Eight Weeks With The Devil

Liza Cooper’s POV

The door at the end of the corridor looked like the kind of door people disappeared behind.

Thick metal. A small reinforced window. A lock that made a heavy clicking sound every time a guard passed through it.

I had been inside Blackridge Correctional Facility for less than an hour, and already I wanted to go home.

Not that I had anywhere else to go.

“Keep moving.”

The guard behind me didn’t shout. He didn’t need to. His voice carried the kind of authority that made my feet move before my brain had finished processing his words.

I tightened my grip on the strap of my bag.

We passed another security door, then a narrow corridor lined with grey walls and fluorescent lights. Somewhere nearby, a man shouted something I couldn’t understand. A door slammed. Footsteps echoed.

I tried not to look frightened.

I wasn’t sure I was succeeding.

The guard glanced at me.

“First time in a correctional facility?”

I looked at him. “Is it that obvious?”

“You’re looking at every door as if one of them might eat you.”

“Can you blame me?”

One corner of his mouth moved, almost a smile.

“Fair enough.”

That was the most comforting conversation I’d had since arriving.

I looked down at the temporary identification badge clipped to my shirt. My name was printed beneath a photograph that made me look as though I’d been forced to smile at gunpoint.

LIZA COOPER.

Below it was a number.

Nothing else.

No explanation of where I was supposed to go, what I was supposed to do, or what kind of man I was about to meet.

I’d known the program involved high-risk male prisoners. I’d read the information. I’d signed the documents. I’d agreed to the rules.

But reading about dangerous men from the safety of an orphanage was very different from walking through a prison with one of them waiting behind a locked door.

“What’s his name?” I asked.

The guard continued walking.

“Who?”

“My assigned partner.”

He glanced over his shoulder.

“Justin Moretti.”

The name meant nothing to me.

At least, it should have meant nothing.

But the way the guard said it made my stomach tighten.

“Is he dangerous?”

The guard stopped outside a door and turned to face me.

For the first time since we’d met, he looked directly into my eyes.

“Miss Cooper, everyone in this wing has been classified as high risk. But if you’re asking whether Mr. Moretti is someone you should take seriously, the answer is yes.”

I swallowed.

“Has he hurt anyone?”

“He’s in prison, isn’t he?”

“That’s not really an answer.”

“No,” he agreed. “It isn’t.”

He reached for the lock.

I stared at the door.

I could still ask to withdraw.

Miss Carter had explained that withdrawal was possible, although it meant forfeiting the completion payment. The thought of losing fifty thousand pounds made my chest ache, but the thought of being trapped in a room with a man who might hurt me wasn’t exactly appealing either.

Then I remembered Ema’s face when we’d talked about our future.

Ruby’s careful calculations.

The little house we’d imagined buying together.

I couldn’t turn back before I’d even tried.

The lock clicked.

The guard pulled the door open.

“Inside.”

I took a breath and stepped over the threshold.

The first thing I noticed was the bed.

The second was the man sitting on it.

Justin Moretti wore a black T-shirt and dark trousers. His forearms rested on his thighs, and his hands were loosely clasped between his knees. Tattoos covered much of his skin, disappearing beneath his sleeves and winding down his arms.

He was enormous.

That was my first thought.

Not tall. Not muscular.

Enormous.

His shoulders were broad enough to make the room feel smaller, and his dark hair was slightly dishevelled, as though he’d run his fingers through it too many times. A short beard framed his jaw. His expression was unreadable.

Then he lifted his head.

Green eyes met mine.

For one strange second, he didn’t move.

His gaze travelled over my face, pausing briefly on my eyes before dropping to the necklace resting against my collarbone.

Something changed in his expression.

It was so subtle I might have imagined it.

Then it disappeared.

He leaned back slightly, looking at me with the same disinterest someone might show a parcel delivered to the wrong address.

I suddenly became aware of everything about myself.

My long brown hair, which I’d brushed three times that morning. The freckles across my nose. My hands, which were gripping my bag so tightly that my fingers had started to hurt.

I wondered what he saw when he looked at me.

Another assignment.

Another inconvenience.

