Amara's fingers trembled as she held the papers, her eyes scanning the words that blurred together in her shock. Her breath hitched as she tried to focus, tried to comprehend the weight of what lay before her.
Case of Mr. and Mrs. Lenz– to be closed permanently.
Her heart stopped.
The paper slipped from her grasp, fluttering to the polished floor like a fallen leaf. A deafening silence followed, one where she could hear nothing but the furious pounding of her own pulse.
She could not breathe.
Her parents' case—her life's purpose, her reason for clawing her way through hell—he wanted it erased. Wiped away with a single stroke of a pen, as if it had never existed.
Slowly, she lifted her gaze to Rafael, her body trembling from something far more potent than the cold she had endured outside.
"You… you want me to close the case?" Her voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, but the fury behind it burned like fire.
Rafael leaned back into his chair, his expression unreadable, though there was a trace of amusement dancing in his dark eyes. The woman on his lap idly traced circles on his chest, oblivious—or perhaps entertained—by the tension suffocating the room.
He tilted his head. "I think it's a fair trade."
Amara's hands clenched into fists. "Fair?" she spat, her voice rising. "You think erasing my parents' case is fair?"
Rafael smirked, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before taking a slow sip. "You seem surprised. What did you think this was, Amara? A favor? A kind gesture?" He chuckled, shaking his head. "You came to me, desperate. And desperation comes at a cost."
Her nails dug into her palms, drawing blood, but she barely noticed. "You want me to sign away my parents' justice? To give up everything I've fought for?"
He placed his glass down, his fingers drumming against the armrest. "I want you under me," he said, voice like silk and steel. "Completely. Without question."
Amara recoiled as if struck. "You're a monster."
His smirk widened. "And yet, here you are. Kneeling before me."
Her stomach twisted, her humiliation burning through every fiber of her being. She wanted to scream, to throw something, to claw at him until she could tear away that smug expression from his face. But she couldn't. Because she knew, deep down, he had all the power. And he was reveling in it.
The woman in his lap let out a soft, breathy laugh, her fingers playing with the buttons of Rafael's shirt. "She's feisty," she mused, her voice smooth. "I like her."
Rafael's gaze never left Amara as he exhaled slowly. "Leave."
The woman pouted. "But I was enjoying this."
His voice dropped an octave, the command final. "Now."
She sighed, but did as she was told, sliding off his lap with feline grace. As she passed Amara, she trailed her fingers along her damp shoulder, her smirk knowing. "Good luck, darling. You'll need it."
The moment the door closed behind her, silence filled the space once more. But this time, it was different. Heavier. More intimate.
Amara could feel his eyes roaming over her, taking in every shiver of her exhausted body, every ragged breath she took. The air between them grew charged, thick with something she refused to name.
Rafael leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his fingers steepled together. "I've been patient," he murmured, his tone dangerously soft. "I've watched you fight, struggle, cling to your pride like it's a lifeline. But let me remind you of something, Amara."
He reached out, his fingers gripping her chin, forcing her to look at him. His touch was warm, almost gentle—if not for the possessive grip he held her with. "You are mine now."
Her breath hitched. "I am not yours."
His thumb brushed over her lower lip, his smirk darkening. "Aren't you?"
Her skin burned under his touch, her body betraying her in ways she despised. Every nerve was on high alert, every inch of her aware of his proximity, the raw intensity of his gaze. The way he loomed over her, consuming the very air she breathed.
"You hate me," he mused, his lips a mere breath away from hers. "But you can't deny this."
His other hand moved, tracing down her arm, his touch featherlight but searing. A slow, deliberate descent that sent shivers coursing through her.
She swallowed hard, her body stiffening. "Stop."
Rafael hummed, tilting his head. "Do you really want me to?"
She should have said yes. She should have shoved him away, screamed, ran. But her traitorous body leaned into his warmth, her breath unsteady, her pulse hammering against her ribs.
His lips barely grazed her jaw, a ghost of a touch, before he pulled back, his smirk triumphant. "Sign the papers, Amara."
She snapped out of the haze, shoving his hand away as she staggered to her feet. "You're vile."
