A Deal with the Devil

Lydia sat on the edge of her bed, the dim glow from her bedside lamp barely lighting the contract in her trembling hands. Pages filled with legal terms, expectations, and one chilling clause at the bottom:

> “Termination of contract is at Mr. William’s discretion only.”

She reread it for the fourth time, her chest tightening with each word. It wasn’t a contract—it was a prison.

Her phone buzzed beside her. A message from the hospital.

> Balance due: $38,250.00. Urgent. Payment required to continue treatment.

Her father’s heart surgery had drained everything. The insurance company had backed out. She’d maxed every card, borrowed from everyone she could, even sold her mother’s wedding ring.

Now she had nothing left but desperation.

Her fingers hovered over the folder again. Jake William didn’t come to her by chance. He knew. About her debt. Her father. Her life. Every word he’d said back at the studio wasn’t an offer—it was a trap laid with precision.

And the worst part?

It was working.

The next morning, Lydia walked into the studio like a ghost. No makeup. No smile. No coffee. Her eyes were red, her body heavy. When her coworker Anna waved, she didn’t even wave back.

She couldn’t. Her mind was locked on what she had done the night before.

She had signed it.

Half out of rage. Half out of fear. But she had signed it.

And sent the contract back.

Her phone buzzed again around noon. This time, a message from an unknown number:

> Your new driver is waiting. Pack your things. You now belong to me. —J

She stared at the message for a full minute, her fingers curling tight around the phone.

You now belong to me.

That evening, a sleek black car pulled up to the curb outside her apartment. The driver didn’t ask questions. Just opened the door and gestured for her to get in.

The car smelled like leather and silence. Lydia sat rigid in the backseat, staring out the window as the city disappeared behind her.

They passed through a private gate, then down a long driveway lined with lanterns. At the end of it stood a mansion. No—more like a fortress. Cold stone. Tall windows. Guards at every corner. A palace built for power and paranoia.

The driver opened her door, and she stepped out into the cool night air, heart pounding.

The front doors opened before she even reached them.

Jake stood waiting, dressed in black again, like sin in human form. His eyes roamed over her slowly, hungrily.

“You came,” he said softly.

“I didn’t have a choice.”

He smirked. “Everyone has a choice. You just made the right one.”

She followed him inside, jaw tight. The house was stunning—modern meets medieval. Clean lines. Marble floors. A giant fireplace roared in the center of the grand hall.

“I had a room prepared for you,” Jake said, leading her up the stairs. “You’ll find everything you need. Clothes. Toiletries. Whatever you want, you ask.”

“And what do you get?”

He stopped walking, turning to her.

“I get you, Lydia.”

His hand slid around her waist, pulling her close.

“I don’t want anyone else touching you. Seeing you. Even thinking about you.”

Her breath hitched.

“That’s not love,” she whispered. “That’s control.”

His lips brushed her ear. “No, sweetheart. That’s possession. And I warned you—when I want something, I keep it.”

She shivered.

He let her go, finally, and gestured toward the bedroom door.

“You start living here tonight. But I’ll give you one kindness,” he said. “I won’t touch you until you ask me to.”

Lydia blinked in shock, unsure if it was a threat, a promise, or a trap.

He smiled slowly. “You will. Sooner than you think.”

Then he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the hall—leaving Lydia alone, shaking, and one step deeper into the darkness she’d agreed to.

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