Wrong Agreement With The Devil

A Fantastic Offer

Ashilla could hardly believe the offer laid out in front of her.

“… you know who I am, don’t you?” she asked, sounding more confused than suspicious.

“Yes,” the man replied calmly. “You’re the neurosurgeon who healed dozens of patients with your specialized therapy and published multiple medical journals.”

That was true. But that wasn’t the full story. All her brilliance had been overshadowed by her scandal.

“And my scandal?” She added, her voice dropping carefully.

He nodded again, unfazed. “We’re aware of that too.”

Ashilla stared at him in a frown, totally baffled.

“And you’re still asking me to …”

“To help our boss,” the man finished for her when she stumbled in her own disbelief.

There were only two types of people reckless enough to ask for her help after all that had happened. The first: those who didn’t know her past. And second, those who had been rejected everywhere else.

Ashilla’s eyes narrowed. Her instincts sharpened with growing suspicion.

“What’s his name?” she asked carefully.

“I’m afraid we can’t tell you that, Doctor. But you can meet him in person.”

That made the deal sound even more absurd.

She had spent enough time in prison to recognize the tones and tactics of a con. Some of her fellow inmates were seasoned scammers. They could spin tales that would fool anyone.

But if this was a scam, they picked the wrong person. She didn’t even have enough money left to make her a target.

“How do I know you're not trying to scam me?” Ashilla shot back.

“We came to see you in prison once, but you refused to meet us. Remember?”

Ah.

Her stance faltered.

Yes, someone had come to visit her once. But when the guard said it wasn’t her family, she declined.

“So that was you,” she muttered.

“Yes. We waited until you were free so we could bring this offer to you directly. If you agree to help us, we can pay more. Whatever it takes to save our boss,” the man said. His voice was still stiff and professional, but Ashilla caught a slight of desperation beneath it.

“If you’re still unsure, here’s my card,” he added, handing it over, "You can come to the address tomorrow. Or we can send someone to pick you up—”

“No,” Ashilla cut in quickly. “I’ll come myself.”

The man nodded respectfully.

“Thank you. My phone number is on there. Call me anytime if you have questions.”

With that, they dipped their heads in farewell, then turned and walked off toward their cars. Ashilla stood there, dazed.

Why the hell did they need that many people just for an offer deal?

She shook her head, brushed off the unease, and continued on, heading toward the new address where her parents now lived.

The address led her to a cramped neighborhood, the kind of place that burned in the summer and froze in the winter. The streets were narrow, suffocating in their closeness. Ashilla stopped in front of Unit Fifteen, and her heart clenched painfully the moment she saw the aging woman with graying hair standing outside.

“Mom ….” She called out softly.

The woman straightened her back, then turned.

“Ashilla?” Her eyes widened in disbelief, glistening instantly with tears. “Oh my God. Ashilla!” She cried out.

They fell into each other’s arms, holding tight, letting months of bottled-up longing pour out in that embrace. Both their eyes shimmered with emotion.

“I miss you so much. Where’s Dad?” Ashilla asked, her voice laced with quiet yearning.

Her mother’s smile faltered.

“He … he’s working. He only comes home when he can. I’m sorry we didn’t visit you more in the prison. Things have been … hard,” she said, gently stroking her daughter’s arm with a familiar warmth.

“It’s okay, Mom,” Ashilla whispered. She completely understands.

Just then, the sharp roar of a car engine broke the moment. A vehicle pulled up nearby, its presence heavy and uninvited. Her mother’s face turned pale with dread.

“We need to get inside. Now,” she said urgently.

Without waiting for a reply, she grabbed Ashilla’s hand and rushed her inside. The door was nearly shut when a hand slammed against it, forcing it open with brute strength.

“Don’t you dare try hiding from us,” a man’s voice growled.

Betty, Ashilla’s mother, signaled for her to hide. Still confused, Ashilla obeyed. She stepped back, slipping out of sight. From behind a narrow hallway, she watched the front door fill with the presence of several large harsh men.

“My husband isn’t home yet. Please … just give us a little more time,” her mother pleaded.

“No more time!” the leader barked. “You’re overdue. We need the money now!” he shouted, slamming his fist against the wall beside him.

Betty flinched hard. Her whole body shook in dread.

“I’ll pay for it,” Ashilla’s voice rang out as she stepped out from hiding.

Her mother gasped, shaking her head in fear, silently begging her not to get involved.

The men’s eyes shifted immediately, locking onto Ashilla.

“Well, well. So this is the daughter fresh out of prison. You got money, Young Lady?” One of them sneered.

Betty’s grip on her daughter tightened. Her fingers were trembling against Ashilla’s arm, silently pleading with her to step back. But Ashilla stood firm, eyes locked on the man in front.

“How much do you want?” she asked bravely.

“Ten thousand dollars,” he snapped.

Ashilla didn’t even tremble. Her gaze held steady.

“Fine. I’ll have it by tomorrow,” she announced.

The room fell silent. Even Betty looked at her with stunned disbelief.

“You had better,” the man warned. “If not, we’re taking you instead.” He warned.

“No!” her mother cried out in fear.

But they didn’t care. The leader jerked his chin toward the door. “Let’s go.”

The men stormed out the way they came. Loud, aggressive, unapologetic. Once they were gone and the house quiet again, it felt like they could finally breathe.

