CHAPTER ONE: The Beginning

Irene Pov 

She only wanted the money to save a dying man; he only wanted a body to satisfy an undying, insatiable urge.

The harsh, mechanical shrill of the heart monitor was a sound I had come to dread, but nothing prepared me for the sickening thud that echoed through our small living room.

"Dad!" I screamed, dropping my armful of textbooks as I lunged across the hardwood floor.

My father was sprawled helplessly on the carpet, his skin a ghostly shade of grey, his lips tinged with a faint blue. His hand clutched weakly at his chest as he gasped for air that refused to reach his lungs. This was the fourth time in two months that his body had surrendered to the aggressive tumor destroying his organs—the fourth time I watched the only family I had left slip through my fingers.

"Irene... I'm sorry..." he wheezed, his eyes rolling back as his consciousness faded completely.

"No, no, no! Stay with me! Dad, open your eyes!" I sobbed, frantically tapping his clammy cheek before screaming at the top of my lungs. "Bella! Call an ambulance! Now!"

The next two hours were a blur of flashing red lights, sterile white corridors, and the crushing smell of antiseptic. I sat on a hard plastic chair in the emergency room waiting area, my knees pulled up to my chest, my clothes stained with the cold sweat of my father's collapsing frame.

My cell phone vibrated violently in my trembling hand. I looked down, expecting a call from the head physician, but instead, my stomach dropped as my uncle's name flashed across the screen. Uncle Richard. The man who had spent the last six months trying to strip my father of his remaining assets the moment he fell ill.

I swiped the screen, pressing the phone to my ear. "Uncle Richard? Please tell me you're coming to the hospital. Dad just had another major seizure, and—"

"Save your tears, Irene," my uncle’s cold, bitter voice cut through the receiver, completely devoid of empathy. "I'm calling to inform you that the bank has officially processed the foreclosure documents. Your father signed over his share of the family property to me three weeks ago to cover his previous medical loans. You have forty-eight hours to clear your belongings out of that house."

My breath caught violently in my throat. The betrayal hit me like a physical blow to the chest. "What? That’s a lie! Dad would never sign anything over to you! He was under heavy sedation—you tricked him!"

"Call it whatever you want, girl," Richard sneered. "The paperwork is legally binding. And don't bother coming to the family estate for help. You and your sick father are on your own. Good luck paying for his ICU fees when the bank freezes his remaining accounts by noon."

The line went dead with a harsh beep.

I pulled the phone away from my ear, a single, hot tear escaping my eye as absolute ruin settled over my shoulders. My own flesh and blood had robbed us blind while my father lay dying on a stretcher.

The heavy double doors of the ICU swung open, and Dr. Holland stepped out, looking weary as he pulled off his surgical mask. I scrambled to my feet, rushing toward him.

"Doctor... How is he?" I begged, my voice cracking.

Dr. Holland looked down at me with profound sympathy. "We stabilized him, Irene, but the tumor has metastasized further. He needs emergency, high-level oncology surgery within forty-eight hours, or his organs will shut down permanently. But..." He paused, taking a deep breath. "The hospital board has placed a hard freeze on his account. The procedure, along with the specialized ICU suite, costs three hundred thousand dollars upfront. If the payment isn't cleared by tomorrow morning, we will have no choice but to discharge him to a hospice ward."

Three hundred thousand dollars. I couldn't even raise three hundred dollars after my uncle’s cold betrayal.

I collapsed back onto the plastic chair, burying my face in my hands as suffocating, violent sobs wrecked my chest. I was entirely alone, broke, homeless in two days, and about to watch my father die because I didn't have paper in my hands.

Bella stepped up behind me, wrapping her arms firmly around my shaking shoulders. She let me cry for a few long minutes before pulling me up to face her. Her expression was deadly serious, devoid of her usual bubbly demeanor.

"Irene, listen to me," Bella whispered, her voice low and tight as she looked around the quiet hallway. "You can't get this money from a bank. You can't get it from your evil relatives. But there is one place... one man who treats three hundred thousand dollars like loose pocket change."

I wiped my wet cheeks, staring at her in desperation. "Who? Bella, I'll do anything. I'll take three jobs, I'll sign any loan—"

"No loan shark will touch you," Bella interrupted flatly. "I'm talking about Lucian Dimitri."

The name sent a sudden, icy shiver straight down my spine. Even in the innocent halls of my fashion university, everyone knew that name. Lucian Dimitri—the ruthless billionaire CEO of the Dimitri Enterprise, and the undisputed, feared Devil of the city's dark underworld. He was a man spoken of in terrified whispers: cold, merciless, and completely devoid of human compassion.

"Bella... he's a monster," I gasped out, my heart hammering against my ribs. "The rumors say he destroys every person who crosses his path."

"The rumors also say he pays absurd, life-changing sums for short-term personal arrangements," Bella countered, her grip tightening on my wrists as she pressed her case. "He has an insatiable, legendary appetite for women, but no one ever lasts with him because his power is too overwhelming. He hires high-end private companions, pays them fortunes, and disposes of them. It's the only way, Irene. It's the only way to get three hundred thousand dollars in cash in under twelve hours to pay your dad's bills and stop your uncle from destroying what's left of your life."

I stared at my best friend, my mind reeling in absolute horror. "How do you expect me to just walk into the lion's den and sell my V-card to that unsatisfied devil?" I asked, my voice cracking with pure frustration and terror.

"Because that's the only way to save your dad and keep him breathing," Bella replied, her eyes pleading with me. "I have a contact who works for his personal security team. I can submit your profile into his private portal right now under an emergency application. But you have to make the choice."

I turned my head, looking through the small glass window of the ICU ward. My father lay there, pale, motionless, hooked up to a dozen wires that were barely keeping his pulse steady. My mind flashed to my uncle's cruel smirk, to the foreclosure notice hanging over our home.

I had no choice. I was backed into the darkest corner of my existence.

"Do it," I whispered, closing my eyes as the bitter taste of surrender filled my mouth. "Submit it."