Chapter 2 The Devil's Contract

Amara didn't sleep that night.

She lay awake in her tiny apartment in Brooklyn, eyes on the cracked ceiling, mind racing with every word Lucien Vale had said. Work for me. Or I'll expose you. His voice played on repeat in her head, smooth and cold like a blade dressed in silk.

What kind of man makes threats while smiling?

She knew the answer.

The kind her father used to have drinks with. The kind who built empires off the backs of broken people. The kind who didn't flinch when they ruined a life, because they didn't see it as ruin-just business.

She hated that man.

She hated even more that he made her pulse jump with something dangerously close to curiosity.

Her alarm went off at six. She turned it off before it buzzed a second time, threw on her best blouse-the one without a stain or loose thread-and pulled her hair into a neat low bun. Not for him. For herself. For the girl who once dreamed of courtrooms and closing arguments, not cocktails and hidden names.

She arrived at Vale Enterprises just before eight.

The receptionist took one look at her and raised an eyebrow. "Name?"

"Amara Blake. Mr. Vale is... expecting me."

The woman typed something, frowned, then picked up the phone. A moment later, she nodded toward the elevators. "Top floor. He said you'd know where to go."

She didn't. But she wasn't about to say that.

The ride up was silent except for the quiet hum of anxiety in her chest. When the elevator doors opened, she stepped into a sleek, glass-walled office that smelled like expensive coffee and ambition. She walked past assistants tapping away on glowing screens, past a corner office where a man barked orders into a headset, until she reached a matte black door with no name on it.

She knocked once.

"Come in."

Lucien's voice was calm. Too calm.

She opened the door and stepped into his world.

It was colder than she expected-metal, dark wood, and a panoramic view of Manhattan. He stood at the window, back turned, hands in his pockets like he'd been waiting all morning just to play with her head.

"You came," he said without looking.

"You gave me no choice," she replied flatly.

He turned.

And just like the night before, he looked devastatingly sharp. Navy shirt rolled to his forearms. Gold cufflinks. A face carved from stone and lit like sin.

"I gave you options," he said with a slight smile. "This is the one you chose."

She crossed her arms. "You don't need an assistant. So why am I really here?"

He walked past her, picked up a file from his desk, and handed it to her.

"Because you're not just some name from the past, Amara. You're smart. You're resourceful. And I don't trust you."

She blinked. "That's your reason?"

Lucien leaned back against his desk, arms folded. "Trust is earned. If you're here to spy on me or sabotage anything, I'll find out. But if you're here to work-really work-then we'll see what happens."

She flipped open the file. It was full of contracts, schedules, deals-real work. Not a trap. Not yet.

"And if I walk out right now?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Then I let the story out. 'Disgraced heiress returns under a fake name, working under the man her father betrayed.' Sounds juicy, doesn't it?"

She hated him.

But she hated how calm she sounded more.

"Fine," she said. "I'll play your little game. But don't mistake this for loyalty. I'm here to survive, not serve you."

Lucien stepped closer, too close, until she had to tilt her chin up to meet his eyes.

"Good," he said softly. "Because I don't need a servant. I need someone who can keep up."

She didn't flinch. Not this time.

"I hope you can," he added, almost like a challenge.

"I hope you can," she shot back.

He smiled-for real this time. Just a flicker.

"Desk outside. You start now."

She turned without another word, heels clicking on the marble as she stepped into her new cage. And yet, as she sat at the desk just outside his office, logged into the system, and stared at the sea of power brokers buzzing around her...

She didn't feel caged.

She felt ready.

Let him play his game.

She'd rewrite the rules