Another person he hadn’t asked to have in his room.

The guard stepped inside behind me.

“Moretti.”

Justin didn’t look at him.

“You’re late.”

The guard sighed.

“Lovely to see you too.”

“Can’t say the feeling’s mutual.”

The guard ignored the remark and gestured toward me.

“This is Liza Cooper, your assigned partner for the next eight weeks.”

Justin’s eyes returned to mine.

“Lucky me.”

His voice was deep, rough around the edges, and completely devoid of warmth.

I pressed my lips together.

The guard continued as though he hadn’t heard him.

“You’ve both been informed of the program’s conditions. You’ll be expected to participate in scheduled activities, attend evaluations, and follow the facility’s rules. Your behaviour will be monitored and reported.”

Justin picked at something invisible on his thumb.

“Fascinating.”

“That includes you, Moretti.”

“Does it?”

“Don’t start.”

Justin finally looked at him.

“Then don’t give me reasons to.”

The guard’s jaw tightened.

For a moment, neither man spoke.

I stood between them, wondering whether I’d accidentally walked into an argument that had been going on for years.

The guard took a slow breath.

“Miss Cooper, if you need assistance, you can contact the assigned staff through the room’s communication system. If there’s an immediate safety concern, use it. Do not attempt to intervene in a physical altercation.”

My stomach dropped at the last sentence.

I looked at Justin.

He was smiling.

Not kindly.

Not even slightly.

It was the sort of smile that suggested the guard had just reminded him of something amusing.

“Anything else?” Justin asked.

“Yes. Keep your temper under control.”

Justin tilted his head.

“You first.”

The guard stepped closer to him.

“Listen carefully. I don’t care what your reputation was before you came here. This program has rules, and you will follow them. If you threaten or physically harm your partner, there will be consequences.”

Justin’s smile vanished.

For the first time, the room seemed genuinely cold.

“You finished?”

“Are you listening?”

“I heard every word. Unfortunately, none of it was interesting.”

The guard stared at him for another moment before turning toward the door.

“Miss Cooper, make yourself familiar with the room. Someone will come to explain the schedule shortly.”

I nodded.

“Thank you.”

He paused at the doorway and looked back at Justin.

“Don’t make me regret agreeing to this arrangement, Moretti.”

Justin leaned back against the wall.

“Then stop agreeing to arrangements you can’t control.”

The guard shook his head.

“Eight weeks. That’s all I’m asking.”

“Then you’ll be pleased to know I’m counting every bloody second.”

The guard left.

The door closed behind him.

A lock clicked.

And suddenly, there was no one between Justin Moretti and me.

For several seconds, neither of us spoke.

I could hear the faint hum of the ventilation system and the distant sound of footsteps in the corridor.

Justin looked at me.

I looked at him.

Then he said, “What are you still standing there for?”

I blinked.

“Sorry?”

“Did you lose the ability to understand simple instructions when you crossed the threshold?”

I felt heat creep into my cheeks.

“I was waiting to see if you had anything else to say.”

“Congratulations. You’ve wasted your time.”

He looked away.

I stood there, unsure whether I should move, sit down, or ask someone to take me somewhere else.

The room wasn’t what I’d expected.

There was no second bed.

No separate sleeping area.

No private space for either of us.

Just one narrow bed pushed against the wall, a small metal closet, a wooden chair beside a plain desk, and a tiny bathroom behind a half-open door. The bathroom contained a toilet, a small sink, and a shower barely large enough for one person.

That was it.

I looked from the bed to the chair.

Then back at Justin.

“Where am I supposed to sleep?”

He glanced at me as though the question bored him.

“Not in my bed.”

I waited for him to laugh.

He didn’t.

“Oh,” I said. “There must be some mistake. We’re supposed to share the room, but I don’t think they’ve given us—”

“Then I suggest you take it up with the people who assigned you here.”

“I can’t exactly ask them to build another bed.”

“Sounds like your problem.”

I stared at him.

“You’re joking.”

He slowly turned his head.

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

I hated that I had to admit he didn’t.

I looked at the chair again.

