Chapter 3: The Deal of the Devil

I looked directly into his eyes.

They were filled with dreadful certainty, emotionless, and frigid. Each heartbeat sounded like a warning bell inside my chest, causing my pulse to gallop. I wanted to scream, to escape, to disappear into the ground. However, time was of the essence. No way out.

My jaw dropped.

"One."

"I'll remain," I muttered.

As the words left my throat, they burned. They tasted like capitulation, treachery, and iron. However, they were the only ones who could sustain my life.

He curled his lips, but not into a smile. Something smug and colder, as if he had always known I would fold. His expression was one of satisfaction rather than victory.

"Wise girl," he remarked.

He moved aside to make room for me. However, it didn't seem liberating. It had the texture of softly placed bait inside a steel trap. For now, but not for long, I could breathe.

"Stand up," he said.

Even though my legs shook under me, I made them move. I got up slowly, maintaining eye contact the entire time. He observed me as though he were evaluating a new purchase—something worthwhile yet risky. anything he might intentionally break, or anything that could break if not handled properly.

His voice was clear and harsh as he stated, "You'll live under my house." "Adhere to my guidelines. Don't lie. No games.

"What if I make a mistake?" Before I could stop myself, I asked.

Like the honing of a sword, his eyes narrowed slightly.

"You won't."

There was no danger. It was true.

In silence, two soldiers entered the room behind him. Their hands were merely hovering close to their weapons, and their faces were expressionless. I didn't require a warning. I was aware of the consequences of running or resisting. I wouldn't even reach the entrance.

He gave them a single nod, and they vanished into the darkness, soundless as vapour.

Then, like a predator examining its prey that had at last ceased to struggle, he turned back to face me while cocking his head slightly.

He remarked, "You're not here just to sit pretty." "You'll put in work. You'll merit your spot.

I took a deep breath. "What is meant by that?"

"You'll learn soon," he answered.

It wasn't a response. It was patience disguised as a warning. With heavy, stiff legs, I obeyed his motion to move. I had the feeling that a chain was being fastened around my throat with every step I went down the hallway.

This time, he led me down a different hallway, one that was quieter, narrower, and windowless. Silence and stone floors had taken the place of the gleaming marble. It had the scent of secrets and frigid air.

Finally he opened a door.

My new space.

It was rather larger than the holding cell. In the corner, next to a simple wooden desk, was a bed. Grey light came in through a barred window. In theory, it wasn't a prison. It wasn't freedom, though. The walls of the cage were softer.

"You're going to remain here," he said. "Until I make a different decision."

That sentence struck more forcefully than it ought to have.

Make a different choice. It meant that nothing was guaranteed to me, including food, breath, or safety. He owned the clock, therefore I was living on borrowed time.

I folded my arms across my chest and faced him directly.

"What if I run?"

He was not amused. He didn't blinked at all. His mouth twitched, but it was with something much colder than laughter.

He remarked, "You won't get far."

His gaze then momentarily shifted to my hands.

With a hint of gloom in his voice, he continued, "There are worse men outside these gates." Men who are highly attracted to girls like you.

I felt sick to my stomach. I was therefore more than just a prisoner; I was a negotiating chip. It was not because he cared that he was affording me safety. since it worked for him. I was more useful when I was breathing than when I was dead.

In one long, stealthy stride, he closed the distance between us once more.

And something flared in his eyes for a single, fleeting moment. Perhaps out of curiosity. or acknowledgement. However, it disappeared too quickly to capture.

He remarked, "You lived longer than most people would."

It wasn't a compliment. It was a detached remark, a fact stored for later use in the recesses of his memory.

I raised my chin.

"I'm not like most people."

He gave a slight smile, but it was not a friendly one.

"We'll see."

He flung something onto the desk after taking it out of his coat. When it struck the wood, I winced.

A phone that is black.

inexpensive. Not branded. burned.

"You'll always have this with you," he remarked. I call, and you pick up. You come when I say come.

I moved forward and grabbed it. It was chilly. It was heavier than it appeared.

It wasn't a present.

It was a leash.

"What if I don't?"

His voice sank so low that it felt like silk gliding over my skin as he bent down.

"You'll discover then how imaginative I am."

In an attempt to hide the tremor, I nodded once and bit the inside of my cheek.

For now, my sole triumph was survival.

He took a step back, his face unreadable.

"Take a nap. Your actual work starts tomorrow.

He turned and walked away without saying another word.

I heard the latch move into position as the door closed with a silent finality. A weighty, substantial sound. There is no place for uncertainty.

I collapsed into the bed and gazed at the door as if it would open again at any moment. My knuckles were white as I tightly gripped the blanket.

I just agreed to what?

I had exchanged life for freedom.

However, under this guy and in this house, life could be more expensive than death.

There was a restless quiet for hours. The ceiling was covered in shifting shadows. I continued to breathe lightly and shallowly.

Then I saw it—a tiny black speck in the corner of the ceiling.

camera.

Naturally.

They were watching me. Every action. Each breath. Every error.

I tightened the blanket to remind myself that I was still human, not to be warm.

I couldn't risk breaking.

Not in this place.

Not quite yet.

It was colder in the morning than anticipated. There was a fast, forceful knock on my door.

My heart slammed against my ribs as I stumbled to my feet.

A young maid came in, her hands shaking around a silver dish, her gaze downcast. Without a word, she put it down and walked away.

I didn't touch the breakfast, just gazed at it—toast, eggs, and black coffee. Nothing that arrived here too easily was trusted by me. Not even goodwill.

The hours were tight and never-ending, like wire.

There were no orders.

No trips.

Nothing but quiet.

What little determination I still had was eaten away by it as it clawed at my nerves like a slow-burning fire.

I was already standing when the door opened again.

And he was the one.

Ludwig.

as motionless as stone. As cold as ever.

Hands in his pockets as if nothing could ever touch him, he entered with the same silent authority.

He said, "Get dressed."

"For what purpose?" My voice cracked despite my best effort to keep it level.

There was a faint, cold smile on his face.

"For your initial exam."

After two minutes, someone arrived with clothing, including thick boots, a black shirt and black trousers. Not wearing any jewellery. No cosmetics. No vanity, all utility.

I hurriedly tied my hair back and got dressed.

Two soldiers immediately flanked me as soon as I entered the hallway.

I followed Ludwig, who led the way.

Down winding corridors, farther into the estate's centre. The temperature dropped. The lights went down. They didn't show off this area of the house to visitors.

Two men were standing in front of a huge black door at the end of the path.

Sounds from behind it were muffled.

Shouts.

Grunts.

Pain.

Without hesitation, Ludwig pushed the door open.

A tiny room made of concrete.

With his head down and blood crusting around his nose and temple, one man was strapped to a chair.

He was just about conscious. Broken.

I froze.

Ludwig didn't.

His voice calm, he took a step forward.

"This is a rat," he declared.

I closed my throat and remained silent.

He circled the man like a vulture and added, "A spy." "An individual who sold secrets to my adversaries."

The man let forth a pathetic, rasping sigh. I could see the whites of his eyes when he raised his head.

Fear.

Ludwig was completely unaffected by it.

Then he turned to face me.

as well as flung something at my feet.

A firearm.

I felt sick to my stomach.

He took another stride forward.

As casual as requesting coffee, he said, "You want to live, little thief?"

He pointed to the man seated there.

"Press the trigger."

He smiled slowly and sharply again.

"And let's check if you're truly prepared to live."

At my feet was the gun.

The man let out a whimper.

At my sides, my hands shook.

In that moment, I understood the true nature of this house.

Mercy was a sign of weakness.

And frailty?

Death is the penalty for weakness.