The Devil’s Deal

Amara’s POV

I stood in front of the mirror, trying to steady my breathing. The high-waisted jeans hugged my hips, and the blazer made me look presentable, even though I felt like I was unraveling inside. I tucked a stray curl behind my ear, pressed both palms to my stomach, and whispered, "It’ll be fine."

Half the night had gone to stalking Draxen & Co. International online. Not because I cared to impress him—God forbid—but because I didn’t want to be laughed out of the building before I even stepped in.

“I can do this,” I said to my reflection in the mirror.

By the time Selena arrived, I was already in my heels, bag by the door.

“You sure about this?” she asked, passing the bag to me. Her tone was soft, but her frown wasn’t.

“No,” I admitted. “But I’m sure about why I’m doing it. This isn’t about him. I just want financial stability for my child.”

“If anything feels off, you call me. I don’t care if it’s mid-sentence. Got it?”

I hugged her tightly. “Got it.”

A cab would’ve been kinder to my nerves, but the subway was kinder to my wallet. Every stop, I squeezed the strap of my bag and repeated the mantra: For the baby. For the baby.

Midtown spat me out into a wind tunnel. I flagged a taxi for the last stretch, watching mirrored buildings slice the sky, strangers threading their way through traffic like stitches in fabric.

And then we pulled up.

Draxen & Co. International.

The lobby glittered with brushed steel, glowing marble, and clean glass. Everyone inside moved like they belonged—sharp, purposeful. I smoothed my blazer, took a deep breath, and walked in.

The receptionist didn’t even glance down as she typed, her eyes focused on the screen. Her nails clicked against the keyboards.

“Good morning,” I tried, aiming for calm. “I’d like to see Mr. Draxen.”

Her brows rose. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No,” I said, heat rising at the back of my neck. I needed to think fast. “But… he’s expecting me.” I added.

She didn’t buy it. She lifted the office phone next to her, dialed a number, listened, frowned. “No answer. Please have a seat—I’ll try again.”

I sat down on a chair close to her desk. It was 10x softer than my mattress. Five minutes turned into fifteen. Fifteen into thirty. My nerves burned into irritation.

When she stepped away to handle a delivery, I moved. Not brave, just stubborn. If I sat another second, I’d lose my nerve.

Past the desk, a wall map showed the layout. Elevators in the back. CEO on the top floor. I quickly walked confidently past the security and towards the elevator and entered inside.

I sighed in relief and pressed the top floor button.

Few minutes later the elevator opened, polished silence wrapping around me as I stepped out into charcoal carpet and glass walls. At the end of the corridor, a door with a title:

Lucian Draxen — CEO.

I took a deep breath and grabbed the handle before I could talk myself out of it.

The door swung open on a scene that completely shocked me.

Lucian was seated behind the desk. And a lady straddling his lap, her fingers in his hair, his hands on her waist. Their mouths locked until the door sound shut behind me.

She scrambled off him, cheeks flaming. Lucian didn’t blush. Didn’t stammer. He just looked at me.

Anger snapped across his face like a switch. “Who the hell are you?” he asked, voice low and sharp, “and who gave you permission to walk into my office?”

My heart skipped a beat, but I maintained confidence and composure. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me already.”

For a second, he froze. Then his eyes dragged over my face, my hands, back to my face. Recognition flared. He cut a glance at the woman.

“Leave us.”

“But—”

“I said leave.” Smooth. Cold. Deadly.

She fled, throwing me a glare sharp enough to slice skin.

Lucian rounded his desk, calm as a king reclaiming his throne. He sat. Didn’t offer me a chair.

“I thought I made it clear,” he said, voice too casual to be anything but a threat, “that I never wanted to see you again.”

“Trust me,” I shot back, relieved my voice didn’t crack, “you’re the last person I wanted to see. But I didn’t come here for you.” I swallowed. “I came because I have something to tell you.”

He leaned back, his gaze fixed intently on me.

“I’m pregnant.”

The word detonated in the air. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Just said, “Get out.”

“What?”

“You heard me. I know this routine. One night together, and suddenly I’m supposed to believe I fathered your child?”

Heat scorched my cheeks. Anger tangled with humiliation. “I wouldn’t lie about this. I took a test. It’s positive. You’re the last man I was with.”

“Still not proof.” His tone bored. “Try harder.”

“You could try wearing a condom before fuc..,” I snapped and stopped myself from saying something i would regret. My hands trembled, but my voice didn’t. “I didn’t come for charity. I came because a child is involved.”

He studied me, silent, tapping one finger against his chair arm. Deliberate. Calculating.

Finally: “What do you want?”

I said calmly. “For you to take responsibility. I can’t raise this baby the way they deserve, not alone. And I won’t lie to them about who their father is.”

Something flickered in his expression—gone before I could name it. He stood and walked towards the edge of his desk, poured himself a drink.

When he turned back, his eyes were steady. “Here’s my deal.”

“A… deal?”

“You’ll work in my home. Staff. Paid well. On time. When the baby is born, we do a paternity test. If it’s mine, you raise the child until five, then sign full custody to me and disappear.”

I stared. “You want me to give you my child.”

He didn’t blink. “Or you walk away and raise it alone. Your choice.”

The room tilted. I thought of unpaid rent, half-empty grocery bags, Selena’s hand rubbing circles on my back, the two pink lines that had changed everything.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m practical,” he said. “Don’t be sentimental just to prove a point.”

“Is that what you think motherhood is?” I asked.

Silence.

I forced the words out. “So, I work for you, live in your house, give birth, raise the child for five years—and then hand them over like… like luggage?”

“You’ll be compensated.”

“And if it’s not yours?”

“Then you get paid for your time and go.”

I bit down hard on my tongue. “Housing? Healthcare? Appointments?”

“All of it will be taken care of,” he said. A faint curve tugged his mouth. “I’m not a barbarian.”

“Five years,” I repeated.

“Five.” His gaze pinned me. “Then you walk away.”

My chest tightened. For the baby, I reminded myself. Not for him. Not for me. For the baby.

I opened my mouth to answer—

Suddenly, with a jarring bang, the door burst open, sending a shiver through the room.

Lucian’s head snapped toward it, his expression shifting from annoyance to something darker. My pulse kicked. My answer died on my tongue as a shadow filled the doorway.