He chuckled, unbothered. "And yet, you're still here."
She glared at him, chest rising and falling rapidly. "I will never give up my parents' case."
Rafael's expression darkened, the amusement flickering into something colder. "Then you'll break before you bend."
She lifted her chin. "Try me."
His eyes gleamed with something dangerous. Something promising. "Oh, I intend to."
And just like that, Amara knew—this was only the beginning.
Rafael leaned back in his chair, utterly unfazed by the venom in her voice. A slow smirk curved his lips, dark amusement dancing in his stormy eyes. "It's the price of doing business, sweetheart."
Her stomach twisted violently. She felt sick. Her body swayed slightly from exhaustion, but she forced herself to stay upright, fueled by fury. "How dare you?" she seethed, her voice shaking as much as her limbs. "How dare you ask me to sign this?"
He sighed, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before taking a slow sip.
Silence thickened between them. The air was charged, heavy, as Rafael set his glass down with a deliberate clink. His gaze locked onto hers, dark and unreadable, his presence overwhelming even in his stillness.
"You misunderstand, Amara," he drawled, his voice smooth, almost playful. "I'm not forcing you. I'm offering you something invaluable in return."
She scoffed, incredulous. "In return for what? My soul?"
A low chuckle rumbled from his chest. "Dramatic as always." He stood, towering over her, his mere movement making her heartbeat stutter. "I'm offering you power, little one. A future."
She shook her head, her nails digging into her palms. "You're asking me to give up justice."
His hand shot out, fingers curling around her wrist as he yanked her toward him. She gasped, her body colliding against his. He was warm, firm, his scent intoxicating—dark spice and expensive whiskey. His grip was strong but not painful, holding her in place as his thumb lazily stroked the inside of her wrist, sending an involuntary shiver up her spine.
"I'm asking you to be smart," he murmured, his lips inches from hers. "You can keep chasing ghosts, keep fighting a battle you'll never win, or…" His fingers trailed up her arm, featherlight, igniting sparks in their wake. "You can let me give you everything you deserve."
Her breath hitched. "And what do you think I deserve?"
He leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of her ear as he whispered, "Revenge."
Her body betrayed her, her heart hammering against her ribs at the weight of that word.
He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching hers, finding the flicker of hunger buried beneath her rage. "I can give you the means to destroy the people who hurt you, Amara." His fingers trailed down to her waist, gripping her with just enough pressure to make her hyper-aware of how close they were. "All you have to do is sign."
She swallowed hard, her body warring with her mind. This was wrong. This was manipulation at its finest. And yet…
"You can have a better life," he continued, his voice like silk wrapping around her. "A life free from pain. From struggling. I'll make sure you never have to beg, never have to suffer." He leaned in again, his lips almost brushing hers. "Be mine, and I'll make sure you rise above everyone who ever looked down on you."
Her head swam, the scent of him, the heat of his body, the dangerous promise in his words clouding her thoughts. "You don't own me."
He chuckled, dark and knowing. "Not yet." His fingers traced slow, deliberate circles on her hip, setting her nerves on fire. "But let's be honest… you want what I'm offering."
Her lips parted, a breathless denial stuck in her throat. He was right. She hated him for it, but he was right. The hunger, the desperation, the aching need for control—it was all there, simmering beneath her skin.
"You're playing with fire," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.
His lips curled into a devilish smirk. "Good. I like the burn."
She should pull away. She should slap him, scream at him, run. But her body was traitorous, her skin alive where he touched her, her breath shallow as he slowly, torturously, dragged his fingers along her jaw, tilting her face up to his.
"You don't have to fight anymore," he murmured. "Let me fight for you."
Her resolve wavered. For a moment, she saw it—a life where she wasn't constantly struggling, constantly clawing for scraps. A life where she had the power to crush those who had broken her.
But at what cost?
She met his gaze, defiant even as her body trembled. "And if I refuse?"
His grip on her waist tightened slightly, a flicker of something darker crossing his expression. Then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by that infuriatingly lazy smirk.
"Then you walk away," he said simply, stepping back just enough to let her breathe. "But we both know you won't."
