectly organized desk, and no sign of anything personal. Controlled, precise, untouchable.
For three years, I had spent more time in that room than anywhere else. I knew his schedule, his meetings, and the impossible standards he expected from everyone around him. I knew the small habits he never noticed—the way he tapped his fingers when thinking, the way he read reports before anyone finished explaining them, and the way silence became more terrifying when he was disappointed.
And now, I was not supposed to be there.
I reminded myself of that as I sat down, only after he gestured toward the chair.
Damon walked behind his desk and placed a document in front of me.
My resignation letter.
My stomach tightened.
“I assume you know why you are here.”
I looked at him.
“Actually, no. I thought this was about my severance pay.”
For the first time, something almost like amusement appeared in his eyes.
Almost.
“No.”
My eyebrows pulled together.
“Then why did you call me back?”
Damon leaned back in his chair.
“We need to discuss your resignation.”
I sighed.
Here we go.
“I understand you have concerns, Mr. Cross. But despite my sudden resignation, I followed the proper procedure.”
“Did you?”
The question caught me off guard.
“What?”
He tapped the letter once.
“You left this on my desk.”
“Yes.”
“Without speaking to me.”
I looked away.
Technically, he was right, but after everything that happened, I did not think I owed anyone an explanation.
Especially not him.
“I didn’t think it would matter.”
Damon’s expression changed slightly. Not anger, but something colder.
“Everything involving my company matters, Ms. Bennett.”
There it was.
The Damon Cross I knew: the man who controlled everything and never accepted losing something he considered valuable.
And apparently, I was something he was not willing to lose.
That thought should not have made my heart beat faster.
It was Damon Cross, my former boss, not someone who suddenly cared about an employee leaving.
I pushed the thought away.
“Mr. Cross, if this is about my resignation, I understand your concerns. But I made my decision.”
His eyes remained on me.
“I know.”
The answer surprised me.
“You know?”
He nodded slightly.
“Which is why I did not call you here to convince you to stay.”
I frowned.
“Then why?”
Damon opened a drawer and removed a black leather portfolio. He placed it in front of me.
“I would like to make you an offer.”
I looked at the portfolio.
“An offer?”
“Yes.”
“If this is about returning to Cross Enterprises, I appreciate the consideration, but—”
“It isn’t.”
His interruption was immediate.
I stopped.
Damon opened the portfolio.
“There is a contract inside.”
I stared at him.
“A contract?”
“One that benefits both parties.”
---
“With all due respect, Mr. Cross, if this is related to my resignation, I don’t think a contract is necessary.”
“It isn’t related to your resignation.”
His tone was calm. Almost too calm.
Damon Cross did not waste words. He did not call former employees personally, and he did not prepare contracts without a reason.
Whatever this was, it mattered.
“What exactly are you offering?”
He looked directly at me.
“An arrangement.”
That word immediately made me suspicious.
“What does that have to do with me?”
“I have a problem that requires a solution.”
Of course.
Damon Cross would describe something this serious as a problem to solve.
“And I am the solution?”
“You are the person I trust most.”
I froze.
For a second, I wondered if I had heard him correctly.
Damon Cross trusted people?
That was new information.
“I worked for you for three years.”
“Exactly.”
His gaze remained steady.
“You understand my schedule, my habits, and my expectations.”
He paused briefly.
“You understand me better than anyone else.”
I did not know what to say.
It was not a compliment coming from Damon. It sounded more like a conclusion he had reached after eliminating every other option.
“And what exactly does this arrangement require?”
Damon pushed the portfolio toward me.
“Read it.”
I looked down.
The first page was filled with legal language, but my eyes immediately moved to the title.
Then stopped.
My breathing changed.
No.
That could not be right.
I looked back at him.
“Mr. Cross…”
For the first time in three years, I saw something different in his eyes.
Not warmth.
Not hesitation.
Determination.
“I need a wife.”
The room went silent.
I stared at him.
“Excuse me?”
Damon did not react.
“I am offering you a contract.”
My fingers tightened around the paper.
“A contract for what?”
His answer came without hesitation.
“Marriage.”
For a moment, my mind stopped processing.
Marriage?
I blinked once, then twice.
“You called me back to Cross Enterprises”—I pointed at the contract—“because you want me to marry you?”
“Yes.”
I stared at the man across from me.
The same man who terrified an entire company. The same man who never showed emotion.
And now he was asking me to become his wife.
“Why me?”
The question escaped before I could stop it.
Damon held my gaze for a long moment.
“Because I know exactly what I’m getting.”
I frowned.
He continued in the same calm tone.
“For three years, you have never disappointed me.”
His eyes never left mine.
“I don’t make decisions based on hope, Ms. Bennett.”
A brief pause followed.
“I make them based on certainty.”
I stared at him, unsure whether that was meant to be a compliment.
It sounded less like admiration and more like a conclusion.
Somehow, that felt exactly like Damon Cross.
- Writer
