Chapter 2 The Devil Sends a Carriage

The morning after her engagement felt like waking up in a stranger's skin.

Gold sat on the edge of her bed, still in her silk nightgown, the early sunlight slanting through the curtains. Her phone was buzzing beside her-calls, texts, tagged posts. The world was celebrating.

#PowerCouple

#DeCruzHeiress

#GoldAndNicolas

They made it sound like a fairy tale. A union forged in wealth and whispered promises. No one saw the girl behind the glossy engagement photos, the stiff smile, or the way her fingers had trembled in his cold grip.

She turned the phone off and stood.

Downstairs, the house was already alive with movement. Staff whispered. Her father barked instructions into his phone. And her mother... her mother had already invited the press for an exclusive interview.

Of course she did.

Gold slipped into a cream blouse and wide-leg trousers, pairing them with understated pearl studs. No makeup. She wanted to look like herself, or at least whatever remained of that girl.

When she stepped out of her room, Mara was waiting in the hallway, two cups of coffee in hand.

"Black with honey," she said, handing one over.

Gold took it with a quiet thank-you.

Mara studied her. "You didn't sleep, did you?"

Gold gave a dry smile. "I didn't think sleep was allowed anymore."

They walked in silence, the heels of their shoes tapping against marble. When they reached the grand stairwell, a sound stopped them.

The roar of an engine.

A sleek black Rolls-Royce had pulled into the circular driveway. Men in suits-Nicolas's men, she assumed-moved with practiced precision, speaking into earpieces, scanning the perimeter like a SWAT team.

At the center of it all stood a man with salt-and-pepper hair and glacier eyes. Not Nicolas.

But clearly his emissary.

Gold didn't move as he climbed the stairs, met her at the front doors.

"Miss Duvall," he greeted, not unkindly. "I'm Mr. Rook. Mr. De Cruz has requested your presence at his estate."

"Requested?" she repeated.

He tilted his head. "Expected."

Gold felt Mara bristle beside her, but Gold stepped forward calmly. "And if I refuse?"

"Then I suppose Mr. De Cruz would be... disappointed. And disappointment rarely ends well in our world."

Gold sipped her coffee. "I'll need twenty minutes."

Mr. Rook nodded once. "We'll be waiting."

The ride was silent.

Gold sat in the back of the car, the windows tinted so dark she could barely make out the city blurring past. No one spoke. Not the driver. Not Mr. Rook. Not the guard seated across from her, watching her like she was a package to be delivered.

She stared down at her hands.

No ring yet.

Nicolas hadn't bothered with one.

Probably didn't think it mattered.

When they finally turned off the main road, the world shifted. Gone were the crowds, the buildings, the honking chaos of the city. The De Cruz estate rose from the mist like something out of a dream-or a nightmare.

Gates of wrought iron. Walls of stone older than memory. And beyond them, the mansion itself-a darkened cathedral of glass and shadow perched on a hill overlooking the sea.

Gold stepped out of the car, the wind catching her curls as she stared at the house.

It looked like it didn't want to be touched.

Like it held its own secrets.

Mr. Rook didn't need to guide her. The doors opened before she could knock.

And Nicolas stood at the top of the staircase.

He didn't smile.

He didn't speak.

He simply looked at her.

For a heartbeat, everything else faded-the guards, the echoing silence, the fear she refused to show.

It was just the two of them.

And then he said, "You're late."

Gold raised her chin. "You didn't give me a time."

His eyes narrowed a fraction, but he said nothing else. Instead, he turned and walked deeper into the house.

She followed.

The interior of the mansion was colder than she expected-sleek, modern, minimal. Art hung on the walls, all sharp lines and tortured brushstrokes. Every step echoed. Every corner whispered power.

He led her into a sunken lounge with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the sea.

"Sit," he ordered.

She did not.

"Is this how it's going to be?" she asked. "You barking orders, and me pretending I'm not suffocating?"

His jaw twitched. "You're here because your father owes me three hundred million dollars. And I don't like unpaid debts."

"So I'm payment," she said.

His silence was answer enough.

She stepped forward, anger a slow burn in her chest. "I want one thing."

He blinked, surprised. "You're making demands?"

"I want a contract," she said. "Written. Signed. Terms of this... arrangement."

"You think this is a business transaction?"

"Aren't you the one who treats people like assets?"

He stared at her for a long moment.

Then, slowly, he smiled.

Not warm. Not amused.

But something sharper. Darker.

"Fine," he said. "We'll draft a contract. But you should know something, Gold."

"What?"

"In my world," he murmured, stepping closer, "nothing comes without a price."

She didn't flinch.

Neither did he.

And in that moment, something dangerous passed between them.

Not affection.

Not hate.

Something deeper.

Like recognition.