BENEATH HIS CRUELTY

The office was quiet. Too quiet. Amara Blake’s heart slammed in her chest as the elevator doors slid open, revealing the top floor of Lancaster Enterprises — a cold, intimidating space filled with glass walls and leather furniture that screamed money, power, and untouchable arrogance. She took one step forward, her cheap heels clicking against polished marble, and instantly felt the weight of the silence choke her. “You can’t be here,” a sharp voice warned from behind a curved desk. The secretary — a tall woman with red lips and colder eyes — rose from her chair like a snake ready to strike. “Mr. Lancaster doesn’t take walk-ins. Especially not... people like you.” People like me. Amara clenched her fists by her sides. She knew what that meant. Her clothes were old. Her skin pale from sleepless nights. And her face — despite the make-up — couldn’t hide the desperation that clung to her like a second skin. “I just need five minutes,” she said, voice trembling but steady enough to hold her ground. “I sent an email. Three times. I called. I begged. No one replied.” “Because he doesn’t help beggars,” the woman snapped. “I’m not begging,” Amara lied. She was. Every second she stood here, she was begging for her sister’s life. Her only family. Her reason for breathing. Before the woman could speak again, a deep, icy voice echoed from the far end of the room. “Let her in.” The secretary froze. So did Amara. She turned slowly. There, standing behind a floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the city like a king watching over his empire, was Damon Lancaster. The devil in a tailored suit. His back was straight, his hands in his pockets, and his voice — low, dangerous — carried more weight than a hundred locked doors. “You heard me, Claire,” he said, without turning. “Let her in.” Claire didn’t argue. She sat back down, her lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line. Amara’s legs moved before she realized it. Past the glass doors. Into the lion’s den. The door clicked shut behind her. Inside, it was even quieter. The only sound was the faint hum of the city below, and her own heartbeat roaring in her ears. Damon turned. And her breath caught. He was even more terrifying in person. Black suit, black eyes, cold face carved from stone. There was no warmth in him. No humanity. Just ruthless beauty and the kind of confidence that didn’t need to be spoken. “What do you want?” he asked. She tried to speak, but the words tangled in her throat. Then she remembered why she was here. “My name is Amara Blake,” she said quickly. “I need help. My sister—she’s sixteen. She needs emergency surgery. I’ve tried everything. I’ve sold everything. I even begged on the street but—” “You want money.” His tone didn’t change. “You came to beg the devil with a bleeding heart story.” “No,” she lied again, swallowing her shame. “I came to make a deal.” That made him pause. His dark eyes locked onto hers like daggers. “A deal?” he repeated, stepping closer. “What kind of deal could a broke, desperate little girl offer me?” She forced herself not to look away. “I know your time is worth more than my life,” she said. “So I’ll make it simple. I heard rumors. That you’re looking for a... bride. A contract marriage. For business.” His brows lifted slightly. Amused. Curious. “So?” “So,” she continued, her voice shaking, “marry me. For one year. Use me however you want — pretend, business, image. I’ll do anything you say. In return, I want one thing—” “Money,” he finished for her, his voice now tinged with disgust. “You really are bold.” “My sister will die without it.” He studied her in silence. Then turned away, back to the window. Amara felt the air in the room shift. Colder. Thicker. He was thinking. Or calculating. Then he spoke. “One year. No love. No demands. No complaints. You’ll live in my home. Act your role. And follow my rules.” She nodded frantically. “Yes. Anything.” “You’ll sign a contract. No emotions. No touching unless I allow it.” “Fine.” He turned again, walked toward her with slow, terrifying grace. Then he stopped inches from her. His eyes dropped to her lips. Then back to her eyes. “I don’t know whether you’re brave… or just stupid,” he murmured. “I don’t care,” she replied. “Just save her. Please.” There was something in his eyes — flickering — like a match ready to burn. “Deal,” he said finally. “But once we sign, there’s no backing out. You’ll belong to me — in name, and in pain.” Amara’s breath hitched. But she nodded. Because if pain was the price of saving her sister... She was ready to bleed. ---