The Devil's Contract

Mine. On Paper

*THE DEVIL’S CONTRACT - Chapter 3: "Mine. On Paper."*

The photoshoot was Luca’s idea.

"Damage control," his PR team called it.

"Soft launch of the fiancée," Luca called it.

Translation: pictures of us looking disgustingly in love for every magazine in America.

We were at a rooftop studio in SoHo. White backdrop. Flowers. A couch that cost more than my car.

And a photographer who kept saying "More chemistry! Touch her like you mean it!"

I was in cream silk. He was in black. Of course.

The ring was front and center in every shot.

"Hand on her waist," the photographer said. "Yes. Now look at her like... like you can’t believe she’s yours."

Luca’s hand settled on my waist. Warm. Heavy.

His eyes met mine.

For a second, it didn’t feel fake.

For a second, I forgot about the contract.

"Cut," the photographer said. "Perfect."

Luca didn’t move his hand.

"Mr. Moretti," the assistant said. "We got it."

Still didn’t move.

His thumb brushed over my hip bone. Once.

"Luca," I whispered.

He blinked. Like he’d forgotten where we were. "Right."

He dropped his hand. "We’re done?"

"One more," the photographer said. "The kiss. Just a peck. For the announcement."

The room went quiet.

The contract didn’t say anything about kissing.

Clause 12.3 didn’t cover mouths.

Luca looked at me. "Do you want to?"

It was the first time he’d asked me anything.

I nodded. Stupid.

He stepped in. One hand came up to my jaw. His mouth brushed mine. Soft. Quick. Just for the cameras.

But his other hand? It fisted in my dress at the back. Like he was scared I’d pull away.

The flash went off.

When he pulled back, his eyes were darker.

"Good," he said. To the room. To me. "We’re done."

---

That night, my phone rang. Not text. Call.

"Mara?" Mom’s voice. Weak. "There’s a man here. He says he’s from... Moretti Holdings?"

My blood went cold. "What?"

"He says he wants to meet you. And me. About the bills."

20 minutes later I was in a cab to St. Francis. Luca was already there. In the hallway outside Room 214. No suit. Jeans and a sweater. Holding flowers.

White lilies. Mom’s favorite.

"You didn’t have to come," I said.

"Section 4.1," he said. "I’m your fiancé. This is what fiancés do."

Inside, Mom was sitting up. She looked smaller than last week.

And then she saw him. Saw the way he looked at me. Saw the ring.

"Oh," she said. "Oh, Mara."

Luca stepped forward. Took her hand. "Mrs. Jensen. I’m Luca Moretti. I’m in love with your daughter."

The lie came out so easy. So sure.

Mom started crying.

And I stood there, in the hospital room, with a devil who was really good at pretending.

On the way out, he stopped me in the hall.

"Mara," he said. Low. "About today. The photoshoot. The kiss."

"What about it?"

"It wasn’t just for the cameras."

My heart stopped.

He looked at my mouth. Then my eyes. "But it has to be. Remember?"

Clause 12.3.

I nodded. Couldn’t speak.

He reached out. Adjusted a piece of hair behind my ear. His fingers lingered.

"You’re mine," he said. So quiet only I could hear. "On paper."

Then he walked away.

Leaving me in a hospital hallway with 6 months left on the contract.

And no idea how I was supposed to survive it.

---

*THE DEVIL’S CONTRACT - Chapter 3: "Mine. On Paper."*

_Part 2_

The magazine dropped on Thursday.

*VOGUE:* _LUCA MORETTI & MARA JENSEN: A MODERN LOVE STORY_

Cover: Me in cream silk. Him in black. His hand on my waist, his mouth on mine. The ring catching light.

Caption: _Billionaire Luca Moretti, 34, confirms engagement to Mara Jensen, 26. "She's the only real thing in my world."_

The quote was a lie.

He never said it.

PR wrote it.

My phone blew up again.

Mom sent 20 crying emojis.

My old college roommate: _b***h YOU’RE ENGAGED TO LUCA MORETTI??_

Isabella posted a story. A photo of Aspen. Her and Luca. Caption: _Some things don’t last ❤️_

Luca texted me 2 minutes after it hit stands.

*Luca:* _Don’t read the comments._

*Luca:* _Come to the penthouse. Tonight. We need to talk._

"Talk" with Luca always meant trouble.

The penthouse was dark when I got there. Just city lights and him, standing at the windows with a glass of whiskey.

"You saw it," he said.

"I did."

"The kiss." He turned. "Was it okay?"

"For the cameras?"

"For you."

I didn’t answer.

He set the glass down. Walked to me. Stopped an inch away. "The internet thinks you’re mine."

"Am I not?" I whispered. "On paper."

His jaw ticked. "Paper doesn’t mean anything."

"Liar." The word slipped out. "It means everything to you. Control. Contracts. Clauses."

"Clause 12.3," he said. "Don’t fall for me."

"Too late."

The room went still.

Luca stared at me like I’d slapped him. "What did you say?"

"I said too late." My voice shook. "I’m already failing, Luca. The gala. The hospital. The kiss. I’m failing."

He cursed under his breath. Ran a hand through his hair. "Mara—"

"Don’t." I stepped back. "Don’t tell me it’s nothing. Don’t tell me it’s optics. Because the way you looked at me in that hospital? That wasn’t in the contract."

He was quiet for a long time.

Then: "Come here."

I didn’t move.

"Mara." His voice dropped. Rough. "Come here."

I did.

His hands came up. Framed my face. His thumbs brushed my cheekbones.

"You’re right," he said. "It wasn’t in the contract."

A beat. "None of this was."

His mouth came down on mine.

Not soft. Not for cameras.

Hard. Desperate. Like he’d been holding back for weeks.

I kissed him back. Stupid. Reckless. Clause 12.3 be damned.

His hands slid to my waist. Pulled me against him. The ring between us, cold and hot at the same time.

When we broke apart, both of us were breathing hard.

"That can’t happen again," he said immediately. Voice wrecked.

"I know."

"It ruins everything. The deal. The timeline. 6 months."

"I know."

He rested his forehead against mine. "You’re mine," he whispered. "On paper. And right now, God help me, I wish it was for real."

My eyes burned.

His phone buzzed. He ignored it.

Buzzed again.

He pulled away. Checked it. His face went hard.

"What?" I asked.

"Isabella." He showed me the screen. A photo. Her, in a bar, with a man. Caption: _With my real fiancé ❤️_

Below it, a DM to him: _You picked the wrong girl, Luca. She’ll hurt you._

He deleted it.

"She doesn’t get to you," I said.

"She doesn’t." He looked at me. "You do."

We didn’t kiss again that night.

He walked me to the guest room. Stopped at the door.

"Sleep," he said. "We’ll figure this out tomorrow."

"How?"

"I don’t know." A small, tired smile. "But not on paper anymore."

I closed the door. Stared at the ceiling.

6 months.

A contract.

A kiss that wasn’t supposed to happen.

And a devil who just admitted he wanted it to be real.

The beginning of the end of us.

---

Coming next

*Chapter 4: MINE. ON PAPER*