The Devil's Contract

The First Gala

*THE DEVIL’S CONTRACT - Chapter 2: "The First Gala"*

_Part 1_

The stylist arrived at 9:58am.

Two women, a rolling rack, and enough garment bags to clothe a small country.

"Miss Jensen? I’m Elise. Mr. Moretti sent us."

Of course he did.

My apartment suddenly felt smaller. They turned my living room into a runway. Dresses in red, black, nude. Shoes in boxes labeled with prices that made me dizzy. Jewelry in velvet trays.

"Mr. Moretti said black," Elise said, pulling out a gown. "And he said you’re a size 4."

They’d measured me without asking.

The dress was Valentino. Black silk. Backless. It clung everywhere and revealed everything. The kind of dress that made paparazzi forget how to breathe.

"Underwear?" Elise held up something that was basically string and hope.

"I have my own," I lied.

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue.

By 11:30 I looked like a different person. Hair in a low chignon. Smoky eyes. Lips red like I was about to bite someone. And the ring. Always the ring. It looked like it belonged now.

My phone buzzed.

*Luca:* _Car arrives at 5:45. Cole will brief you. Smile for the cameras. Don’t talk to press._

*Luca:* _And Mara. The dress looks better with nothing under it._

I dropped the phone.

My face was on fire.

He wasn’t here. He wasn’t watching. So how did he—

Right. The stylist probably sent photos.

_Good girl._ I could hear his voice saying it.

At 5:40pm Cole and Reyes were back. This time with a dress bag for me and a tux bag for... someone.

"He’ll meet you at the event," Cole said. "Security protocol."

Translation: he doesn’t want to be seen arriving with me yet. Save the big reveal.

The car ride to the Upper East Side took 30 minutes. The Moretti Foundation Gala. Annual. $50,000 a plate. For children’s hospitals. The irony wasn’t lost on me.

Moretti Tower was lit up like a diamond. Red carpet. Barriers. Cameras. A hundred flashes going off at once.

My hands started shaking.

"You’ll be fine," Reyes said. "Just walk. Don’t stop. We’re right behind you."

The car stopped. The door opened.

Noise hit me first. Shouts. Camera clicks. "Who is she?" "Is that Moretti’s new—"

And then I saw him.

Luca.

Standing at the top of the steps. Tuxedo. No tie. First two buttons open. Like he knew exactly what he was doing to every woman in a 5-mile radius.

His eyes found me immediately. In the dress. In the heels. In his ring.

Something in his face shifted. Just for a second. Surprise. Approval. Possession.

He held out his hand.

I took it.

The cameras exploded.

"Luca! Who is this?"

"Is she your date?"

"Moretti, are you finally settling down?"

He didn’t answer. He just laced his fingers through mine and pulled me up the steps beside him. His thumb brushed over my knuckles. Over the ring. For the cameras.

"You look..." he murmured, low enough only I could hear. "Dangerous."

"That was the point, right?" I whispered back. "Optics."

His mouth twitched. "Optics."

Inside was worse. Chandeliers. Crystal. People who had last names as brands.

And they were all staring at me.

"Who is she?"

"Never seen her before."

"That ring..."

Luca didn’t let go of my hand. Not once. He introduced me as "Mara Jensen. My fiancée." To board members. To senators. To actresses.

Fiancée.

The word felt like a brand.

Halfway through cocktails, it happened.

A woman in gold. Late 20s. Perfect hair. Perfect teeth. She walked straight to Luca and looped her arm through his.

"Luca, darling. You didn’t tell me you were bringing someone." Her eyes flicked to me. To the ring. "How... quaint."

Luca’s entire body went still.

"Isabella," he said. Cold. "This is Mara. My fiancée."

Isabella laughed. "Fiancée? Since when? We were at Aspen 3 months ago and you said—"

"That was 3 months ago," Luca cut in. His grip on my hand tightened. "Mara."

He said my name like a claim.

Isabella’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. She turned to me. "Well. Congratulations. I hope you know what you’re getting into."

She walked away.

The moment she was gone, Luca turned to me. His jaw was tight.

"You okay?"

"Why wouldn’t I be?"

"Because she’s my ex." He said it flat. "And because she just tried to mark territory."

I should’ve said I didn’t care.

I did.

"She doesn’t matter," he said, like he could read me. "Only this matters." He lifted our joined hands. The ring between us. "You and me. On paper."

Dinner was a blur. Speeches. A check for $10 million. Me sitting to his right, with his hand on my thigh under the table. Just for a second. Just to remind me.

After dessert, he leaned in.

"We’re leaving."

"But the event—"

"I own the event." His voice was final. "And I’m done sharing you with a room full of vultures."

We didn’t use the front. We went out a side door. Into a waiting car. No Cole. No Reyes. Just us and a driver.

The moment the doors closed, he turned to me.

"Take it off," he said.

My heart stopped. "The dress?"

"The smile." He reached out. Thumb under my chin. "You don’t have to do that for them."

I’d been smiling for 3 hours. My face hurt.

"Why did you bring me?" I asked. "Really."

"Because if I didn’t, Isabella would’ve had photos with me by midnight." His eyes were dark. "And because I wanted to see you in that dress."

"That’s not in the contract."

