My Enemy’s Lover

The Devil’s Bargain

## **Chapter 4 – The Devil’s Bargain**

Blair remained frozen, her legs refusing to move. Her mind reeled, still trying to reconcile the sharp, cold stranger she had slapped weeks ago with the man now seated behind the polished mahogany desk — the CEO of Roland’s Fashion World.

He leaned back casually, fingers steepled together, as if the weight of the room bent toward him.

“Sit,” he said, motioning toward the chair in front of him. His voice was calm but carried an undertone of command.

“Why?” Blair’s throat felt dry, but she forced the words out. “It’s not like you intend to hire me anyway.” She crossed her arms, her heart pounding in her chest. The air in the office felt heavy, as though every breath she took cost effort.

There was no way someone like him would let their messy, humiliating encounter go and then graciously offer her a job. No, this was about power — about making her squirm. He had probably only called her in to mock her, to watch her fall apart under the weight of his influence. The rich always found their sport in the misfortunes of others.

She turned slightly, ready to walk out and save herself the humiliation. Better to try her luck elsewhere than beg for work here.

“Now, now…” His voice slowed her steps. “Don’t jump to hasty conclusions, Miss Rodrigo. You’re a skilled and talented dressmaker. Exactly the kind of creative eye we value here at Roland’s Fashion World.” His words sounded smooth, but the faint smirk tugging at his lips told her there was more. “I do have intentions of hiring you… but—”

“But what?” she cut in, her tone sharp. “If you think I’m going to get on my knees and beg for your forgiveness, then you can save your breath. I won’t.”

Inside, she felt the sting of vulnerability, the uncertainty of her grandmother’s condition and her brother’s legal troubles gnawing at her resolve — but she wouldn’t show him that.

Roland chuckled, low and amused. “Beg for my forgiveness? No, darling.” His eyes glinted, predatory. “I have something much better in mind.” He gestured to the chair again. “But I’ll only tell you if you sit.”

Sitting across from him was the last thing she wanted. Still… curiosity wrestled with her pride. After a moment’s hesitation, she slid into the seat, her back stiff.

He didn’t waste time.

“Marry me.”

Blair blinked, certain she had misheard. “What?”

“Marry me,” he repeated with unsettling calm. “In exchange, I’ll cover your grandmother’s hospital bills and handle your brother’s court case.” He let the words hang in the air before adding, “Or…” His gaze sharpened. “…prepare to face assault charges for hitting me. And jail time.”

It was like the ground shifted beneath her. Her breath caught, and she stared at him, her mind scrambling. “Marry you?” She repeated the words in disbelief, her voice cracking. Then she laughed — a short, incredulous sound that bubbled into uncontrollable giggles.

“You… mu—must… be kidding.” She pressed a hand to her chest, shaking her head.

Roland’s expression didn’t shift. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

The seriousness in his tone was like ice water poured down her spine. Her laughter died, replaced by a wary, puzzled stare. “How did you find out about my grandmother? And my brother?” The question left her lips before she could stop herself.

He scoffed, as if the answer were obvious. “I’m Roland Wyatt, darling.”

The arrogance in that simple statement made her stomach turn.

He straightened, folding his arms. “So, here’s your choice. Marry me and I’ll take care of everything I just mentioned. Or… get sued for assault, and I’ll make sure you end up right beside your brother.”

Blair’s brows knitted. “Jail? For a slap? That’s absurd.”

Roland leaned forward, his voice low, almost dangerous. “You underestimate my influence. A few well-placed calls, and your ‘simple slap’ becomes a far more serious matter. Assault charges, a trial, media attention… do you want your name dragged through the mud for months? Do you want your grandmother to read about it in the papers?”

Her hands clenched into fists. The tension in the room was suffocating. He knew exactly where to press, exactly how to corner her.

“You must be a joker,” she spat, suddenly standing. Her palms slammed against the desk with a loud c***k. “Even if you were the last man on Earth, I’d rather rot alone than marry you.”

She turned on her heel, heading for the door — but froze as his voice followed her.

“Even if your grandmother dies?”

Her head snapped toward him.

Roland’s tone was firm, his eyes unyielding. “I’m told if the transplant doesn’t happen this week, her chances of survival will drop significantly.” He let the silence stretch, letting the weight of his words sink in. “I’ve already found a donor,” he added, almost casually. “You won’t even have to consider giving her yours. Just say the word, and I’ll make it happen.”

Blair’s stomach twisted. He had done his homework — too much of it. He had taken her life apart piece by piece and was now presenting the solution, packaged neatly inside his impossible proposal.

She hated him for it. She hated the way his confidence seemed unshakable, the way he already looked certain of her answer.

---

The wedding hall shimmered with a false kind of magic — all white linen tablecloths, fresh flowers, and glittering chandeliers. Candlelight glowed across ivory silk drapes, and every surface seemed to whisper of romance and celebration. But for Blair, it was nothing more than a stage set for her surrender.

The scent of roses filled the air, mingling with expensive perfume and the faint tang of champagne. Guests milled about, dressed in their finest: women in glittering gowns, men in crisp suits. Conversations hushed as eyes followed her — the bride, stepping into a marriage she wanted no part of.

And there he was. Roland Wyatt. Dressed in a deep navy suit that clung perfectly to his tall frame, a burgundy tie at his throat, polished black shoes gleaming under the lights. Every detail about him was flawless — and utterly insufferable. His expression was calm, composed, almost smug.

Blair’s own gown was simple yet beautiful. The flowing skirt brushed the floor in soft whispers, the fitted bodice drawing delicate lines over her frame. But beauty meant nothing when her chest was tight with doubt.

The priest’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Do you, Roland Wyatt, take Blair Rodrigo as your lawfully wedded wife?”

“I do,” Roland replied instantly, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Blair’s gaze darted to the priest as he turned to her. “Do you, Blair Rodrigo, take Roland Wyatt as your lawfully wedded husband?”

Her mind wasn’t in the room. It was with her grandmother, pale and fragile in a hospital bed. With her brother, locked behind bars, staring at a future that might be destroyed forever. If she refused now, both futures would crumble.

“Do you, Blair Rodrigo, take Mr. Roland Wyatt as your lawfully wedded husband?” the priest repeated, his voice firmer this time. The guests were already murmuring.

In the front row, Roland’s mother shifted nervously, her eyes darting between Blair and her son. The thought of public embarrassment — of the scandal — was already painting her face with worry.

Blair’s hand lay limp in Roland’s grip until he gave it a small squeeze. She looked up, meeting his gaze. There was no warmth there — only a silent reminder of the bargain she’d made.

“Yes,” she finally said, the word tasting like ash on her tongue. “Yes, I do.”

The priest smiled, pronouncing them husband and wife, but the declaration rang hollow in her ears. Applause followed, polite and restrained, the clinking of champagne glasses blending into the swell of music.

Roland leaned in, pressing the briefest kiss to her cheek — a public display for the crowd, nothing more. “Welcome to the rest of your life, Mrs. Wyatt,” he murmured.

And in that moment, Blair knew — she had sold her soul to the devil.