She hated that he was right. She hated that her body still burned from his touch, that his words still echoed in her mind, wrapping around her like chains.
Her eyes dropped to the papers on the floor. The contract that held the power to change everything.
Rafael watched her carefully, his voice a seductive promise. "Sign it, Amara."
She hesitated, her mind screaming at her in warning.
But the devil before her only smirked, waiting for her to fall. Amara's breath was shallow, her heart pounding like a war drum as she stared at the contract lying on the table before her. Every word burned into her vision, but none seared deeper than the demand scrawled in black ink.
Close the case of his parents' murder.
Her fingers trembled as she gripped the edges of the paper, her knuckles whitening. The weight of it crushed her, suffocating in a way she hadn't expected. She had fought, clawed, and bled for justice. And now, Rafael wanted her to abandon it all with nothing more than a signature.
The paper slipped from her hands, floating like a fallen leaf before landing back on the table.
Her voice, hoarse from disbelief, barely rose above a whisper. "You can't be serious."
Rafael's dark eyes gleamed with amusement, his expression infuriatingly calm. "I never joke about business, Amara."
Her stomach twisted violently. Rage, fear, and something far more dangerous coiled inside her, threatening to spill over. "You expect me to betray them? My parents—"
He leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms over the leather, exuding nothing but control. "Your parents are gone," he stated matter-of-factly. "No amount of chasing ghosts will change that."
She flinched as if he had struck her, but Rafael didn't let her wallow in silence for long.
"You want revenge, don't you?" He cocked his head. "You want power, Amara? Then be smart about it."
Her fists clenched at her sides. "And becoming yours is the only way?"
His smirk widened, playful and cruel. "Oh, not the only way. Just the best one."
Amara's breaths came uneven, her body rigid. He made it sound so easy, like giving in to him was the simplest choice in the world. But he wasn't asking for something small—he wanted everything. Her future, her morals, her very soul.
And yet, a part of her wavered. Because wasn't that exactly what she wanted? A chance to rewrite her fate? To wield the kind of influence that Rafael so effortlessly did?
She shook her head, trying to push the thoughts away. "I won't sign."
Rafael sighed as if disappointed but not surprised. He leaned forward then, his elbows resting on his knees, the air between them shifting. "Then walk away."
Her breath hitched.
His voice dropped, taunting. "Go back to the streets. Back to struggling for scraps. Back to being nothing."
The sting of his words was a direct hit to her pride, but he wasn't finished.
"Or," he continued, his tone dangerously smooth, "you can take my hand, and I'll give you everything you ever dreamed of."
His fingers reached for her, slow, deliberate, a silent invitation. "Sign, and I'll make sure the ones who hurt you suffer." His voice dipped lower, a promise wrapped in temptation. "Sign, and I'll give you a new life. A better one."
Her pulse pounded in her throat as he stood, closing the distance between them. Her breath came uneven as his warmth surrounded her, his scent—dark spice and expensive whiskey—suffocating.
He lifted a single finger, trailing it down her arm, making her shiver. "Be mine, Amara."
Her resolve cracked, just for a moment. Because he was offering something she had never had—certainty. Safety. Power. He was offering her the world, and all she had to do was surrender.
Rafael caught her chin between his fingers, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. "Think about it."
Before she could respond, he turned his head slightly and called, "Evelyn."
A moment later, a woman entered. She was elegant, poised, and exuded an effortless confidence that made Amara feel small in comparison.
Evelyn's sharp eyes swept over Amara's disheveled state before landing on Rafael. "Yes?"
"Take her," Rafael ordered smoothly. "Get her cleaned up. Something new to wear."
Evelyn nodded without question, turning toward Amara. "Come."
Still shaken, Amara hesitated. Rafael's gaze darkened with amusement. "Be ready when I call for you."
The implication was clear—this wasn't over.
Swallowing hard, Amara turned and followed Evelyn out of the room, her mind a storm of thoughts, her lips still tingling from Rafael's kiss.
Two hours.
That was all the time she had to decide whether to sell her soul to the devil—or walk away forever.