CHAPTER 5

Deal with the Devil

Damian's POV

The sun came in through my window, but I didn't feel its warmth. My head hurt from more than just the meeting with Eliot at the rooftop bar. It was the weight of everything pushing in. The engagement. The inheritance. My dad.

I couldn't touch the breakfast on the table. I turned down the maid's offer of coffee and put on my jacket instead. Another day of acting. Another day of staying alive.

I wasn't called into my dad's study. He summoned me like a king to his court. Our butler was the one who came to deliver the message. His voice was stiff, eyes lowered. I knew what was going to happen. Even so, as I walked down the long hallway with its cold marble floors and paintings, my stomach turned.

My dad didn't look up when I walked in. His arms were behind his back as he stood by the window and stared out at the city scenery as if he owned it.

"You look tired," he said flatly.

"I didn’t sleep much," I replied.

"I see. That's unfortunate. We need to talk about some important things.”

Every word in his voice was always sharp like a blade. I stood there quietly because I knew not to talk. This wasn’t a conversation. It was a verdict.

“Sit,” he said without turning.

I obeyed.

"Your engagement to Lila will be official next month. There will be a news story in two days. And the wedding is planned for the end of the year."

My chest got tight. "So soon?"

He finally looked me in the eyes when he turned around. "Delays is not an option. Deal depends on how people sees the company and how it looks. The board has already been told."

I took a breath. "What if I'm ready?"

He moved forward. “Then you’ll lose everything.”

My jaw dropped.

He didn’t blink. “You want your inheritance? Your place as CEO after me? Then you will marry that girl and play your part. Or you can walk out of this house and never come back."

I knew he meant it. When my dad made threats, they were always real.

I didn’t answer. I just stared.

He narrowed his eyes. “Is there a problem?”

“No,” I lied.

"Good." He leaned in. "You get it, right? This isn't just about getting married. It’s about legacy. Power. This deal secures the future.”

I wanted to laugh. Future? Whose? Obviously not mine.

"You are the heir, Damian. But if you don’t take this seriously, I’ll name someone else. There are cousins who are eager for the throne.”

I clenched my hands together under the desk.

He wasn't bluffing. I knew he meant it.

"You are going to marry her. You're going to smile to the camera. And you will live up to the Vale name."

His words cut me like knives in the chest.

My feet hurt as I walked out of the study. Each step was heavier than the last.

There was a lot of expectations in the air outside. The staff walked by me and politely nodded. No one saw the storm in my mind. I felt like a hollow shell by the time I got to my room.

We had a small garden party that night. Strictly for friends and family who are very close. All for the sake of appearance.

It looked like magical when the lights were strung through the trees. But I saw it as a show. A lie that looks great.

I stood near the roses, sipping champagne I couldn’t taste. People aughed. Cameras clicked. Then she smiled at me.

My fiancée.

She looked nice. Even sweet. But we didn't know each other. A puppets in a game that neither of us came up with.

Then I felt someone behind me. Heat at my back. Familiar.

Eliot.

"Loving the show?" he asked in a low voice.

I tensed up but didn't turn around. "What do you want?"

"You."

Then I quickly turned. He was wearing a dark suit, and his tie was hanging down. He had a smile on his face.

“Don’t do this here,” I hissed.

He tilted his head. "Then where? In your room? Or back at the hotel, where you moaned under my touch?"

I gave him a mean look. "Told you it was a mistake."

He took a step closer. “And the second one?”

I turned away. "We can't. You're her brother."

“Still, you look at me all the time.

He put out his hand and ran his fingers over mine. The touch made my arm tingle.

Someone called my name. I stepped back, breaking the touch.

He smirked. "Run, prince. I will find you, though.”

I tried to focus. My father gave another toast. Guests clapped. I felt like I was drowning in cheers.

Later, I sneaked off to the far corner of the garden.I had to get air. I needed a space to gain my sanity.

But that was cut short.

Eliot was waiting with a drink in his hand and leaning against a statue made of marble.

When I got close, he asked, "Rough day?"

"You could say that."

He took a step closer, and his eyes sharp. "He gave you no choice, right? Obey or you'll lose everything.

"How did you—"

"I know his type."

His gaze dropped to my lips, then back up again. "Okay, prince. What are you going to do? Be the man you really are or the obedient heir?"

I turned away. "There’s no choice."

He put out his hand and lightly touched my wrist. There was a spark between us. My breath caught

"You know I couldn't forget,” he said in a whisper. "That night. How you kissed me like you meant it."

I made my jaw tighten. "It was a mistake."

I said it again. It looks like the words were my new excuse.

He leaned in, his lips were only an inch from mine. "Say it again. Say it to me straight in the eye.”

I couldn't.

“I don't think so,” he said, his voice low.

He grabbed my hand and held it tight when I tried to pull away.

"You're scared,” he said in a whisper.

"Of you?"

“No,” he said, pushing closer. “Of how I make you feel.”

His lips touched the back of my neck. I had a shortness of breath.

“We shouldn’t...” I tried to speak but—

He kissed me.

It wasn't soft. It wasn't smooth. It was a need. Fire. A scream stuck in my throat.

I was shaking when he pulled back.

“This is wrong,” I breathed.

He smiled against my skin. "But I think it's right."

It hurt me that he was right.

I grabbed his jacket and held him still. Wanting more. Hating myself for it.

But I pushed him away.

“We can’t,” I said again, though weaker.

He looked at me. Not angry. Not hurt. Just looking.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone.

I made a face. "What are you..."

He hit something and put it up.

A picture.

Cloudy. Far away. But us. Right here. Right now.

“Paparazzi,” he said softly. "Someone just took a shot of us."

My heart stopped beating.

“How did you—”

“Damian,” he said, and I hated how much I loved the way he said my name. “You can fake love. But not desire.”