Chapter 3 Terms with the Devil

Gold was shown into a study that smelled of leather and dark wood.

The room was quiet, too quiet for a house this large. There were no portraits on the walls, only shelves of untouched books and an ominous grandfather clock ticking steadily in the corner. A desk of obsidian black stood near the window, where the sea was a shimmering monster just beyond the glass.

Nicolas moved behind the desk with ease, as if he had never belonged anywhere else. He gestured toward the chair across from him.

Gold sat without being told this time.

"Let's begin," she said, folding her hands neatly on her lap.

Something about her composure-elegant but sharp-seemed to amuse him.

"Most people tremble before me," Nicolas said, pulling open a drawer and retrieving a file. "You posture like a queen."

"Maybe I am," she replied. "A queen sold into war to save her kingdom."

His mouth twitched, just slightly. "You've read too many tragic novels."

"No," she said, "I've lived one."

He paused.

Then he placed the folder between them and opened it. Inside were typed pages with red annotations, columns, bullet points. It wasn't a marriage agreement. It was a merger document-clean, clinical, and cold.

"This is our arrangement," Nicolas said. "Three years. We remain engaged for six months before the marriage. After that, we fulfill all public obligations. Appearances, galas, photos. You'll be seen as my wife. But behind closed doors..."

His pause was deliberate.

Gold waited.

"There are no expectations of affection or intimacy unless mutually agreed."

She let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding.

"No children?" she asked.

"Not unless you want one," he said. "I have no interest in heirs. My legacy doesn't need bloodlines. It needs control."

She raised an eyebrow. "And after three years?"

"We part ways," he said. "You'll walk away with your name intact, your family's company untouched, and fifty million dollars. Enough to make your own empire."

Gold stared at him.

He had mapped out her future like a spreadsheet.

She flipped through the pages slowly, reading the fine print. It was business-like, yes-but detailed. He had included clauses for her safety, her privacy, her autonomy. It was cold, yes, but not cruel.

Not yet.

"You left something out," she said.

Nicolas leaned back. "What's that?"

"The emotional cost."

He blinked, surprised.

"I'll lose the person I was supposed to be," she said, her voice quiet. "And I'll have to become someone who fits this world-your world."

"You're adapting quickly."

"No," she said. "I'm just good at pretending."

His eyes stayed on her for a long beat. "That'll serve you well."

Gold looked down at the contract. "I want an additional clause."

He didn't stop her.

"I want a non-disclosure agreement on both sides. If this ends-when it ends-I don't want my life turned into a public spectacle."

"Agreed," he said without hesitation. "Anything else?"

She hesitated.

Then, voice low: "Respect. Even if this is a game to you... I want my dignity left intact."

That surprised him.

Not the request, but the way she asked it-not as a demand, but as a final line of defense. A plea hidden in iron.

"You'll have it," he said.

Silence stretched between them. Only the clock ticked now.

At last, he slid a pen toward her.

Gold looked at it.

Then at him.

She picked it up and signed her name at the bottom of the agreement.

G.O.L.D.

D.U.V.A.L.L.

Each letter a fracture. Each stroke a burial of the girl she used to be.

Later that day, Gold stood on the balcony of the guest wing she'd been assigned. The sea wind was cold, but she didn't mind. She was still processing.

Everything.

The engagement. The contract. The man downstairs who was now her fiancé-on paper, at least.

A knock came.

Not a soft one.

Firm. Intentional.

She turned.

Nicolas stood in the doorway, dressed not in the usual suit but in a dark turtleneck and slacks. Still intimidating. Still beautiful in that cold, devastating way.

"I wasn't expecting you," she said.

"You live here now," he replied. "It's only fair I check in."

"You don't seem like the checking-in type."

"I'm not."

She raised an eyebrow.

He stepped closer but didn't enter fully. "You'll start media appearances next week. My team will brief you. You'll have a stylist. A publicist. A new phone."

"My old one is fine."

"It's already been disconnected."

Her jaw tightened. "You have no right-"

"I have every right," he said calmly. "You belong to this house now. You will be protected. Watched. Controlled."

She stared at him, something sharp in her chest.

"You're not marrying me," she said, her voice soft but lethal. "You're acquiring me."

He didn't flinch.

"But be careful, Nicolas," she added. "Even your most expensive acquisitions can burn if held too tightly."

He stared at her.

Then gave a single nod.

And walked away.

Leaving the door open behind him.

That night, Gold couldn't sleep.

She stood by the window in a silk robe, watching the moon ripple over the sea. The world outside felt endless. The world inside-the one she had agreed to live in-felt like a gilded cage.

And yet...

A small part of her, buried under layers of fear and fury, wondered something dangerous:

What if she could survive this?

What if she could win this game... against the devil himself?