Chapter 4: Make A Deal With The Devil 

The quiet man’s eyes burned with intensity, though his lips remained sealed. An underlying storm was brewing just below his carefully crafted facade, each unspoken word thickening the tension that hung heavily in the air.

His assistant broke the silence again, visibly rattled. “Sir, what should we do? You know your grandfather’s will. The deadline for submitting the marriage certificate is today, or the company falls into someone else’s hands. Your uncle Gerald won’t waste a second exploiting this opportunity.”

The mention of Gerald sparked something within him; a flash of barely contained anger hardened his face as his jaw tightened. But he said nothing, eyes distant as if weighing options that only he could see.

Unbeknownst to them, Sophia was nearby and had caught every word. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but the urgency in their voices drew her in. "Marriage certificate?" The phrase echoed in her mind, a strange spark of desperation flickering to life. What if…?

An idea—reckless but oddly liberating—began to take shape. Before she could second-guess herself, she found her feet moving toward them, her heart racing faster with each step.

“Excuse me, sorry to interrupt,” she said softly, trying to appear calm though her heart pounded in her chest.

The man turned, his cold, calculated gaze assessing her with the precision of a scalpel. Tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair that was meticulously groomed, he looked like a statue chiseled in marble. There was a dangerous aura about him that made Sophia instinctively want to back down. But she held her ground, swallowing her nerves.

“Speak. What do you want?” he asked, voice low and commanding, laced with impatience.

She took a deep breath, words tumbling out before fear could swallow them whole. “I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation. You need a wife to secure your inheritance, and I...I need money for my mother’s surgery. Perhaps we can help each other.”

For a moment, his expression remained unreadable, his sharp eyes flickering with mild interest. “Did you just propose to marry me?” he asked, voice laced with disbelief and a hint of curiosity.

“Well… Yes, but strictly business,” she clarified, her tone steady despite the fluttering panic in her chest. “You get the marriage certificate, I get the funds for my mother’s surgery. No strings attached.”

The assistant, standing beside him, raised an eyebrow at the unexpected twist. A subtle smirk tugged at his lips, as though amused by Sophia’s audacity.

After what felt like an eternity, the man gave a curt nod. “Deal.” His voice was cold and final, cutting through the air with chilling certainty.

Sophia let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She had just agreed to marry a stranger—a man whose gaze was colder than the winter wind and whose expression made it clear he saw her as nothing more than a necessary means to an end. But did she have any other choice? Her mother’s life hung in the balance.

“Alexander Evans,” he said abruptly, stretching out his hand with a formality that left little room for warmth or familiarity.

“Sophia Blackwell.” She extended her own hand to meet his, her skin brushing against his firm grip. A strange spark shot through her, and she froze momentarily, snapping out of her daze only when he cleared his throat, saying, “My hand.”

“Huh?” Sophia was surprised; she released his hand, cursing herself inwardly. ‘Sophia! What were you thinking?’

The assistant turned around to hide his chuckle.

“Shall we proceed?” His tone was dismissive, as if eager to get this transaction over with.

Sophia nodded, forcing herself to ignore the strange mix of nerves and relief bubbling within her. Alexander turned to his assistant. “Mark, prepare the documents. We’re doing this now.”

In a matter of minutes, they were signing papers in the civil affairs office. The entire process was cold, efficient, and devoid of emotion. Alexander handled everything as though it were just another corporate merger, every detail managed with flawless precision.

Sophia barely registered the bureaucratic exchange. Her mind was numb, running through the whirlwind of decisions that had led her here. She was now Mrs. Alexander Evans—a title that felt as foreign as it did finally.

As they exited, Alexander turned to her, his gaze detached. “You’ll receive the funds today, as agreed. My assistant will handle your living arrangements.”

Sophia nodded. “Thank you,” she murmured, feeling an unsettling mix of gratitude and apprehension.

He acknowledged her with a brief nod, then walked away, his figure dissolving into the crowd, his assistant following closely behind.

Sophia watched them disappear, an uneasy emptiness settling in her chest. She had no idea what she’d signed up for, but one thing was clear: she’d crossed a line, one that couldn’t be easily retraced.

Lost in thought, she was startled when Mark, Alexander’s assistant, returned. “Miss Blackwell, the arrangements have been finalized. Mr. Evans also instructed me to inform you that your mother’s surgery will be covered.”

Sophia’s heart swelled with relief. For the first time since her impulsive proposal, she felt a hint of validation. “Thank you, Mark.”

As they drove back to her apartment, Sophia couldn’t shake the surreal feeling that had settled over her. The papers had been signed, promises exchanged, and yet, there was an emptiness that she couldn’t quite shake. Her phone buzzed, jolting her from her thoughts. Her brother Ethan’s name flashed on the screen, reminding her of her promise to visit the hospital. She quickly replied, ‘I'm sorry, Ethan. I got caught up with something.’

Before she could put her phone down, it buzzed again. She checked it, and her stomach twisted. Marcus. Her ex-husband. The man who’d shattered her heart without a second thought.

She ignored the call, not ready to face the bitterness that the name evoked. Moments later, a message appeared.

You know where to find me if you change your mind. And don’t even think about blackmailing me for money. You’re on your own now.

Sophia let out a humorless laugh, rolling her eyes at his audacity. “Even if I have to sleep on the street, Marcus, I’d rather endure anything than go back to you.”

Ignoring the message, she slipped her phone back into her bag, focusing on what mattered: her mother’s chance at recovery.

---

Meanwhile, across town, the Hawthorne estate was enveloped in tense silence. Raphael Hawthorne, the patriarch, paced in his study, frustration radiating from every tense muscle. “Are you certain she received my message?” he demanded, turning to his butler.

The butler bowed respectfully, “Yes, sir. I relayed your instructions as you directed.”

A storm brewed in Raphael’s gaze, his fingers tapping restlessly against his desk. “How dare she ignore me? I may have some use for her, but disrespect will not be tolerated.” the old man was as manipulative as his grandson Marcus.

The butler kept silent, accustomed to Raphael’s mercurial temper. The old man’s eyes narrowed, voice dripping with veiled menace. “Call her again. Tell her she is expected here immediately.”

In the shadowed quiet of the study, Raphael’s threat hung in the air—a reminder that he was not a man to be ignored. The butler took out his phone and went out to call Sophia.

Sophia, oblivious to the gathering storm, returned home, hoping to find a semblance of peace in her otherwise chaotic day. Little did she know, this fragile calm was but the calm before the storm, and her life was about to be upended once again.

She had completely forgotten about the old man's summon as she was too busy with her affairs. Come thinking about it now, she was no longer part of their family, and she didn't need to go. She needed to keep her distance from the Hawthornes from now on.

As she prepared to take a shower, her phone buzzed again. She went to check out and upon seeing the number on the screen, she cursed, "Speaking of the devil!”