The Devil's Contract

THE CONTRACT The ink felt heavy on the paper, wet and permanent like a blood oath. Sienna’s hand trembled as the tip of the expensive Montblanc pen glided over the line marked Signature of the Contracted. Fifty floors above the glowing, rain-slicked Manhattan skyline, the storm battered against the penthouse glass, but inside, the room was stiflingly quiet. Across the heavy mahogany desk sat Lucian Vance. He didn't look like an underworld king. He looked like power incarnate. His charcoal suit fitted his broad shoulders impeccably, his dark hair was styled without a single strand out of place, and his obsidian eyes watched her every move with predatory satisfaction. "Six months, Sienna," Lucian said, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that sent a shiver straight down her spine. "You play the devoted fiancée to the public. You live at my estate under my rules. In return, your brother’s three-million-dollar debt to the cartel disappears tonight. He lives. You belong to me." Sienna lifted her chin, staring back into his dark, unforgiving eyes. "I'm not a trophy you can buy, Mr. Vance." Lucian leaned forward, placing his hands flat on the polished wood. "You just signed the deed, little bird. Welcome to my world."