Chapter Two: A Deal with the Devil

Elara stood in the lobby of Ashford Tower, a monolithic glass-and-steel structure that sliced through the New York skyline like a blade. Everything about it screamed wealth, power, and a level of sophistication she’d only ever seen in movies. The marble floors gleamed beneath her modest boots, and even the receptionist looked like she belonged on a runway.

She was painfully aware of her thrift-store coat, her frizzy ponytail, and the way her heart thumped with every step toward the elevator. It wasn’t just nerves—it was the realization that she had, in fact, just agreed to a fake relationship with a man who practically oozed control and danger.

It was like walking into a trap with her eyes wide open—and still moving forward anyway.

The elevator doors opened with a soft ding. A security guard nodded respectfully and escorted her to the top floor. The silence in the private elevator was deafening, her mind spinning with doubts.

What if I screw this up? What if he changes his mind? What if he’s a serial killer and I’m about to be sold on the dark web?

Then the doors slid open again—and there he was.

Damon Ashford stood behind a sleek, obsidian desk that was too minimalistic to be anything but ridiculously expensive. He was on the phone, his voice low and clipped as he stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows. The Manhattan skyline stretched behind him like a painting.

When his eyes met hers, he ended the call instantly.

“Elara.” His voice was smooth, untouched by surprise. As if he expected her to say yes.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she muttered, stepping inside.

He motioned toward the leather seating area near the window. “Have a seat.”

She didn’t. Instead, she crossed her arms. “Before we sign anything, I need answers.”

“Of course.” He walked toward the bar cart and poured a glass of water—not for himself, but for her. “Thirsty?”

“Only for clarity.”

He gave her the faintest smirk as he handed her the glass. “Then let’s make this clear.”

She took the water, but didn’t drink. “First off—why me, really? You said I was a blank slate. But I don’t buy that you picked me from some noble sense of strategy.”

Damon sat across from her, elbows resting casually on his knees. “You’re not wrong. I also chose you because you’re broke.”

Her pride flinched. “Excuse me?”

“You need the money. Which means you’re less likely to walk away halfway through. You’re invested.”

“And what if I decide halfway in that it’s not worth it?”

“I’m not paying you in one lump sum. You’ll receive monthly installments. And if you break the contract, everything stops.”

She hated how logical it was.

“And what do I have to do?” she asked. “Exactly?”

He leaned back, folding his hands. “You’ll move into a condo I own. Attend events with me. Dinners, charity galas, public appearances. You’ll wear the clothes I provide, say the things we rehearse, and smile for the cameras. We’ll spend time together in private, too—not romantically, but enough that we can fake familiarity in public.”

“And your family?”

“They’ll believe it. My father especially. That’s the key.”

Elara stared at him. “So I’m not just faking a relationship. I’m also helping you manipulate your family and your board of directors.”

“You’re helping me protect my future—and if we’re successful, you’ll walk away with a new one of your own.”

She hesitated, heart thudding.

“Do I have to… pretend to be in love with you?” she asked, her voice softer now.

“In public, yes. But I won’t ask you to lie beyond what’s necessary.”

“And kissing?”

Damon didn’t flinch. “Occasionally. Light touches. Kisses for the press. Nothing more. You’ll always have control over what happens between us. I don’t cross boundaries.”

That surprised her. She expected him to be more—what was the word? Entitled. Aggressive. But his boundaries were firm, almost professional.

He reached for a black folder and slid it toward her.

“The contract. You’ll find every detail there. Read it. Sign it only if you’re certain.”

She opened the folder, eyes scanning the clauses. Monthly payment of $40,000. Medical coverage during the contract. A full stylist and PR team at her disposal. A nondisclosure agreement that could ruin her if she leaked anything.

Then her eyes stopped at a line near the bottom.

Clause 22: Romantic Engagement Clause.

Should the need arise, both parties agree to consider a public engagement, to maintain the illusion of authenticity. Said engagement shall be dissolved privately upon the contract’s conclusion.

“You expect me to agree to a fake engagement too?” she asked, eyes wide.

“If it becomes necessary. Not immediately. But the board is full of traditionalists. A girlfriend earns me points. A fiancée secures my position.”

Elara snorted. “So basically, I’m working my way through relationship promotions like a job title.”

He didn’t laugh. “If we do this, we do it right. Half-truths won’t hold up under scrutiny.”

She looked at him then—really looked. Damon was gorgeous, no doubt. But there was a hardness in him, a loneliness she hadn’t noticed before. Like someone who’d spent too long living behind walls.

“And you’ve never been in a real relationship?” she asked.

“No one I could trust with this.”

“Why not hire an actress?”

“I considered it. But they come with agents, baggage, expectations. I needed someone real.”

She exhaled, folding the folder shut. “You’re lucky I’m desperate.”

“You’re lucky I’m generous.”

They stared at each other for a beat.

“Fine,” she said finally. “But I have conditions.”

His brow arched slightly. “I’m listening.”

“One, I get a lawyer to review this.”

“Agreed.”

“Two, I don’t take orders. If I’m playing your girlfriend, then I speak for myself when it counts. I’m not going to be your puppet.”

“Fair.”

“And three… if I ever feel unsafe—emotionally, mentally, physically—I walk. No consequences.”

He nodded. “Deal.”

She held out her hand. “Then let’s make it official.”

Damon took it, his grip firm but not forceful. Their eyes met, and for a brief moment, the room felt different. Not businesslike. Not distant. But charged with something unspoken.

She pulled away quickly. “So… when do I start?”

“Now.”

He stood, walking over to a side door and opening it.

A woman stepped in. Blonde, perfectly dressed, tablet in hand.

“This is Lila. She’s your personal assistant. She’ll walk you through the next few days—wardrobe, social media cleanup, a few mock interviews. Tonight, we have a fundraiser to attend. You’ll be introduced.”

Elara blinked. “Tonight?”

“No time like the present.”

Lila smiled brightly. “Let’s turn you into New York’s most believable girlfriend, shall we?”

As Elara followed Lila out of the office, her heart raced again—not from nerves this time, but from the weight of what she’d just done.

She had made a deal with a man everyone called ruthless. A deal wrapped in lies and money and secrets. A deal that could either change her life or destroy it.

A deal with the devil.

And now, there was no going back.