CHAPTER 4: A Deal with the Devil.

ALESSA’S POV

7 Years Later

The world I once knew had vanished like smoke in the wind.

Just months after my father’s death, the walls of our empire crumbled around us. The wealth, the prestige, gone, swallowed by the merciless jaws of debt. 

Auction signs replaced the family crest on our gates. Cars, paintings, heirlooms, all sold to strangers who didn’t care about the memories attached to them. 

The so-called friends of my father? They scattered like shadows at dawn, offering no help, no condolences. Not even a kind word.

So, my mother and I packed what little dignity we had left and moved into a cramped, peeling apartment on the outskirts of the city, a world far removed from the estate I used to call home.

I transferred to a modest community college and pursued a degree in Hospitality and Culinary Arts. Cooking became my therapy, my escape. But reality never gave me the time to breathe. 

After graduation, all responsibility fell on my shoulders like a mountain I was never built to climb. Mum’s health started declining fast. Her laughter faded, her eyes hollowed from nights of crying alone. I’d hear her sobbing when she thought I was asleep.

Then her kidneys started to fail.

The hospital visits became our routine, the beeping of machines my new lullaby. Dialysis sessions drained her life instead of saving it. The bills piled up like corpses on a battlefield, and there I was, working double shifts in a local diner that smelled like burnt grease and despair.

We couldn’t even afford decent meals, let alone a transplant.

My uncle stepped in where he could, helping with errands, sometimes covering medicine, but even he was nearing his breaking point. 

And me? I had given up on love the day Michael humiliated me. That memory still clawed at my soul, even after all these years. How could I forget the beginning of my misery?

At twenty-two, while girls my age were going on dates or shopping for wedding gowns, I was bargaining with pharmacists and learning to live without sleep. There wasn’t room in my chest for romance, not with the weight of survival crushing me or the pain I still felt.

All I wanted was to save my mother.

Then came the night that changed everything.

I was hunched over the worn-out table in our tiny room, tallying up the month’s income. It wasn’t enough. It never was. 

Tears blurred the numbers as a lump of hopelessness rose in my throat. Mum was always resting too weak to do much else.

A sudden wave of grief washed over me, memories of Dad holding my hand as a child, the way he used to call me his princess. Guilt tore into my heart. Maybe if I hadn’t broken down back then... maybe he’d still be here.

The door slammed open. Uncle barged in, humming like a child with candy.

“Good evening, Uncle,” I said softly, hastily wiping my tears.

He didn’t respond immediately. His face was lit up with a strange excitement. “There you are, Alessa!” he said, breathless. “Have you heard? The richest bachelor in town is looking for a wife. Michael Astor is searching for a bride!”

The name hit me like a slap. A cold shiver ran down my spine. I froze, lips parting slightly. No. It couldn’t be that Michael. Not the one who shattered me like porcelain.

Uncle grinned, oblivious. “He’s been in India all his life with his famous girlfriend, Natasha Dunlop. You know her, beautiful voice, top charts, tours all over the world. They broke up three years ago, and she moved to Africa for a concert tour. Now he’s back, for the first time in years.”

“Do you have a picture?” I asked, hoping, praying, it wasn’t the same man from my past.

Uncle scratched his bald head. “No one does, he's the only business tycoon who doesn't like to take pictures. Besides, he went off-grid after the breakup. They say Natasha broke his heart so badly he shut the world out, refused to be photographed, stopped giving interviews. He turned cold. Inhuman.”

Oddly, I felt a sting of pity.

But before I could process it, Uncle dropped the real bomb. “I want you to marry him. I want you to apply for this proposal.”

My heart stuttered. “What?! Uncle, are you serious?”

“Yes,” he said, voice firm. “He’s not looking for love. Most girls won’t even apply because they know he won’t give them his heart. But you, you don’t need love, you need a way out. You need money. A name. A miracle.”

Tears stung my eyes again, but this time from anger. “You want to sell me like cattle to a heartless man? Just because he has money?”

He didn’t even flinch. “Alessa, this isn't about pride. Your mother is dying. She doesn’t have months. A few years married to a cold man in exchange for her life, is that really too much?”

My stomach churned. I wanted to scream. To disappear. But his next words struck deep, so deep it hollowed me out:

“Remember what the doctor said about your mum's condition. And remember, it was your foolish crying over a boy that caused your father’s death.”

He didn’t meet my eyes when he mentioned Mum’s condition or reminded me of that awful incident. Maybe he hated himself a little for what he was asking.

I broke. Fully and completely.

Uncle stood, leaving me trembling on the edge of my sanity. “This is a golden chance. If anything happens to my sister, not even God will save you.”

He walked out, the door slamming shut behind him.

I curled into myself, muffling my screams with my hands. My fists pounded my chest, as if trying to break through to the part of me still holding out hope. But deep down, I knew he was right.

I had to do this. I had to do whatever it took to save Mum.

By morning, my fingers trembled as I opened my phone and typed “Michael Astor marriage proposal” into the search bar. The results were overwhelming, hundreds of flawless women applying to become his wife. Supermodels. Heiresses. Actresses.

I felt like a single raindrop in a raging sea.

Still, I found the matchmaking agency, filled out the form, and submitted my details. I even wrote a personal message: I’m not here for love. I’m here because I have no other choice. If he accepts, I’ll be everything he needs me to be but I come with my conditions.

They replied later that evening.

If Michael agreed to meet me, they’d reach out.

The deadline for application was tomorrow.

I tossed my phone on the table and stared at the ceiling. What kind of man creates a registration deadline for marriage? What was he expecting, loyalty? Obedience? Worship?

Still… if Natasha’s betrayal could break him, just like Michael’s humiliation broke me... maybe he wasn’t that different after all.

Maybe I wouldn’t feel so guilty.

Hours later, my phone lit up with a notification.

MATCH CONFIRMED: You’ve been selected for a private date with Mr. Michael Astor. All necessary details are included. Transportation will be arranged.

My heart stopped.

I reread the message over and over, my palms cold and slick with sweat. I was going to meet the man who’d changed my life, either again, or for the first time.

I ran to tell my uncle. He clapped his hands and laughed like a man who had just won the lottery.

But me?

I stood there, frozen, wondering whether I was walking into salvation, or a different kind of hell.