Meeting the Devil

Amelia’s heart slammed against her ribs as Lawson stepped fully into the room, the door clicking shut behind him with deliberate finality.

The sound echoed.

Her phone was still in her hand.

She hadn’t replied to Maxwell’s message. She hadn’t even locked the screen. Panic rushed through her veins as Lawson’s gaze dropped—not to her face, but to her fingers curled tightly around the device.

“Well?” he asked quietly. “I’m waiting.”

The calmness in his voice was a warning. Lawson Reynolds didn’t shout. He didn’t need to. His anger came wrapped in control, in certainty, in the knowledge that resistance was useless.

Amelia lifted her chin. “Why do you care?”

Lawson’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Answer the question.”

She swallowed. “It was Sophie.”

A lie.

The room felt colder instantly.

Lawson stepped closer, slow and unhurried, until she could smell his cologne—clean, expensive, suffocating. He reached out, took the phone from her hand with ease, and glanced at the screen.

The message was still there.

I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you today. But I will. I promise.

Lawson read it once.

Then again.

The silence that followed was terrifying.

“So,” he said at last, his voice low and controlled, “my cousin has decided to play hero.”

Amelia’s pulse thundered in her ears. “It’s not like that.”

Lawson lifted his eyes to hers. “Isn’t it?”

“He was just checking on me,” she said. “You don’t get to dictate who speaks to me.”

Lawson’s lips curved slightly—not a smile. Something darker. “I dictate everything,” he replied.

He placed the phone on the nightstand with exaggerated care, as if resisting the urge to crush it.

“You are my wife,” he continued. “And my wife does not seek comfort in another man’s arms.”

“I wasn’t in his arms,” Amelia shot back. “And even if I were—”

Lawson moved.

In one swift motion, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward him, his grip firm, unyielding. Amelia gasped, stumbling against his chest.

“You will never finish that sentence,” he said softly.

She tried to pull away, but his strength was undeniable. Not violent—controlled. Calculated.

“Let me go,” she said, her voice shaking but defiant.

Lawson leaned down, his mouth close to her ear. “You don’t get to make demands here.”

Her breath came fast. “You think fear makes loyalty?”

“No,” he replied calmly. “Fear makes obedience. Loyalty comes later.”

He released her abruptly. Amelia stumbled back, her heart racing, her wrist throbbing where his fingers had been.

“You don’t trust him,” she said, rubbing her wrist. “You never have.”

Lawson straightened his cuffs. “Maxwell has always believed himself morally superior.”

“And maybe he is,” Amelia said before she could stop herself.

The room went deadly still.

Lawson’s eyes darkened, something dangerous surfacing beneath the polished exterior. “You’re treading on thin ice.”

“Why?” she demanded. “Because he treats me like a human being?”

Lawson laughed quietly. “He sees you as something to save. I see you as something to keep.”

Her stomach twisted. “That’s not love.”

“I never said it was.”

The honesty chilled her.

He turned toward the door, then paused. “Tomorrow, you’ll accompany me to the Reynolds estate.”

Her eyes widened. “Why?”

“Family dinner,” he said. “They should meet you properly.”

“I don’t want to go.”

“You will,” he replied. “And you will behave.”

He left without another word, the door shutting behind him like the final note in a threat.

Amelia sank onto the bed, her entire body trembling.

The Reynolds estate was worse than the penthouse.

Massive. Imposing. A fortress disguised as elegance.

Amelia stepped out of the car beside Lawson, her spine straight, her expression carefully neutral. Cameras flashed as soon as they appeared. Reporters called out her name—Mrs. Reynolds!—as if she had always belonged to him.

Lawson’s hand settled possessively at the small of her back, guiding her forward.

“Smile,” he murmured. “They’re watching.”

She did.

Inside, the house buzzed with voices and laughter. Members of the Reynolds family gathered in clusters, glasses in hand, eyes sharp with curiosity.

And then she saw him.

Maxwell stood near the fireplace, dressed simply, his posture relaxed. When his eyes met hers, concern flashed across his face before he masked it quickly.

Lawson noticed.

His grip tightened slightly.

“Remember,” he said quietly, “you speak when spoken to.”

Amelia said nothing.

Introductions followed. Names blurred together. Compliments. Thinly veiled judgments. Every smile felt like a test.

