Contract with the devil CEO

chapter 3

First Morning

Sunlight sliced through the floor-to-ceiling windows like a blade, sharp and unrelenting. Sophia woke with a gasp, silk sheets tangled around her legs, heart already racing before her mind fully surfaced. The king-sized bed felt foreign too soft, too vast, too far removed from the lumpy mattress she had shared with years of worry in their Queens apartment. For a disorienting second, she expected to hear her mother’s quiet footsteps or Elena’s muffled sketching pencil.

Instead, only silence greeted her. Luxurious, oppressive silence.

She sat up slowly, bare feet meeting the chilled marble floor. The sensation grounded her, cold and real. She crossed to the attached studio, trailing her fingers over the smooth drafting table. Fresh, expensive paper. Precision pencils lined up like soldiers. Large windows offered a breathtaking view of the Hudson Valley’s rolling green hills, mist still clinging to the treetops in the early morning light. It was everything she had once dreamed of for her architecture work space, tools, quiet focus.

And it all belonged to him.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. Sophia snatched it up.

Mom:Elena smiled this morning for the first time in weeks. The doctors say the new specialist is optimistic. Thank you, sweetheart. Please tell me you’re safe.*

Sophia’s thumb hovered over the keyboard. She typed *I’m fine*, then deleted it. The truth that she had sold herself into a gilded cage with a devil would only break her mother’s heart. She settled for: New job keeping me busy. Focus on Elena. I love you both.

A soft knock sounded at the door. “Miss Laurent? Breakfast is ready in the main dining room. Mr. Blackwood expects you in twenty minutes.”

Sophia dressed quickly in a simple navy blouse and tailored black trousers from the closet. The fabric felt expensive against her skin, like wearing someone else’s armor. She checked her reflection, tired eyes, still-damp curls from last night’s rain, a face that looked too young for this world of contracts and power.

She followed the uniformed woman through wide corridors lined with modern art that probably cost more than her family’s lifetime earnings. Security cameras blinked silently from discreet corners. The estate breathed wealth and isolation. No laughter. No clutter. Just perfect, controlled emptiness that pressed in on her chest.

The dining room overlooked a manicured garden still sparkling with morning dew. A long mahogany table stretched between them, set with silver cutlery and crystal glasses. Damien already occupied the head seat, reading something on a tablet, black shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms. He didn’t look up as she entered.

“Sit.”

The single word carried the same commanding weight as yesterday. Sophia’s spine stiffened, but she took the chair to his right, leaving two seats between them like a buffer. A plate of fresh fruit, perfectly poached eggs, and avocado toast appeared before her almost instantly.

She picked up her fork, appetite nonexistent. “Good morning to you too.”

Damien finally glanced at her. Those cold gray eyes swept over her new clothes, her still-damp curls, the faint shadows under her eyes. “You slept poorly.”

It wasn’t a question. Sophia shrugged and forced a bite of toast. The butter melted rich on her tongue, but anxiety turned it to ash. “New bed. New prison.”

A faint twitch at the corner of his mouth, almost a smile, gone in an instant. He set the tablet aside. “This isn’t a prison, Sophia. It’s an arrangement. One you signed with full awareness of the terms.”

The reminder landed heavily. She met his gaze head-on. “I signed it for my family. Not for mandatory breakfasts and cryptic morning commands.”

“Breakfast is at seven sharp every weekday,” he said, voice low and even. “You will join me unless I’m traveling. Today we review your duties in detail. Tonight, there’s a charity gala at the Met. Our first public appearance as a couple.”

Sophia’s stomach dropped like a stone. One day. She had barely survived one night, and now she had to stand beside him in front of New York’s elite, smiling like a woman in love.

Damien leaned back, studying her the way an architect might study flawed blueprints. “You’ll need an appropriate dress. My stylist is already en route. Smile practice might also help. You currently look like you’re attending your own execution.”

“I feel like I am,” she muttered, pushing eggs around her plate.

He rose suddenly, towering over the table. “Follow me.”

She trailed him through the estate’s winding halls, past a library that smelled of aged leather and hidden secrets, down a staircase leading to a sleek home office overlooking the misty valley. His domain. Dark wood panels, multiple glowing monitors, a single large desk devoid of personal items. No photos. No warmth. Just power.

“Sit.” He gestured to the chair opposite his.

Sophia folded her arms. “I’m not a dog, Damien.”

His eyes narrowed the first real crack in his iron control. “Careful. Clause 19 doesn’t shield sarcasm.”

She sat, pulse kicking hard against her ribs. He remained standing, circling behind her chair slowly. The air shifted with his movement, carrying that faint scent of expensive cologne and winter smoke. Sophia’s skin prickled with awareness.

“Your role is simple on paper,” he said, voice smooth but edged. “Assistant during work hours. Devoted partner in public. Nothing more.” He stopped directly behind her, close enough that she felt the heat radiating from his body. “But I expect perfection. You will anticipate my needs before I voice them. Memorize the names, weaknesses, and alliances of every rival I mention. And never ever forget the red clause.”

Sophia turned her head just enough to catch his profile. “You keep repeating that like you’re afraid I’ll forget. Or perhaps you’re afraid I won’t.”

Silence stretched, thick and electric. She could hear her own heartbeat echoing in her ears. Damien’s hand came down on the back of her chair, his knuckles brushing her shoulder blade for the briefest second. The contact burned through the thin fabric of her blouse like a brand.

“I’m not afraid of anything, Sophia,” he murmured, voice dropping. “Least of all you.”

But the roughness in his tone suggested otherwise.

He moved away abruptly, sliding a thick binder across the desk. “Review this. My schedule for the next month. Key business rivals. Detailed notes on how I expect you to behave at tonight’s gala. Every gesture. Every glance. Every touch must be convincing.”

Sophia opened the binder. Pages of meticulous details stared back at her seating charts, scripted conversation topics, even suggested facial expressions and body language cues. Her fingers tightened on the edge until her knuckles whitened. This man planned everything. Controlled everything.

Including her.

She flipped to the final section. A single page titled “Personal Boundaries.” The red clause stared up at her again in bold print. Below it, a new handwritten note in sharp, angular handwriting: *Do not test me.*

Heat crept up her neck. She snapped the binder shut. “Anything else boss?”

Damien leaned against the edge of his desk, arms crossed, watching her with unnerving intensity. “The stylist arrives in one hour. Be ready. And Sophia”

She looked up.

For a fleeting moment, something darker than calculation flickered behind those gray eyes. Not warmth. No regret. Just a shadow deep, old, and carefully buried. Then it vanished.

“Smile for the cameras tonight like your sister’s life still depends on it,” he said quietly. “Because in many ways, it does.”

The subtle threat hung between them, soft and lethal.

Sophia stood, chair scraping loudly in the quiet room. “I know exactly what I signed for. Don’t worry. I won’t fall for you, Damien. I don’t even like you.”

She turned and walked out before he could respond, heart hammering so violently she felt lightheaded. But as she made her way back through the silent corridors, the memory of his knuckles grazing her shoulder lingered like a brand. The scent of him clung to her clothes. And deep in her chest, that small, treacherous spark of curiosity flared brighter, dangerous, forbidden, and impossible to ignore.

Tonight, the world would see them as lovers.

She only hoped she could convince herself it was still pretend.