“I’m sorry, Ashilla,” her mother said, her voice breaking the silence in an aching way. “After your father’s business collapsed, the loan sharks started circling. But where will you get that much money?”

Ashilla looked at her. Her steady and full of quiet fire covering her sadness.

“I’ll figure it out, Mom,” she said softly, "But first, let’s eat. Do we have any food?”

Her mother nodded. “We have instant noodles. That’s usually what we eat these days.”

Ashilla’s heart shattered as she opened the cupboard and saw stacks of cheap ramen.

Is this what they’d been living on all this time?

All because of her.

It was all her fault. If she hadn’t screwed up, if she hadn’t gone to prison, maybe her parents wouldn’t be suffering like this. Maybe her father wouldn’t be working himself to the bone at his age.

As her mother boiled the water and prepared the meal in their tiny kitchen, Ashilla watched the weary curve of her back.

“Just hang on a little longer, Mom. I swear, I’ll fix everything and make it better.” She whispered to herself.

***

***

In the end, Ashilla did accept the deal.

Even if it meant walking straight into the hands of a mysterious boss, perhaps a mafia boss, she didn’t care. She needed the money. A really abundance of money.

Now, she stood frozen at the gates of a grand estate. The address on the card had led her here. Her heart thudded louder with every step, especially now that she realized this man might actually really be a mafia boss. She should’ve known the moment they offered her such an outrageous fee.

She might not make it out alive …, but she had to try. The picture of her mother trembling in fear in front of the debt collectors haunted her far more than any mafia threat ever could.

A uniformed security guard greeted her and led her inside.

“She’s here,” he announced to a man sitting in the lavish living room.

He was young, strikingly handsome, tall, with sharp features and jet-black hair. He wore a crisp white shirt that gave off a casual yet undeniably luxurious vibe, perfectly matching the elegant surroundings of the house.

The man almost jumped to his feet as soon as he saw her.

“Oh, thank God! I was worried you wouldn’t come,” he said, sounding genuinely relieved. “Thank you, Dr. Ashilla.”

“Ashilla is fine,” she replied quickly, feeling oddly shy hearing her title spoken again.

“I’m Nick. Nicholas Ashford. Second son of this house,” he said, reaching out with the kind of polished ease that came from years of meeting important people.

“So, the person I’m supposed to treat is …?”

“My brother,” Nick answered right away. “He’s in his room now. And this is Gabe, our head butler.” He gestured toward an older man who approached them with a courteous nod. “You can ask him for anything you need. And if you're ready, we can go straight to my brother.”

Ashilla nodded. The sooner she met the patient, the sooner she quelled her nervousness.

“Where is he?” she asked.

“Right this way, Doctor,” Nicholas said, leading her through a hallway adorned with expensive paintings that Ashilla guessed were worth their rent. “From now on, that room will be your workspace.”

“You mentioned … he needs my help?” Ashilla asked as she took in the house’s opulence, already adjusting to the air of silent wealth that surrounded her.

“Yes,” Nick said, his tone darkening. “He’s paralyzed. He fell from the 50th floor in an accident three months ago. Doctors said he’ll never walk again. Since then, his mental state has been … unstable.”

Ashilla understood. Pain always has that impact. People suffering always reacted differently, more sensitively than the healthy ever could.

“We’ve brought in so many doctors already. None of them succeeded. They couldn’t even get him to talk. And now he hasn’t eaten in days.”

Right then, a maid walked past them, holding a tray of untouched food. Her disappointed expression said it all. She shook her head slightly at Nicholas as they crossed paths, and Ashilla caught the message loud and clear.

Nick sighed heavily, glancing at Ashilla with an edge of desperation in his voice. “If he doesn’t eat, he can’t take his meds.”

They stopped at the far end of the hallway, right in front of the most beautiful section of the house. A door stood before them, looking ornate, quiet, and somehow foreboding.

“Here it is,” Nick said, his voice lower than before. His soft, handsome face suddenly tightened. As if he was having second thoughts—he wasn’t sure he should be letting a woman like Ashilla walk into that room.

Ashilla paused at the doorway. Even from the hallway, she could sense something was off. The air felt heavier here. The light dimmed. Probably this is just the way he wanted it, she guessed.

“Does he know I’m coming?” Ashilla asked.

Nicholas hesitates. But the look on his face tells everything.

“So, he really is terrifying.” She muttered under her breath.

“Getting worse every day,” Nick answered. He raised a hand and knocked gently.

“Morgan,” he called out. “I’m coming in.”

“Leave me alone!” He snapped out the second the door creaked open.

Nick stopped. His body stiffened with hesitation.

“It’s okay. I’ve got this.” Ashilla offered gently.

Nick gave her a grateful look. “Thanks. Let me know if anything bad happens.”

He turned and walked away. Ashilla took a deep breath and slowly pushed the door open.

The moment it cracked, her nose caught the sharp, overwhelming scent of medicine, tugging her memory back to the hospital halls.

As the gap widened, she saw him—a silhouette sprawled across a giant king-sized bed. In the dimming light, he looks like a dangerous man.

“I said get out! Are you deaf?” He snapped. “I don’t want to meet anyone. I don’t want any food. No fruit, no sandwiches, nor the damn salad. Get all that trash out of here—!” He snapped, and suddenly his eyes narrowed as he spotted Ashilla. “Who the hell are you?”