Chapter 4 The Devil's Bargain

Hector's question sliced through the tense air like a blade. His dark gaze locked onto mine, searching for any sign of weakness. I pressed my back against his desk, the drawer behind me hiding secrets I couldn’t let him discover.

"He knew something," I thought, as my heart raced and my palms grew sweaty. I forced a tense smile.

"The lease agreement," I said quickly, trying to keep my voice steady. For my new office. "I need the signed copy for the bank tomorrow." I nodded toward the filing cabinets by the door, hoping he would buy my excuse.

With a steadier, more confident posture, I added, "I tried calling, but the gala…" I trailed off, praying my reasoning would make sense.

His stare didn’t waver. It scrutinized my anxious face and trembling hands. He stepped closer, the sound of his shoes echoing on the floor.

"The lease," he repeated in a dangerously flat voice. "In my office, at my desk."

Instead of heading for the cabinets, he closed the gap between us, and his presence felt heavy and suffocating. His cologne hit my nose.

"You look tired and nervous, Maria," he said, his hands twitching as if he might touch me. I flinched, cursing myself for it.

"Are you okay?" His eyes narrowed. Silence hit hard, my pulse pounding in my ears.

A soft sound interrupted the tension—his phone. He held my gaze a moment longer, a warning lingering in his stare before he answered it.

"Reyes," he said, with his commanding voice. He listened as his jaw clenched. "Handle it, I’ll be there in a minute." He pocketed his phone and fixed me with a suspicious stare.

"Find your lease, Maria, then get the hell back to the gala, your absence has been noticed." His tone left no room for argument.

Just before leaving the door, he paused. "We’ll talk about this… later."

The door clicked shut behind him, and I felt relief wash over me, though I was still shaking. It was 9:15 PM, and the blackmailer’s deadline had passed.

The Project Phoenix file wasn’t in the drawer with Eleanor's documents. I had to find it—now. My fear mixed subtly with adrenaline. I had only minutes before Hector returned. The safe? No time to crack it. The filing cabinets? Too obvious. As my eyes scanned the room, I suddenly noticed a wooden panel by the fireplace; it was less dusty than the surrounding area.

I rushed over and traced my fingers along the edge. A faint seam caught my attention. I pressed it and then pushed harder, and with a click, the panel slid open, revealing a hidden compartment containing one unmarked folder: "Project Phoenix."

My stomach churned. "He did this to Darian, he ruins kids." A flash of a bruised teenage Darian appeared in my mind, his defiant eyes fueling my anger. I had never imagined my father could do what was in that file.

I grabbed the folder, shut the panel, and concealed it in my gown. There was no time to read it. No time to hesitate. The blackmailer had photos of Darian and me. Hector controlled my future, but Darian's pain fueled my impulse.

I slipped into the corridor, ignoring the distant gala music, and headed for the east wing, moving through the old servants' passage that Naomi and I had used as kids. It was dark and discreet. Outside, the night air hit me, sharp and cold. It was 9:55 PM. My heart raced as I reached the garden fountain, the folder heavy against my gown.

A figure stepped from the shadows by the garden wall—not a thug, but a man in a sharp tuxedo, holding a cane, his face was obscured by darkness. Short and surprisingly agile, he approached, extending a gloved hand, palm up. No words were exchanged, only expectations.

My fingers trembled as I pulled the folder from my gown. Project Phoenix. Hector's secret. My betrayal. Darian's bruised face came to mind again, steeling my resolve. "For him." I shoved the folder into his hand. His fingers brushed against mine, lingering too long, sending a shiver of disgust through me. He didn’t check the folder, just nodded once and melted back into the shadows.

The photos of Darian and me were safe—for now. But I had handed over a weapon, not knowing who held it or what they would do with it. My victory felt hollow and tainted.

Two weeks later, I had set up my new office, "Dr. Maria Reyes, Clinical Psychologist." The smell of fresh paint and leather filled the space, with my desk, chairs, and fresh start surrounding me.

Naomi adjusted a vase of lilies on the reception desk. "Nervous about your first day?" she asked. "Just ready to start," I lied, smoothing my skirt. My hands felt clammy. My first client, a "Mr. Smith," was due soon. I needed to focus and remain professional.

Naomi glanced at her watch. "I’ve got to run an errand before lunch. "Are you good?" I nodded. "Go ahead." She grabbed her bag and left, the door clicking shut behind her. Minutes later, the doorbell chimed. I took a deep breath, forcing calmness. Footsteps echoed in the reception area, steady and deliberate. The inner door opened, and he stepped in: Darian Wolfe. Not Mr. Smith.

My breath caught, my heart skipped a beat. His charcoal suit hugged his tall frame, his ice-gray eyes piercing through mine with his predatory focus. I felt the heat in me, unbidden, my skin was tingling at the memory of his touch—sweat, silk, his weight pinning me down. Desire mixed with fear, my stomach churned as those eyes stripped me naked.

I was exposed, vulnerable, and my professionalism cracked under the weight of our past betrayal-a forbidden night with the enemy. He didn’t smile. Instead, he crossed the room, taking in my office before focusing intently on me—dark and promising trouble. He sank into the client's chair across my desk uninvited, settling in with smooth, commanding ease, one leg crossed over the other. The leather creaked beneath him.

"Dr. Reyes," he said, with a low and rough voice, like velvet over gravel. It tingled every nerve in my body, rekindling sensations I had fought to bury. My thighs clenched, and my neck flushed as fear and desire battled within me. He leaned back, curving his lips into a dangerous smirk.

"I’m your ten o’clock, let’s get started." He slid a platinum card across my desk, deliberate and controlled. "Weekly sessions, indefinitely." His eyes held mine, unblinking. "I have a lot to... unpack, Dr Reyes." He smiled darkly.

The word dripped with meaning, heavy with the weight of our shared secrets. My calm facade shattered, leaving only panic—and a treacherous pulse of heat I couldn’t ignore.

"Let's start with a woman I met two weeks ago at a bar," he said, pulling out a red panties that I recognized from his pocket.