Signed a contract with a devil
1173 Words
Soraya…
My heart dropped straight to my stomach when I heard my name.
Had I imagined it?
Did she really just call my name? Or is there any other Soraya in the room.
When I looked around, everyone was already whispering, eyes darting around the hall, searching for the mysterious Soraya. My chest tightened. Attention, this much attention—was the one thing I had hated since childhood.
A girl walked up to the stage and asked for the card.
Who was she?
Was she expecting her name to be called instead of mine?
The whispers grew louder. My skin burned. I wanted to disappear, to quietly slip out of the room without anyone noticing.
But the girl on the stage noticed me.
Anyone who had been paying attention would have.
She stepped down and walked straight toward me. “Soraya,” she called.
Before my mind could catch up, I answered.
God… why did I answer?
“Let’s talk outside,” she said, grabbing my hand and trying to pull me along—
but the doors suddenly opened, stealing everyone’s attention.
A man walked in.
He was dressed in a black tuxedo that fit him perfectly, as if it had been tailored exclusively for him. His cologne filled the air with a rich, intoxicating scent. Everything about him screamed luxury—designer clothing, polished shoes, expensive accessories.
He walked like he owned the place.
Each step carried authority, power, dominance. He was well-built—not overly bulky, but solid and controlled. His hair was slicked back, revealing a face so striking it made my breath hitch.
Beautifully carved.
A perfect balance between angel and devil—soft features paired with sharp, dangerous edges.
Devilishly handsome.
Now I understood the phrase.
The entire room reacted to him. Conversations died down. Eyes followed him. Who was this man?
My breath caught when he walked toward me.
His gaze locked onto mine, intense and unreadable. The girl holding my hand immediately let go as he stopped in front of me.
He leaned closer, his lips brushing my ear.
“Let’s talk,” he whispered.
His warm breath fanned against my skin, sending an unfamiliar shiver through my body. My stomach churned.
Before I could respond, he took my hand and pulled me along. I followed—like a puppet.
I didn’t ask my father for an explanation.
I didn’t protest.
The next thing I knew, I was inside an elevator with a man I didn’t know.
The elevator rose to the top floor.
When the doors opened, I was met with a breathtaking penthouse—glass walls, marble floors, soft golden lighting that screamed exquisite and control.
He pulled me out before finally releasing my hand.
He walked to a counter, filled a glass with water, then gestured toward the couch. “Sit.”
I came to my senses, a frown creased my forehead.
Instead of obeying, I walked up to him and slapped the glass out of his hand. It shattered against the marble floor.
I stared at him, waiting for anger.
But he didn’t react.
He simply slipped his gloved hands into his pockets and looked at me calmly.
“Who are you?” I demanded. “And what the hell does me being your fiancée mean?”
“It means exactly what you heard,” he replied coolly. “You’re my fiancée. And we’ll be getting married soon.”
The authority in his tone made my skin crawl.
I scoffed. “That’s not happening. I am *not* your fiancée, and we’re not getting married.”
I tried to sound firm.
I failed.
He stepped closer. I stepped back.
“I didn’t expect your memory to be this bad,” he said calmly, “but it’s understandable for someone who woke up from a coma not long ago.”
My brows furrowed. “What? How do you know that?” My voice trembled. “Who are you, and what do you want from me?”
“I’ve already told you,” he said. “Be my wife.”
I almost laughed. “No. Go and tell everyone it was a mistake.”
I turned to leave but suddenly, he grabbed my hand and pushed me against the wall, his arm braced behind my head so I wouldn’t hit it.
I gasped.
The closeness overwhelmed me. He pinned both my hands above my head.
“Let go of me,” I whispered, struggling uselessly against his strength.
He leaned in, his breath brushing my face.
“Soraya,” he murmured.
My heart skipped.
“You don’t have a choice,” he continued softly. “Don’t blame me. Blame your father.”
My chest tightened painfully. “What did you do to my father?” I asked, fear creeping into my voice.
“Nothing,” he said calmly. “He came to me five years ago. His company was collapsing. He owed loan sharks. And then there was you—your accident, the hospital bills.”
My breath hitched.
“Your stepmother would have pulled your oxygen and let you die,” he continued. “But I paid his debts, restored his company, and saved his precious daughter.”
Tears blurred my vision.
“Do you really want to give all that up?”
A tear slipped down my cheek. I hated that he saw it.
He wiped it away with his gloved thumb.
“I only need one thing from you,” he said. “Be my wife. Refuse, and your family suffers.”
He stepped away and walked toward the door.
My legs gave out.
I fell to my knees, the weight crushing me. “You’re heartless, how can you just say it like it mean nothing, even though me, this is considered blackmail.” I snapped through tears.
Her turne around. "Is it? You can easily walk out of the deal but don't come for me if your father looses everthing. At least honor your fathers pride."
He started walking away, his long legs making its way to the entrance, my heart was beating fast, I didn't know when I blurted out..
“Fine. I’ll be your wife!” I didn't know, the thought of my father loosing his work because of me made me sick in the stomach.
“Let’s go,” he replied simply.
I stood, wiped my tears, and followed him into the elevator.
“You still haven’t told me who you are, I need to know to act properly,” I said quietly.
He leaned closer, wiping another tear from my eye. That’s when I noticed it—a mark on his neck.
Familiar.
My eyes widened.
Everything clicked—his face, his eyes, his scent.
“You’re the man I met at the club that night,” I whispered.
The elevator doors opened.
He stepped out and extended his hand toward me. Our eyes locked—his grey ones lazy, dark, dangerous.
And in that moment, I knew.
I had just signed a contract with the devil.
- Writer
