THE DEAL

Three months.

It had been three whole months since they had taken my father away in handcuffs.

Three months since I stood in the middle of the street, crying like the world had ended. Because in a way, it had.

My life had unraveled pretty fast after that night. Legal consultations, working three jobs, court hearings…

The business my father had spent his entire life building— completely gone now. The business had already gone under a year ago due to losses, but my father had just received an opportunity for a huge grant. It was supposed to change everything.

Instead, everything changed.

His name was dragged through the mud, on every headline like he was some lowlife criminal. What little friends he had left disappeared. The shame was like a heavy coat I couldn’t take off.

I remembered sitting by his side in court, watching helplessly as they tossed around allegations of embezzlement and fraud like they knew the truth. Like they knew him.

But they didn’t.

My father was framed.

And the man behind it?

Victor Devereux.

The name tasted like ash in my mouth. I’d heard it so many times now—in court, in press conferences and from lawyers who claimed to have our best interests at heart. “The Devereuxs have power, Selena. You need to let this go or you might end up with your father.”

But how could I? That man had ruined us. Destroyed my father’s life with just a singular accusation, and a stroke of his pen. The man hadn't even come to court once. How could anyone so nonchalantly ruin another person's life?

I used to believe in justice once, in truth.

Now, I believed in revenge.

All we had left was a one-bedroom apartment paid for by the last scrap of money I had from selling my dad's old car. I worked double shifts at a café in the mornings and a delivery app at night and I still worked the bar on weekends. Just two weeks ago, I’d pawned the necklace my mother left me just to buy groceries.

Dad called me when he could. Always with the same lines.

“I’m holding on, baby.” 

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t waste your life on this.”

But the truth was there was nothing left to waste. I had nothing else to live for. 

I was lying on my cheap mattress one evening, just staring at the ceiling when my phone buzzed. A message from a blocked number.

I almost ignored it, but something in me said to look.

Unknown Number: I can help your father. But we need to meet. Discretion required. Come alone. Suite 1703, Empire Hotel. 10:49 p.m.

I stared at the message. Then reread it.

No name. No explanation. Just a location and a promise.

It could’ve been a scam. A trap. Someone wanting to poke at my misery. But something about it felt… different. I couldn’t explain it.

And honestly?

I had nothing left to lose.

The Empire Hotel was like a different world, a world I once belonged to. Elegant, cold, I no longer fit in.

I pressed the elevator button with trembling fingers and watched the numbers climb till I reached the 17th floor. The door was already slightly ajar.

I hesitated, heart pounding as I pushed it open.

The room was dimly lit. A man stood near the window. Hoodie up. Shadowed face. Again.

Him.

I didn’t have to see his features to feel it—the same quiet dominance from that night at the bar.

“You,” I said before I could stop myself.

He didn’t turn. “Close the door.”

I did.

He finally looked at me then, but the shadows still covered most of his face. All I could see was a sharp jaw and lips pressed into a serious line.

“You're late.” He said

I looked down at my watch. 10:51

“By two minutes… and who sets a meeting at exactly 10:49?”

“I value punctuality and you've already wasted two minutes of my time.” 

He couldn't be serious. 

“You said you could help my father,” I said, arms crossed. Annoyance already streaming into my voice.

“I can.”

“How?”

“I have influence. The kind that makes evidence disappear and makes judges reconsider.”

My chest tightened. “Why would you help me? You don’t even know me.”

He stepped closer, hands in his hoodie pockets. “Let’s just say… I have my own reasons. But it’s not charity. You’ll do something for me in return.”

I didn’t like the way he said that. “What do you want?”

He didn’t blink.

“Marry me.”

I froze.

The silence between us stretched. I laughed although it wasn't genuine. But he didn't seem to be joking. 

“What?”

“I want you to marry me. On paper, legally, for now.”

“No,” I said immediately, stepping back. “That’s insane. I don't even know you.”

“Is it?” he said coolly. “Your father is rotting in prison. I'm giving you a way to free him. Just one condition. You wear a ring. That sounds very logical to me.”People don’t just marry strangers.”

“I’m not asking for love. I’m asking for commitment. One year. I take care of your father’s case. In return, you become my wife.”

“But why me?” I snapped. “Why not hire an actress or someone desperate to inherit a fortune?”

“That’s not your concern.”

I shook my head. “It kind of is. Because if I do this—if I sign something like that—I need to know what I’m getting into.”

“You’re getting power. Safety. A way to ruin the Devereuxs if that’s what you really want.”

That stopped me cold.

“What do you know about the Devereuxs?”

He didn’t answer.

“You’re not with them, are you?” I asked, stepping back.

“I'm here to help you Selena. I only require some trust.”

“Then show me your face.”

He was silent for a moment. “I can't do that. I like to keep a low profile.”

“I can't even see your face but I'm supposed to get married to you and trust you?”

“Pretty simple.” The nonchalant way he spoke was starting to drive me crazy. But I couldn't deny it was a… tempting offer.

“You’re serious.”

“Yes.”

“And you swear my father goes free?”

“If you sign this,” he said, handing me a black folder. “Then yes.”

I flipped it open. It was a contract. Everything spelled out, even the nondisclosure clause. At the end of it was a line for my signature.

My hands trembled.

I thought about my dad. His broken voice. His prison uniform. The way he told me not to move on—but looked like he was praying I wouldn't give up.

I turned to the table by my right and picked up a pen.

“Why do I feel like I’m making a deal with the devil?” I murmured, signing the paper.

I felt him smile as he said, “Maybe you are.”