The Devil's Wife

"Miss Hayes, you'll be sorry that you declined. Seldom do people like your brother receive another opportunity.

Cold and purposeful, the words lingered in the air. Like a predator who has captured his prey, Damon Blackwell sat across from me, his steely blue eyes penetrating mine. My chest constricted as his velvety voice exuded a subdued dominance.

With my hands shaking from the pressure of the pen, I moved in my chair. The contract, with its tidy rows of language offering both rescue and devastation in equal measure, lay open like a weapon on the tabletop between us.

More to myself than to him, I said, "I don't have another choice."

The slightest sneer tugged at Damon's lips as he leaned back in his leather chair and replied, "No." "You don't."

My rage was fueled by his confidence, but it was a pointless flame. Damon Blackwell was a guy who destroyed everybody who tried to oppose him in addition to winning.

I glanced down at the contract once again, the words blending together as tears that had not yet been shed filled my eyes. I was his wife for a year. In exchange, my brother's life was saved from the people Damon now ruled over and his debts were paid off.

The words were straightforward. The repercussions weren't.

"Why me?" I tried to sound strong, but my voice was shaking as I asked. "Anyone might be yours. For this, why go to such lengths?

With a tilt of his head, Damon examined me as if I were a riddle he had already solved. "Because, Emma, you are helpful to me. You are very loyal, and in my world, loyalty is really unusual.

His pronunciation of my name chilled me to the bone. It was a warning of things to come, a combination of promise and ownership.

I clinched my hands, dread temporarily subdued by rage. "You mean that in whatever game you're playing, you're using me as a pawn?"

He didn't dispute it. Rather, a grin that stopped short of his eyes curled his lips. "Your brother is free to sign the deal. Otherwise, his next error may be his last.

His tone was frustratingly calm, but the malice in his remarks was planned. He was relishing every moment of having me trapped, and he knew it.

I took up the pen with a trembling hand, the cold metal digging into my palm. My whole existence begged me to fight, to flee, to do anything than surrender to this guy. Then I remembered Ryan, his bruised face from his recent "misunderstanding" with the wrong people, his empty eyes, and his frantic apologies.

Damon was providing him with a lifeline, however perverse.

As I dropped the pen to the page, my voice broke and I muttered, "You're a monster."

He grinned more broadly, as if he was proud of the title. "And you're going to turn into Mrs. Monster."

As I wrote my name at the bottom of the document, the finality of it struck me like a blow, causing the ink to smear a little. There was no turning back now that I had sold my freedom to the devil.

Reaching across the desk, Damon pushed the contract toward himself with a firm hand. His fingers momentarily touched mine, and I felt an unpleasant shock from the sudden warmth of his contact.

He replied, "Welcome to the family," in a sarcastic tone that had a hint of something else I couldn't identify.

The chair scuffed the wooden floor as I sprang to my feet. "I will participate in your game, but don't assume that I will forget what you did."

The lighthearted edge vanished from his eyes as they darkened. He grew to his full height, looming above me with a commanding presence that caused me to waver in my determination. "Be careful, Emma," he said. "You've entered my universe. It will be simpler for us both if you start playing by my rules as soon as possible.

I didn't answer. His overwhelming might made words seem pointless.

I was about to walk away when I heard his voice.

Tomorrow, get prepared to move into my penthouse. That's when your new life begins.

I didn't turn around. As I entered the elevator and the doors quietly hissed shut behind me, the tears I had struggled so hard to contain suddenly came out.

The weight of what I had just done was bearing down on me like a physical force, making the descent seem never-ending. I had sacrificed everything for a guy who saw me as only another weapon in his toolbox, including my independence and dignity.

However, I brushed away my tears and straightened my shoulders as the elevator dinged and the foyer doors opened. I wasn't going down without a fight, even if Damon Blackwell could have won this war.

As I entered the wet New York night, the turmoil of the city mirroring the tempest inside me, the notion gave me a glimmer of strength.

But as soon as I saw the sleek black automobile parked at the curb, that glimmer of power disappeared. Beside it was a motorist with an umbrella.

With a little bow, he continued, "Ms. Hayes." "I was asked to take you home by Mr. Blackwell."

He had, of course. Damon would never pass up the chance to remind me that he now had complete power over my life.

Without saying anything, I got inside the vehicle and felt the cool leather seats. We joined the never-ending flow of traffic when the driver shut the door behind me.

Beyond the windows, the city lights were a swirl of hues that provided little solace. I took my phone out of my bag with trembling hands as it buzzed.

It came from Damon—a text.

"Good night, Mrs. Blackwell. We start tomorrow.

Anger and terror knotted in my gut, making it difficult for me to breathe.

However, it wasn't the words that made me shiver. The accompanying picture was the one.

It was a photo of me just after I signed the contract, on the elevator. My shaky hands, my tear-streaked face, and my devastated look were all well caught.

One statement, "Always watching," appears underneath it.

My heart hammered in my chest, and I gripped the phone tighter. Damon Blackwell wanted me to always remember that I was confined.