“She’s beautiful,” someone said.

“Lucky man,” another added.

Lawson smiled graciously. “Yes. I am.”

Dinner was long and tense. Amelia barely touched her food. Across the table, Maxwell watched her with barely concealed worry. Once, when Lawson was distracted by a conversation, Maxwell leaned toward her slightly.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

“I’m fine,” she replied quickly, too quickly.

Lawson’s gaze snapped to them.

“What are you whispering about?” he asked.

“Just asking how she’s settling in,” Maxwell replied evenly.

Lawson smiled thinly. “My wife doesn’t need checking on.”

Maxwell met his gaze without flinching. “Everyone needs someone.”

Something dangerous flickered between them.

After dinner, Amelia escaped to the balcony, desperate for air. The city lights stretched endlessly below, mocking her confinement.

She wasn’t alone for long.

“I shouldn’t be here,” Maxwell said quietly, stepping beside her.

She didn’t turn. “You really shouldn’t.”

“I had to see you,” he replied. “You look… trapped.”

She laughed bitterly. “That’s because I am.”

Maxwell’s jaw tightened. “Lawson has no right—”

“He has every right,” Amelia interrupted. “Legally.”

“Legality isn’t morality,” Maxwell said.

She finally looked at him. “You can’t save me.”

“I don’t believe that,” he replied.

“Then you’re going to get hurt,” she said. “Or worse.”

He stepped closer, his voice dropping. “I won’t let him destroy you.”

Before she could respond, footsteps approached.

Lawson stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable.

“There you are,” he said smoothly. “I was wondering where my wife had gone.”

Maxwell straightened. “We were just talking.”

“I’m sure,” Lawson replied. “Dinner’s over. We’re leaving.”

He wrapped an arm around Amelia’s waist, pulling her against him with unmistakable ownership.

She stiffened but didn’t resist.

As they walked away, Lawson leaned down and whispered, “You embarrass me again, and I won’t be so patient.”

The drive back was silent.

When they arrived at the penthouse, Lawson didn’t head to his office or the master bedroom.

He followed Amelia.

“You don’t get to corner me,” she said, turning sharply.

“I do,” he replied. “You crossed a line tonight.”

“I spoke to your cousin,” she said. “That’s all.”

“That was enough.”

He stepped closer, backing her toward the wall. “You are testing my limits.”

“Good,” she said, her voice trembling but defiant. “Because I refuse to live like a prisoner.”

Lawson’s hand came up, bracing against the wall beside her head, trapping her without touching her.

“You are my wife,” he said quietly. “And I will not tolerate betrayal.”

“I haven’t betrayed you.”

“Not yet,” he replied. “But you will, if you keep looking at him like that.”

Her heart raced. “Like what?”

“Like he’s your escape.”

The truth hit too close.

Lawson studied her face, his expression shifting—not anger, but calculation.

“I warned you,” he said finally. “Now I’ll make sure you understand.”

He straightened and stepped back.

“Tomorrow,” he continued, “you’ll move into my room.”

Her breath caught. “No.”

“You don’t get to refuse,” he said coldly. “This marriage becomes real tomorrow.”

Fear surged through her. “You said—”

“I changed my mind.”

He turned and walked away, leaving her frozen in place.

Amelia slid down the wall, her body shaking.

Her phone buzzed again.

Another message from Maxwell.

If you need me, I’m here. No matter what.

Tears blurred her vision.

She typed quickly.

He’s escalating. I don’t know what he’ll do.

The reply came instantly.

Then we need to get you out.

Her heart pounded.

Before she could respond, her door opened.

Lawson stood there again.

This time, he was holding something.

A thin folder.

He tossed it onto the bed.

“Read it,” he said.

She opened it with trembling hands.

Inside were photographs.

Her on the balcony.

Her leaning toward Maxwell.

Maxwell’s hand almost touching hers.

Evidence.

Lawson’s voice was calm. Too calm.

“One wrong move,” he said, “and I ruin him.”

Amelia looked up at him, terror flooding her chest.

“What do you want from me?” she whispered.

His eyes locked onto hers, dark and unyielding.

“Absolute obedience,” he said.

Then he added, quietly, devastatingly—

“Or I make Maxwell disappear.”