"No." He leaned closer. Cedar and champagne. "This isn’t either."

His mouth was inches from mine.

The car stopped. My building.

He pulled back like he’d been burned.

"Go inside," he said. Voice rough. "Sleep. We have a board brunch Sunday. You’ll need to be charming."

"And you?"

"I’ll be trying not to think about you in that dress."

I got out. Closed the door.

In my apartment, I peeled the dress off and stood in front of the mirror. The ring. The red lips. The marks where his hand had been on my thigh.

6 months.

And I was already failing Clause 12.3.

---

*THE DEVIL’S CONTRACT - Chapter 2: "The First Gala"*

_Part 2_

I woke up to my phone screaming.

12 missed calls. 47 texts. 3 voicemails.

All from numbers I didn’t know.

And the headlines.

*THE NEW YORK POST:* _WHO IS SHE? BILLIONAIRE LUCA MORETTI DEBUTS MYSTERY FIANCÉE_

*PAGE SIX:* _MORETTI’S 8-CARAT SURPRISE: MEET MARA JENSEN_

*GOSSIP GIRL 2.0:* _ISABELLA VANCE SEEN LEAVING GALA ALONE. NEW GIRL WINS?_

There was a photo. Me, in the black dress, hand in Luca’s. The ring was a spotlight. My face looked terrified and his looked like he owned me.

I threw the phone.

It buzzed again immediately.

*Mom:* _Baby?? Are you engaged?? Call me._

*Luca:* _Don’t answer anyone. PR will handle it. Stay inside today._

*Luca:* _And Mara. You broke the internet._

I stared at the ceiling. 6 hours of sleep. And now I was front page news.

By 10am Cole was at my door. "Orders," he said. "Mr. Moretti wants you at the penthouse. Now."

The penthouse.

I’d been avoiding Section 4.1 all week. _Miss Jensen will reside at Moretti Penthouse for duration of engagement._

I guess that started today.

The elevator to the Upper East Side penthouse opened directly into his apartment.

Floor to ceiling windows. White marble. Nothing personal. Just art and money and a view of Central Park.

And Luca. In sweatpants and a black tee. Hair still wet from a shower. No tie. No armor.

He looked younger. Tired.

"You saw the headlines," he said. Not a question.

"I did."

"Good." He walked to the bar. Poured water. "You handled yourself last night."

"I smiled."

"You did more than that." His eyes dragged over me. Jeans and the same hoodie from 3am. "You looked like you belonged."

I didn’t know what to say to that.

His phone rang. He ignored it.

"Board brunch is in 2 hours," he said. "They’ll have questions. About you. About the timeline. About why I didn’t tell them."

"And what do I say?"

"The truth." He paused. "The contract version of it."

The brunch was at the Moretti Club. 20 people. All over 50. All wearing money like cologne.

Luca didn’t let go of me once. Hand on the small of my back. Hand on my chair. Hand covering mine when I reached for water.

"Mara Jensen," he introduced me 12 times. "My fiancée."

Each time, his thumb brushed the ring.

An older man, Mr. Davies, leaned in. "Luca, son. We’re happy for you. But 6 months? That’s quick."

Luca’s smile was sharp. "When you know, you know."

Lie. Smooth. Practiced.

I played my part. Asked about their grandchildren. Laughed at the right jokes. Didn’t mention Mom. Didn’t mention the foreclosure.

Under the table, Luca’s knee pressed against mine.

After, in the car, he was quiet.

"You did good," he said finally.

"Thanks."

"Isabella texted me 8 times last night."

My stomach dropped. "What did she want?"

"To know if it was real." He turned to me. "I didn’t answer."

The car pulled up to my building.

"Pack a bag," he said. "You’re staying at the penthouse starting tonight. For optics."

"That’s not until next week. Per the contract."

"I’m changing the contract."

There it was. The devil, renegotiating.

"Or," he said softer. "You can say no."

I looked at the ring. At him. At the cameras across the street already.

"Fine," I whispered. "Tonight."

"Good girl."

That night, I moved 3 outfits and a toothbrush into a guest room the size of my entire apartment.

At 1:14am my phone buzzed.

*Luca:* _Can’t sleep. Come to my office._

I went.

He was at his desk. Suit jacket off. Glasses on. Reading something.

"You look like you," he said without looking up.

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

"Like you’re not pretending." He took the glasses off. "I like you better like this."

The room was quiet. Just the city outside.

"Why did you really pick me, Luca?" I asked again. "The real reason."

He stood. Came around the desk. Stopped in front of me.

"Because when I offered you 5 million dollars to lie for me, you asked about your mom first." His voice was low. "Because you’re the only person in 10 years who didn’t want something from me."

"And now?"

"Now I’m trying really hard not to want something from you."

His hand came up. Brushed my hair back. His thumb grazed my cheek.

This was not in the contract.

This was Clause 12.3, burning.

He dropped his hand. Stepped back.

"Go to bed, Mara. We have photoshoots tomorrow."

I nodded. Left.

In the guest room, I stared at the ring in the dark.

6 months.

A gala.

A brunch.

And a man who looked at me like I was the only real thing in his world of fake.

The beginning of the end of me.

---

Coming next

*Chapter 3:MINE. ON PAPER*