Chapter 4 The Devil's Game Begins

The morning after signing her soul into contract, Gold woke up to the scent of sea salt and unfamiliar sheets.

She sat up slowly, disoriented for a second-until the previous day came crashing back. The marble hallway. Nicolas's voice like frost. The contract she signed with hands that didn't even tremble.

The robe still hung loosely on her shoulders. Her old phone was gone. Her past, her name, her life-all stripped and folded into the pages of that cold agreement.

She was no longer Gold Duvall, heiress of a declining family business.

She was Gold-the fiancée of Nicolas Devereux.

The Devil in a tux.

A knock tapped against her door.

She braced herself.

A young woman in black slacks and a pressed white blouse entered. Her hair was pulled back into a sleek bun, her smile brief but genuine.

"Miss Duvall. I'm Clara. Mr. Devereux asked me to assist you during your transition."

"Transition?" Gold echoed.

Clara didn't flinch. "You have your first public appearance in two days. A private dinner with members of the Devereux board. They'll want to see who holds Nicolas's attention now."

Gold's stomach tightened. "They'll be disappointed."

Clara only smiled. "Let's help you make sure they're not."

The day passed in a whirlwind of fittings, briefings, and etiquette corrections.

Gold had always known how to navigate a high society crowd, but Nicolas's world wasn't high society-it was higher. Colder. Less forgiving.

The clothes were sharper. The expectations, stricter.

At one point, as a stylist fitted her into a sleek black cocktail dress, Clara approached with a velvet box.

"What's this?" Gold asked.

"From Mr. Devereux," Clara said. "He wanted you to wear it to dinner."

Inside the box lay a necklace-diamonds, naturally-but not the ordinary kind. They were cut like shards of starlight, glittering with quiet menace. At the center, a single onyx stone dangled like a heart made of night.

Gold didn't touch it right away.

"Is this a collar?" she murmured.

Clara's smile faded slightly. "He said it belonged to his mother."

That stilled her.

Something about that fact-unexpected, personal-made the necklace feel heavier than gold.

She took it in her hands, gently, and let Clara clasp it around her neck.

The cold metal settled just above her heart.

Dinner was held in a glass room at the edge of the estate, where the ocean kissed the stone walls. The table was long, set for twelve, though only six seats were filled.

Gold entered beside Nicolas, who-true to form-offered no arm, no glance, no reassurance.

She didn't need it.

She wore the dress like armor, the necklace like a brand.

Whispers rippled through the room as they sat. Some curious. Some wary.

"She's stunning," someone murmured.

"Too young," another said.

"Just right," added a woman with wine-red lipstick and steel eyes.

Nicolas poured himself a drink without glancing her way. "You wanted a queen. She's here. Stop picking her apart."

The board members laughed-some amused, some nervous.

Gold said nothing.

But her eyes met the woman in red.

A challenge passed silently between them.

"Gold," Nicolas said suddenly, "this is Elise Graves. She was once engaged to my brother. The family's oldest ally."

Gold tilted her head. "Charmed."

Elise smiled slowly. "The pleasure's mine. I do hope you last longer than the others."

Gold smiled sweetly. "I usually do."

The table went silent.

Nicolas finally looked at her, just once.

And she swore she saw it-

The flicker of something behind his composed mask.

Amusement.

Approval.

Respect?

She didn't know.

But it gave her strength.

After dinner, Gold stepped outside to the garden that flanked the estate. The moonlight poured down like a secret, and the cold bit at her shoulders.

She needed space.

She needed silence.

And yet, he found her.

"You handled them well," Nicolas said behind her, his footsteps too quiet on the gravel.

"I wasn't trying to impress them."

"I know."

She turned slowly.

He stood with his hands in his pockets, looking too calm for a man who had just weaponized her presence in a room full of wolves.

"They're testing you," he said.

"And you?"

"I don't need to test you," he said. "I already know what you are."

She raised a brow. "And what's that?"

"Survivor."

Gold let out a breath. "Don't romanticize it. I'm just good at keeping my head up when the water rises."

He took a step closer.

"Exactly."

The air changed between them.

Colder. Heavier. But not unpleasant.

"Why did you choose me?" she asked suddenly. "Out of everyone. There are dozens of women who would've done this. Who wanted to."

"Because you didn't," he said simply.

She blinked.

"Everyone else came to me with open hands," he continued. "You came with fire in your eyes. You wanted to destroy something. That made you... honest."

Gold turned her eyes back to the sea. "Honest or desperate?"

"In my world," he said, "they're the same thing."

That night, long after he left her standing in the garden with the wind in her hair, Gold sat by her window again-like she had the night before.

Only now, she didn't feel lost.

She felt watchful.

Like something inside her had shifted.

She wasn't drowning anymore.

She was floating.

And waiting.

Because Nicolas Devereux may have thought he was playing a game with a pawn-but Gold was learning the board.

And when the time came?

She wouldn't just survive this.

She would beat him at it.