Chapter 4:The Devil's bargain

The Lancaster estate didn't simply appear - it emerged from the storm like some primordial beast shaking off centuries of sleep. Towering wrought iron gates shrieked their protest as they parted, the sound setting my teeth on edge. Through the rain-streaked window, I watched the family crest flash in a burst of lightning - a lion rampant with a dagger clenched in its jaws. How fitting.

Adam sat across from me in the plush interior of the town car, his polished Oxfords digging trenches in the virgin carpet. The dim interior lights carved hollows beneath his cheekbones, making him look more specter than man. His knuckles stood out white against the leather folder in his lap, the veins in his hands standing in sharp relief. The scent of his cologne - something obscenely expensive with notes of sandalwood and bergamot - clashed violently with the metallic tang of fear coating my tongue.

Three hours. Three hours since he'd dragged me from my home, and not a single word had passed his lips. But his silence spoke volumes.

You lied to me.

You played me.

You're just like all the others.

The car rolled to a stop beneath the porte-cochère, its tires crunching over crushed seashells - yet another ostentatious display of Lancaster wealth. Rain slashed sideways as the door opened, stinging my cheeks like a hundred tiny needles. Black-suited guards materialized from the shadows, their faces blank masks beneath umbrellas held just a fraction too high, forcing me to duck my head as I stepped out.

"Move." The guard's grip bit into my elbow as he steered me toward the towering double doors. Behind us, I heard Papa's muffled protest cut short by a sharp grunt. I whirled around just in time to see him stumble, a thin trickle of blood snaking from his split lip.

Adam's hand shot out, stopping me mid-lunge. For the first time since the club, his eyes met mine - those impossible blue eyes haunting me.Up close, I could see the flecks of gold swimming in their depths, the faint scar bisecting his left eyebrow. His lips parted as if to speak, but then Eve's voice sliced through the night air like a scalpel.

"Richard! How gallant of you to bring her yourself."

The foyer was a mausoleum of wealth - acres of black-and-white marble polished to a mirror shine, a chandelier dripping enough crystals to feed a small country. My reflection stared back at me from every surface - a drowned rat in a ruined cocktail dress, my smudged mascara giving me the hollow-eyed look of some storybook wraith.

Eve Lancaster descended the grand staircase with the predatory grace of a big cat, her silk robe whispering against her ankles. Even at this ungodly hour, she looked like she'd stepped off a magazine cover - not a strand of her champagne-blonde bob out of place, her lips painted the same arterial red as the wine in her crystal glass.

Adam's hand tightened on my arm. "Mother."

"Darling." Eve's smile was all teeth. "I see you've finally met our little investment." She circled me, her manicured nail tracing the strap of my dress with clinical detachment. "My, my. You clean up surprisingly well for a... what was it? Barista?"

I slapped her hand away hard enough to send her diamond bracelet skittering across the marble. The guards moved as one, but Eve's laugh stopped them cold.

"Feisty! Jordan always said Richard's girl had spirit." She snapped her fingers. A servant materialized bearing a velvet box that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. Inside, nestled like a sleeping viper, lay my father's IOUs - each one stamped with Jordan Lancaster's flamboyant signature.

Adam went rigid beside me. "What the hell is this?"

"This, my dear boy," Eve purred, plucking a yellowed photograph from the box, "is your father's last act of charity before that... unfortunate accident." She held up the photo - Papa and Jordan arm in arm at some long-ago football game, their faces split with identical grins. "Richard was always his favorite pet."

I saw the exact moment it clicked for Adam - the moment he realized this entire nightmare had been orchestrated long before we'd ever met. His breath hitched almost imperceptibly, but I felt the tremor that ran through him, vibrating through his fingertips where they still gripped my arm.

"You knew." Adam's voice was dangerously quiet. "When I told you about the girl at the club, you knew exactly who she was."

Eve took a leisurely sip of wine. "And you didn't? How delicious." She trailed a finger along the ledger's spine. "The cancer treatments. The funeral. The interest." Her lacquered nail tapped the bottom line with finality. "$2.7 million. Or..." Her gaze slid to me like oil on water. "Her."

The numbers swam before my eyes. No. This couldn't be right. The original loan had been for $500,000. Even with criminal interest rates...

