Chapter 4 The Deal With The Devil

"You're not going anywhere, Maureen."

His voice haunted me long after the kiss ended. After his hands released me. After I returned to my wing of the penthouse with shaky limbs and lips still stinging from the taste of him.

I'd slept for maybe an hour.

And now, seated in the back of a bulletproof town car, with Selene beside me and a file of prepared talking points in my lap, I was being driven to a De Luca charity gala as the ghost of the woman I was pretending to be.

Elena.

The real Elena.

Not the sister I'd buried in secrets, but the persona Andre wanted me to sell. A woman who'd been social royalty before vanishing without a trace.

Now I was bringing her back from the dead.

And the world was watching.

"You're not allowed to blink unless I say so," Selene snapped, brushing imaginary lint from my lapel.

"I got it."

"No, you don't. This isn't a party. It's a test. And failure means headlines. Questions. A scandal Andre can't afford right now."

"Then maybe you should have chosen someone else."

"I didn't choose you, darling," she said with a cold smirk. "But you're what we have."

I gritted my teeth.

The car slowed, approaching the grand marble entrance of the De Luca Hotel-a fortress masquerading as elegance.

Paparazzi lined the steps.

Flashbulbs. Screams.

"Smile like the world owes you everything," Selene said. "Because it does."

I opened the door and stepped out.

And just like that, I became her.

The cameras swallowed me.

"Elena! Elena!"

"Oh my god-she's alive!"

"Elena, what happened in Prague?!"

"Elena, is it true you left Andre for another man?!"

I didn't speak.

I didn't flinch.

Just walked like Selene taught me-like a crown had been welded into my spine.

Andre was waiting inside.

He looked at me as I entered the ballroom.

And for one terrifying second... he looked startled.

But it vanished as quickly as it came.

"You're late," he said under his breath.

"You're welcome," I replied.

His mouth twitched.

Then he took my hand and brought it to his lips.

"To appearances," he murmured.

The room roared around us-silk gowns, designer suits, and sharks in champagne masks. Billionaires, politicians, heirs and heiresses, all orbiting Andre like planets desperate to be chosen.

I stayed on his arm like a well-trained shadow.

And smiled like none of it terrified me.

Until I saw him.

Nikolai Saranov.

Standing near the wine tower. Watching me.

Elena's ex-lover. The man Andre believed she sold secrets to.

His gaze moved across me with slow, deliberate calculation.

I froze. Just for a breath.

Then Andre leaned in. "Smile," he warned. "You're being watched."

"He's here."

"I know."

"What do you want me to do?"

He pressed a champagne glass into my hand. "Exactly what Elena would have done."

I swallowed hard.

"You want me to flirt with him?"

"No," he said darkly. "I want you to destroy him."

Nikolai approached minutes later.

A predator in velvet and charm.

"Mrs. De Luca," he drawled. "Back from the grave."

I turned, slow and graceful, a smile stitched onto my face. "Mr. Saranov. I didn't know ghosts interested you."

His lips twitched. "Only the beautiful ones."

He extended a hand. I gave him mine.

But something flickered in his eyes as his fingers closed over mine.

Like he knew.

Like he felt the lie under my skin.

"Elena," he said slowly, drawing out the syllables, "you look... changed."

I tilted my head. "Perhaps death is good for the complexion."

Andre was behind me. Silent. Watching.

"Still sharp," Nikolai murmured. "But is the blade still yours?"

I didn't answer.

Instead, I leaned in just enough for the cameras to catch the angle.

"Careful," I whispered. "My husband bites."

Nikolai's smile didn't falter. But his eyes went colder.

"Enjoy the evening, Mrs. De Luca."

Then he walked away.

And my knees almost buckled.

"You did well," Andre said later, pouring himself a scotch in a private lounge above the ballroom.

"I nearly threw up."

He chuckled. "That means it's working."

I turned to him. "Why does he hate you?"

"He doesn't hate me." Andre's eyes glittered. "He wants to be me. Wants my empire. My family's connections. My wife."

I swallowed. "He thinks I'm her."

"Let him."

"He almost recognized me."

Andre approached slowly, glass in hand.

"Let me make something clear, Maureen. If Nikolai finds out you're not Elena, he won't protect you. He'll use you to burn everything I've built. He'll destroy you to hurt me."

"And you?" I whispered. "Would you protect me?"

He stopped in front of me.

"I haven't decided yet."

We returned home after midnight.

The gala had been a success-on the surface. But I felt like a loaded weapon now. A ticking time bomb wrapped in pearls and lies.

Andre disappeared into his study.

And I stood outside it for almost ten minutes before walking away.

The dreams that night were different.

Not of Elena haunting me.

But of myself-trapped in a maze of mirrors.

Each reflection more distorted than the last.

And in the center, Andre stood waiting.

Not to rescue me.

But to claim me.

The next morning brought more fallout.

Selene burst into my suite with a phone in hand.

"Smile," she said.

"What?"

She turned the screen toward me.

A video.

Nikolai Saranov, exiting the gala. Laughing. Speaking in Russian.

"It's not her. Elena's gone. This one is a replacement. A clever one, but still a fake."

My blood froze.

"He knows," I breathed.

"Yes," Selene confirmed. "And now he'll act."

"Do I run?"

Selene gave me a pitying look. "And go where?"

She turned to leave. Then stopped.

"You wanted a way out of your life, Maureen. Congratulations. You got it."

When I went to Andre, he was already on the phone, barking orders in clipped Italian.

He hung up as I entered.

"He's making moves," I said softly.

"I know."

"He'll tell the world I'm not her."

"No, he won't."

I blinked. "How can you be so sure?"

Andre stood, jaw tight, eyes like stone.

"Because he won't live long enough."

I got up from the bed just before dawn and padded barefoot across the icy floors, the penthouse still cloaked in shadows.

I needed air.

I needed to stop trembling from a man who kissed like sin and touched like he owned me.

The city was quiet beneath the glass balcony, its glittering skyline stretching out like a kingdom I didn't belong to. My fingers curled around the railing, knuckles white.

Then I heard the soft click of the door behind me.

I didn't turn.

"You don't sleep much," Andre said from the shadows.

"Neither do you."

He stepped up beside me, his suit jacket pulled over a dark shirt, his scent curling around me like smoke.

"I'm not like other men, Maureen."

"I know."

He angled toward me. "You don't even flinch when I use your real name now."

"Because I know you won't forget who I am," I whispered.

His eyes searched mine. "What if I wanted to?"

"Then you'd lose your grip. And you can't afford to do that."

He smiled-low, wicked, impressed.

"Careful. I might start thinking you understand me."

"I think you want someone to."

Silence stretched. Then:

"I hated Elena," he said flatly.

I blinked. "What?"

He stared at the horizon. "She was the perfect wife. On paper. But in reality-she was a viper. Cold. Calculating. Beautiful enough to get away with it."

"Then why marry her?"

"Because beauty buys power. And betrayal sharpens it."

He looked at me then. "But you... you're dangerous in a different way."

"How?"

"You make me curious."

I shouldn't have stepped closer.

But I did.

"You make me forget I'm supposed to be afraid of you," I said, voice shaking.

His mouth was inches from mine. "Then let me remind you."

And he kissed me-slow and brutal and hungry.

Not like a man kissing a pawn.

But like a man kissing a problem he couldn't solve.

When he pulled back, his hands stayed on my waist.

He didn't let go.

"You're not going anywhere, Maureen," he murmured against my throat.

And for the first time, I wasn't sure if I wanted to.