It was narrow, with a hard wooden seat and a straight back. Even sitting on it for a few minutes would be uncomfortable.

“You’re seriously expecting me to sleep there?”

“Now you’re catching on.”

“But it’s a chair.”

“Remarkable observation.”

“For eight weeks?”

“Your ability to count is almost as impressive as your ability to ask stupid questions.”

I drew a slow breath.

I had promised myself I wouldn’t let fear control me. I had promised Ema and Ruby that I would be careful.

But I hadn’t expected to begin my first night at Blackridge by arguing with a man who appeared to have been born without basic human decency.

“We’re both part of the program,” I said. “We should be able to agree on something.”

Justin stood.

I hadn’t realised how tall he was while he was sitting down.

Now I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.

He took one step toward me.

“Let me explain something, sweetheart.”

The endearment sounded like an insult.

“This is my room. That’s my bed. I don’t share it, and I don’t particularly care where you sleep.”

I forced myself to keep looking at him.

“It’s not your room. It’s assigned to both of us.”

His jaw tightened.

“Do you always have this much trouble understanding when someone tells you no?”

“Do you always have this much trouble behaving like a decent person?”

Silence.

The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them.

Not because they weren’t true.

Because I could see the exact moment his expression changed.

The indifference disappeared, replaced by something sharper.

He stepped closer.

I resisted the urge to step back.

“Careful,” he said quietly.

My heart began to pound.

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s advice.”

“I didn’t ask for it.”

“No. You seem to have a habit of making mistakes without anyone’s help.”

I swallowed.

He looked me up and down, his expression full of contempt.

“Let me guess. You thought this would be some kind of adventure. Eight weeks, a little money, and a chance to play saviour to a bunch of criminals.”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

For the briefest moment, something unreadable crossed his face.

Then he laughed.

It was a short, humourless sound.

“You’re right. I don’t know you, and I have no intention of changing that.”

I hated how much those words hurt.

I shouldn’t have cared what he thought of me. He was a stranger, a dangerous man with a reputation I was only beginning to understand.

But there was something humiliating about standing in front of someone who had already decided I was worthless without giving me a chance to speak.

“I didn’t choose you either,” I said.

His eyes narrowed.

“Then we have something in common.”

“Good. Maybe we can at least agree to make the best of the situation.”

“No.”

The answer came so quickly that I almost laughed.

“Excuse me?”

“I said no.”

He turned away and walked toward the bed.

“Here’s how this is going to work. You stay out of my way, you don’t touch my things, you don’t ask me stupid questions, and you don’t expect me to entertain you.”

“I wasn’t planning on asking you to entertain me.”

“Excellent. We’re making progress.”

He picked up a bottle of water from the desk and took a drink.

I stared at him.

“What about the program? We’re supposed to participate in activities together.”

“Then we’ll participate.”

“And the evaluations?”

“We’ll attend.”

“You’re making it sound as though we can do the bare minimum and ignore each other for eight weeks.”

He lowered the bottle.

“Now you’re catching on again.”

I couldn’t believe him.

“Why did you even agree to this program if you have no intention of making an effort?”

Something flickered in his eyes.

It was gone before I could understand it.

“Because I wanted to.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.”

I folded my arms.

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re still talking.”

I looked away before he could see how badly I wanted to cry.

I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

Not on the first day.

Not ever, if I could help it.

I walked to the chair and set my bag on the floor beside it. Then I sat down, testing the hard wooden seat.

It was worse than it looked.

The back pressed awkwardly against my shoulders, and there was barely enough room to shift my weight without one of the legs scraping across the floor.

I looked at the bed.

Justin was already lying on it, one arm behind his head, staring at the ceiling.

He looked perfectly comfortable.

“Could I at least have a blanket?” I asked.

“No.”

I stared at him.

“You’re not even going to pretend to think about it?”

“No.”

“What if I get cold?”

“Then you’ll learn to appreciate the heating.”

I closed my eyes.

For a moment, I considered throwing my shoe at his head.

It was an incredibly satisfying fantasy.

Unfortunately, I suspected it would also be a terrible idea.

“You’re a horrible person,” I muttered.

“I’ve been called worse.”

