Chapter 1 - The Contract

One week had passed since I sold my soul to the demon. Nothing fancy happened—I just kept living my boring life.

However, a strange mark appeared on my chest that night. He said it was proof that our deal was sealed. A glowing scar, shaped like an ancient rune, right over my heart. It pulsed faintly when I touched it like it had a heartbeat of its own.

Power. Fame. Wealth. Knowledge. Love.

He offered me all of it, yet I hadn’t encountered even a sliver of any. I was still struggling, still stuck in the same corporate hamster wheel. No lightning bolt. No sudden enlightenment. Not even a lucky scratch-off win.

I still lived in my hideous studio apartment. The rent was high, but the place was terrible. The wallpaper peeled at the corners, and the ceiling flaked more with every passing month. Street noise bled through the thin walls, and I could hear my neighbor’s TV like it was playing inside my room—some awful soap opera rerun with laugh tracks that made me want to claw my ears off.

Even the floorboards squeaked underfoot, the door hinges groaned like something out of a horror movie, and the water tap fought me every time I used it. Sometimes it screamed. Sometimes it hissed. A haunted faucet. That’s what I had.

I’d lived here for seven years. Honestly, I didn’t even know how I’d lasted this long. Maybe I got used to the suffering.

Only my bed felt like a safe haven. The one place where I could sink in and forget—just for a little while. I’d lay there and imagine a better life. One with soft sheets and no leaking pipes. One where I didn’t have to sell my soul just to hope for a break.

I glanced to the right, where my alarm clock sat on the nightstand.

7:30 a.m.

“Shit.”

I jumped out of bed and bolted to the bathroom. I hated this life—waking up early, working myself numb from nine to five, caught in a cycle that never ended. Earn. Spend. Repeat. Monday to Friday, paycheck to bills, over and over. Trapped.

Surely, I wasn’t born just for this. Surely, I was meant for something more.

That’s why I made the deal.

And yet—nothing. No change. No miracle. Just more of the same.

After getting ready, I stood in front of the mirror: blue skinny jeans, a white tank top, green sweater. Winter was creeping in, and the chill bit at my skin.

I looked pale. Like I hadn’t seen the sun in years. My skin was nearly translucent under the bathroom light, and my eyes had permanent shadows underneath. A walking corpse with mascara.

I combed my blonde hair, sprayed some perfume—not that anyone ever noticed—and slipped on my white sneakers before heading out.

I worked as a mail sorter. My job was to organize and distribute incoming mail around the office. Not glamorous. Not even notice. I was the middleman between the reception desk and forgotten in boxes. My existence only mattered when a letter was late.

The office was a modern space inside an aging building. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, and the faint scent of paper, ink, and exhaustion clung to every surface. The reception area smiled at visitors, but once you passed the glass doors, it was just cubicles and soulless silence. Except for me, the ghost in the system. The human vending machine of letters and packages.

I don’t hate my coworkers, but I doubt they’d notice if I vanished. I could skip a whole week, and they’d probably think the printer broke again.

Before heading in, I always stopped by the nearby coffee shop for breakfast. It wasn’t fancy, but it had the best espresso this side of the block. And something about holding a hot cup in both hands made me feel like I had a handle on life, even for a few minutes.

As soon as I stepped inside, the rich aroma of coffee beans and baked goods wrapped around me like a warm hug. The clatter of mugs, low chatter, and occasional hiss of the espresso machine felt oddly comforting.

For a moment, I felt lighter. Almost... okay.

Then, I saw him.

A man in standard corporate attire—black blazer, white long-sleeved polo, black slacks, polished shoes. But he stood out. He had the physique of a movie star. Chris Hemsworth if he ditched the hammer and joined a board meeting.

Something about him stirred a flicker of recognition. I couldn’t place him, but my gut reacted before my brain did. A strange, invisible pull in my chest.

He gestured to a nearby chair, arms open in invitation.

I hesitated, then nodded and sat. He sat across from me.

“Hello, Alice.”

My eyes widened.

That voice.

Time froze. Literally. The room around us stilled—baristas mid-pour, customers mid-sentence. Everything stopped. Even the hum of the refrigerator cut off like the world had exhaled and refused to breathe again.

“Y-you… the demon!” I shot up from my seat.

“Good to know you haven’t forgotten me.” He leaned back, perfectly calm.

Anger bubbled in my chest as the memory of our deal hit me like a slap. I slammed my palm on the table.

“You’re a fraud! I sold you my soul and nothing changed! My life is still crap!”

He nodded slowly like he expected that. Then, from his pocket, he pulled out a cup of coffee. My favorite.

“Sit. Have some coffee. Your favorite—espresso, no sugar.”

How the hell did he know that?

He placed the cup in front of me. I stared at it, suspicious.

It could be poisoned. An easy way to end me and take my soul.

So that was the plan? Trick me, kill me, cash in?

No. I might’ve been desperate, but I wasn’t stupid.

I picked up the cup—and poured it on him.

He stood instantly, coffee dripping from his blazer, clearly not pleased.

“You ingrate,” he snapped. “I gave you coffee, and this is how you repay me?”

“I know what you’re trying to do. You laced it with something, didn’t you?”

“What makes you think I’d do that?”

“Because nothing happened after our deal. And now you show up with coffee like some sketchy salesman?”

He let out a long sigh, wiped the spill from his jacket, and sat again. Calmer.

“Do you know why I didn’t come see you for a week?”

I raised an eyebrow. He was trying to charm me again. Not buying it.

“Doesn’t matter. I want my soul back.”

“That’s not possible, Alice. Your soul belongs to me.”

I slammed both hands on the table. He stood and walked toward me. I braced myself, but he didn’t touch me. Just looked down, his gaze sharp and unreadable.

“Can you let me explain before jumping to conclusions?” he asked—low, but not hostile.

I didn’t respond.

“I’ve been watching you,” he continued. “Following you. Studying what might suit you best.”

He sounded… irritated.

“Your life is frustrating. You’re invisible at work. Your coworkers don’t see you. Your boss treats you like trash. You drift through the day like a ghost.”

He wasn’t wrong.

“I tried to follow you longer, but honestly, I couldn’t stomach it. Watching you waste away, day after day—it pissed me off.”

Still, I stayed silent. Because I agreed.

“Stupid human,” he muttered. “Didn’t I say I’d give you what’s best?”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped aside and gestured to the door.

“Go. You’ll be late.”

Suddenly, time snapped back into place. The world resumed. People moved. Conversations picked up again. The espresso machine hissed. Someone laughed. Reality slipped back on like an old coat.

I turned back to look at him.

He smiled—and waved.

A woman walked by, blocking my view for a second. When she passed, he was gone.

What the hell is that demon planning?

I looked at my watch. It was already past eight.

Crap. I had to run.