THE CONTRACT WITH MY DEMON

A WIFE FOR DAVE

Dave POV

I entered my house, but the moment I stepped inside, I couldn’t help feeling scared.

It wasn’t the kind of fear that made me want to run or hide. It was something deeper, something I already knew the source of. And unfortunately, I knew exactly who was responsible for it.

My mother.

The beautiful—or perhaps terrifying—thing about knowing your mother for most of your life was that you could recognize her intentions before she even opened her mouth.

“Mama, you don’t have to come here often,” I said as I removed my coat and handed it to one of the maids.

She smiled at me.

That smile alone made me suspicious.

“Don’t have to come here often?” she repeated, looking at me as though I had just said something ridiculous. “If I don’t come here, who will play with the kids? You’re always away and busy. How can you leave them to themselves?”

I sighed quietly.

There it was.

The lecture had already begun.

She turned her attention to my son, who was sleeping peacefully on her lap. She gently stroked his hair, and her expression softened as she looked down at him.

“I can’t leave my job,” I said.

My voice was calm, but I knew she wasn’t going to accept that answer.

She looked up at me.

“I know.”

The way she said it made me immediately uncomfortable.

“You can have a secretary or whatever they call it to look after things,” she continued. “You not being here is putting the kids in danger. You don’t know when your enemy might attack.”

I stared at her.

For once, I didn’t have an immediate answer.

She was right.

I hated admitting it, but she was.

My life was complicated. My enemies were many, and I had made enough enemies to know that danger could appear when you least expected it. I had bodyguards stationed around the house, and security was never taken lightly.

The bodyguards in the house weren’t dead.

At least, not yet.

Still, my mother had a point. Being away from the house for long periods meant I couldn’t always keep an eye on everything myself.

But I also knew something else.

Arguing with my mother when she had already made up her mind was useless.

It would only pour petrol on the fire already burning inside her.

So instead of arguing, I looked at her and asked the question I knew I would eventually have to ask.

“So, what are you planning on doing?”

After all, she didn’t just come here to play with the children.

She only came when she had something important to say.

And judging by the expression on her face, this was definitely one of those times.

She smiled.

That smile made my suspicion grow.

She gently lifted my son’s head and placed it carefully on the sofa before standing up. Then she slowly walked toward me.

I watched her every step.

“What?” I asked.

She stopped in front of me and looked around the house.

“Don’t you think the house is cold?”

I frowned.

Cold?

I glanced around the room.

I tried to feel the temperature.

To me, everything seemed perfectly normal.

Nothing was cold.

If anything, I felt hot.

“I feel hot,” I answered honestly.

The moment the words left my mouth, I knew I had made a mistake.

Her face changed immediately.

The warmth in her expression disappeared, replaced by something that told me I had somehow failed an examination I didn’t know I was taking.

“Huh?” I asked, forcing a smile. “What did you mean?”

I was already trying to calm her down.

But she only stared at me.

“I mean there isn’t a woman in this house.”

I stared at her in confusion.

For a moment, I genuinely wondered if my Grammy had finally gone senile.

What did a woman have to do with the temperature of the house?

I turned toward the maid, who was still cleaning the house, hoping that perhaps someone else would understand what my mother was talking about.

Before I could say anything, I felt a sharp knock land on my head.

“Mama!” I exclaimed, immediately rubbing the spot she had hit. “What was that for?”

“For being stupid.”

I stared at her.

Confusion slowly took over my face.

I was answering all her questions.

What exactly had I done wrong?

She was the one speaking in riddles, yet somehow I was the stupid one.

I shook my head.

My mother had always had a way of making me feel like I was the unreasonable person even when she was the one being impossible.

“Can you please go straight to the point?” I asked.

At that moment, the maid handed me my coffee.

I took it gratefully and brought it to my lips.

I barely had time to take a sip before my mother finally decided to explain herself.

“Simple.”

She folded her arms.

“I want you to get married.”

I immediately coughed out the coffee I had just sipped.

I stared at her in complete shock.

For several seconds, I couldn’t even speak.

Get married?

Of all the things she could have said, that was the last thing I expected.

Another woman?

The thought alone irritated me.

Another woman who would eventually say she wanted to bathe in my blood.

But I couldn’t touch this one.

She was my Grammy.

She was my mother.

And no matter how annoying she could be, there were limits to what I could do.

“Mama,” I finally said, wiping my lips with my handkerchief. “What did you just say?”

She didn’t even hesitate.

“I want you to get married.”

I stared at her.

Then I smiled.

But there was nothing warm about that smile.

My expression slowly turned deadly.

“I’ll pretend like I didn’t hear what you just said.”

I turned away from her and began walking toward my room.

I wasn’t interested in discussing marriage.

Not today.

Not tomorrow.

Not ever.

Behind me, I heard her voice.

“I know what I’m saying.”

I stopped for a moment.

“If you did, you wouldn’t say that.”

I continued walking.

“Dave,” she called.

I stopped again, but I didn’t turn around immediately.

My jaw tightened.

I already knew where this conversation was heading, and I wanted it to end before she could say another word.

“This is the end of this discussion,” I said firmly. “And I hope you don’t bring it up again.”

I finally turned to face her.

My expression was serious.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

For a brief moment, neither of us said anything.

Then I turned away from her and walked into my room.

I needed to freshen up.

More importantly, I needed to get away from the conversation before my mother managed to drag me into something I had no intention of discussing.

Marriage.

The very thought of it was enough to make my blood boil.

And I had no idea that my mother had already made up her mind.