“I’m sure you have.”

He turned his head toward me.

“Something else you want to say?”

I looked directly at him.

“Yes. I hope you have the worst sleep of your life.”

His mouth curved into a slow, mocking smile.

“Get comfortable, sweetheart. You’re the one sleeping in the chair.”

Then he turned away from me.

Conversation over.

Just like that.

I sat in silence, staring at the wall while the man who would be my assigned partner for the next eight weeks made himself comfortable in the only bed in the room.

I had imagined my arrival at Blackridge a hundred different ways.

I’d imagined meeting someone difficult, someone who might be suspicious of me or reluctant to participate. I’d even prepared myself for hostility.

But I hadn’t imagined this.

I’d thought that whatever else happened, we would at least be treated like human beings.

Apparently, that had been too much to hope for.

I pulled my knees toward my chest and wrapped my arms around them.

I wouldn’t cry.

I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

Outside the room, footsteps passed and faded. Somewhere farther down the corridor, a door slammed.

The clock above the desk ticked steadily.

Eight weeks.

I had to survive eight weeks with Justin Moretti.

I thought of Ema and Ruby, and I wondered whether their assigned partners were treating them any better.

I hoped they were.

I hoped they were laughing together somewhere, discovering that their rooms had two beds and that their partners were perfectly reasonable men.

The thought was so absurd that a small, unwilling laugh escaped me.

Justin shifted on the bed.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.”

“Then stop making noise.”

I pressed my lips together.

Of course.

Even my laughter was an inconvenience.

I looked toward the tiny bathroom, wondering if I could at least wash my face before trying to sleep. My reflection stared back at me from the small mirror: pale skin, freckles, green eyes, and a smile that had disappeared hours ago.

I looked tired.

Frightened.

Younger than nineteen.

I straightened my shoulders.

I wasn’t going to let this man convince me that I didn’t belong here.

I’d survived Miriam’s cruelty. I’d survived years of uncertainty at St. Agnes. I’d spent my life learning how to make a little go a long way, how to swallow my pride when I had no other choice, and how to keep going even when everything felt hopeless.

I could survive eight weeks.

I had to.

Because the money wasn’t just money.

It was the possibility of a home. A future. A life where Ema and Ruby and I wouldn’t have to wonder whether we were wanted.

I turned off the small lamp beside the chair and settled back against the hard wooden frame.

The room grew darker.

Justin didn’t say another word.

After a while, his breathing became slow and even.

He was asleep.

Or pretending to be.

I couldn’t tell.

I shifted in the chair, trying to find a position that didn’t make my back ache. My feet barely rested comfortably on the floor, and every time I moved, the chair creaked.

The bed was only a few feet away.

I hated him for making me feel so small.

I hated that he could lie there comfortably while I struggled to find somewhere to rest.

And I hated that a tiny part of me still hoped he might change his mind.

He didn’t.

Minutes passed.

Then an hour.

I pulled my arms around myself and stared into the darkness.

My fingers found the necklace at my throat, and I held the little pendant between them.

It was familiar.

It was mine.

For reasons I couldn’t explain, touching it made me feel a little less alone.

I closed my eyes and thought of home.

Of the room at St. Agnes.

Of Ema’s ridiculous jokes and Ruby’s endless lists.

Of the promise we’d made to each other.

Eight weeks, and then we’d be free to build something of our own.

I held on to that thought as the discomfort in my back grew sharper and the night stretched on.

I didn’t know why Justin Moretti was in prison.

I didn’t know what he’d done to earn his reputation.

And I certainly didn’t know why, when he’d first looked at me, his eyes had lingered on my necklace.

I only knew that he was cruel, that he wanted nothing to do with me, and that the next eight weeks were going to be the hardest of my life.

Across the room, Justin lay in the bed without a care in the world.

I sat alone in the chair.

And somewhere between exhaustion and fear, I finally understood something I should have realised before I ever stepped through Blackridge’s gates.

The program might have promised me fifty thousand pounds.

But nobody had promised me kindness.

And the monster sleeping a few feet away had made it perfectly clear that I wouldn’t find any from him.