Adam's grip on my arm tightened to the point of pain. "You'd sell your own son to collect a debt?"

Eve's laugh was the sound of shattering crystal. "Darling, I'd sell you twice if the price was right." She snapped the ledger shut. "The contract is clear. Richard's daughter weds a Lancaster to settle the debt. Since Jordan is... unavailable, the honor falls to you."

The room tilted violently. I reached blindly for Papa, only to find him being held back by two guards, his face ashen. "Lucia has nothing to do with this!"

"Oh, but she does." Eve's smile turned feral as she produced another document - this one bearing Papa's shaky signature. "You signed the amendment yourself, Richard. Section 12-C. Collateral reassignment upon default."

Papa looked like he might be sick. "That was a standard loan renewal! You never mentioned—"

"Tut tut." Eve waved a dismissive hand. "Always read the fine print." She turned those shark's eyes on Adam. "The wedding will be next month. Small affair. Just family."

Adam moved so fast I barely registered it - one second standing rigid beside me, the next slamming the ledger against the wall hard enough to send papers fluttering like wounded birds. "Go to hell."

Eve didn't so much as blink. "I'll see you at breakfast, darling. We have florists to meet." With that, she turned on her heel and glided up the stairs, leaving us standing in the wreckage.

The guards steered me toward the east wing, their grip unrelenting. Through the haze of shock, I registered passing room after opulent room - each more grotesquely lavish than the last. They finally deposited me in what could only be described as a gilded prison - a guest suite straight out of some period drama, complete with silk sheets and, I noted with dull horror, barred windows artfully disguised as decorative grilles.

I didn't sleep. Couldn't sleep. Instead, I paced the length of the room, my mind racing through every possible escape route. The windows were a no-go. The door was undoubtedly guarded. My phone had been confiscated at the gate.

The door cracked open just before dawn.

Cara slipped inside like a shadow, her usual sequins replaced by sweatpants, her makeup smeared like she'd been crying. "Thank God you're alive," she breathed, pulling me into a hug that smelled like stale champagne and fear.

I stood rigid in her arms. "How much?"

She stiffened. "What?"

"Eve paid you to lure me in. How much was I worth?"

Cara's throat worked as she stepped back. "Fifty grand." When I didn't react, she grabbed my hands, her grip feverish. "But listen - Adam's loaded. If you play this right—"

I yanked free so violently she stumbled. "Play what? Being sold like some fucking broodmare?"

"You think I like this?" Cara's whisper cracked. "My mom's drowning in medical bills too. Difference is, I took the lifeline Eve offered." She shoved a keycard into my palm - black embossed with gold numbers. 900. The same penthouse suite where this nightmare began. "He's waiting for you."

I stared at the card, my reflection warped in its glossy surface. "Why?"

Cara turned to leave, then hesitated at the door. "Because he doesn't want this either. Ask him why."

The walk to room 900 felt like marching to my own execution. Every corridor was a carbon copy of the last - all cold marble and priceless art, the occasional servant scurrying past with eyes carefully averted.

Adam stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows when I entered, backlit by the city's glow, his silhouette sharp enough to draw blood. The room smelled of expensive whiskey and barely leashed rage.

"You came." He didn't turn.

I stayed rooted by the door, the keycard digging into my palm. "Tell me why you hate this arrangement more than I do."

A bitter laugh. He finally turned, and in the dim light I could see the toll the night had taken - the shadows beneath his eyes, the tension in his jaw. "Because my mother always gets what she wants." He hurled his crystal glass into the fireplace hard enough to shatter it. "And what she wants is you broken."

Ice flooded my veins. "What?"

Adam prowled closer, each step measured. "She didn't just call in your father's debt. She engineered it. The loans. The terms. Even the hospital that failed your mother." His hand flexed at his side, the scars across his knuckles standing out white. "All because my father loved yours more than her."

The world narrowed to his next words, each one landing like a hammer blow:

"Marrying you isn't about money. It's about watching Richard Pete's daughter kneel."

The door exploded inward before I could respond.

Eve stood framed in the doorway, her scarlet lips curled in triumph. Behind her, guards dragged a bloodied Papa forward, his face a mask of pain and defiance.

"Perfect," she purred, stepping into the room like a queen claiming her throne. "Now let's discuss the wedding."