Chapter 2 The devil's term

The silence inside the Westwood estate was not peaceful-it was heavy, like breath before a scream. Celine ran her fingers over the mahogany banister as she descended the grand staircase, her heels soft against the marble. Everything about this place screamed money. But underneath? Rot. Decay. Secrets buried deeper than gold.

She hadn't slept since the night before.

Who could sleep after signing their soul over to the devil?

Lorenzo Westwood-the billionaire, the beast, the name whispered in boardrooms and back alleys alike-had left the house before dawn. His absence didn't comfort her. If anything, it made the place feel more like a mausoleum.

The staff watched her with veiled glances, unsure of how to treat the woman their master had dragged in like a trophy-or a hostage. Celine ignored them. She had grown used to stares. Survival had taught her that attention was a currency as much as it was a weapon.

She reached the kitchen, needing coffee, sanity, something to ground her. But before she could even reach for a mug, a figure stepped into her path.

A woman. Early forties, slim, severe, with ice-blonde hair twisted into a bun so tight it could cut diamonds.

"You don't belong here," the woman said.

Celine blinked. "And you are?"

"Miranda. Housekeeper. And someone who doesn't appreciate strangers waltzing into Mr. Westwood's private sanctuary."

Celine arched a brow. "Pretty sure being his wife entitles me to some sanctuary perks."

Miranda's lip curled. "That farce of a marriage won't protect you."

The venom in her tone struck harder than it should have. But Celine had dealt with worse. She smiled sweetly.

"Good. I wasn't planning on staying quiet anyway."

With that, she poured herself a mug and walked out, leaving Miranda seething.

Upstairs, the study door stood ajar. She pushed it open.

Lorenzo's world was precision-leather-bound books, minimalist furniture, a desk organized like a battlefield. But beneath the order lay a savage edge. And in the center of that room was the contract. Still sitting on the desk like it dared her to remember.

One year.

One lie.

One hundred million dollars.

And protection. That was the real currency. Lorenzo hadn't offered her love. He had offered her safety-from debts, from men worse than him, from a world that would eat her alive.

But at what cost?

Her phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: You think Westwood will keep you safe forever? They always bleed eventually.

Her stomach tightened.

The shadows she had escaped were creeping closer again.

Footsteps sounded behind her. She turned-fast.

Lorenzo stood in the doorway, still in his tailored black suit. No tie. Just the crisp shirt, top buttons undone, revealing the ink that curved along his throat. A beast in a man's skin.

"You answer all your death threats in the morning?" he asked dryly.

Celine didn't smile. "You knew they'd come."

He nodded once. "You signed a contract. Now you're mine. That comes with enemies."

She hated how his voice stirred something in her. Fury. And something else.

"I'm not your property."

"You're under my protection. Same thing, in my world."

He stepped closer, and the air tightened. Celine refused to back down.

"You made me marry you for leverage," she said. "Don't pretend this is noble."

He tilted his head. "You came to me. Desperate. You needed money, protection, and a name. I gave you all three. And in return, I got someone unpredictable, mouthy, and dangerously tempting."

Her breath caught.

There it was again-that flicker of something behind his control. A hunger he couldn't quite suppress.

She turned away. "This isn't going to work."

"It will," he said simply. "Because we don't have another option."

Later that evening, she stood alone in the grand ballroom, now empty, ghostly quiet. This place had once hosted gala events, political dinners, and mafia negotiations disguised as charity auctions. Now it echoed with her doubts.

She didn't hear him come in, but she felt it-the change in the air, like static before a storm.

"Why do you hide in rooms like this?" he asked behind her.

She turned. "Why do you walk around like you own the world?"

Lorenzo's expression darkened. "Because I do. Or I did. Until you showed up and started burning down my rules."

Celine crossed her arms. "You don't scare me."

He stepped forward, slow and deliberate. "You should."

She swallowed. "Then why haven't you touched me? You paid for a wife, didn't you?"

The words were bold-but it was a test.

He was inches from her now. His gaze dropped to her lips. "Because I don't force what I want."

"Then what do you want?"

"You."

It was a confession and a warning.

But instead of kissing her, he leaned in and whispered, "When you're ready, come to me on your own terms. But know this, Celine-I don't play soft. And I don't lose."

He left her breathless, standing in the shadows of a palace built on power and desire.

That night, the house was too still.

Celine sat in bed, eyes wide, heart racing. Something wasn't right.

And then she heard it.

A floorboard. Two rooms over. Slow. Deliberate.

She reached for her phone-but the lights cut out.

The darkness swallowed the suite.

"Lorenzo?" she called out, unsure if she wanted him to answer.

Silence.

And then-movement. A figure at the doorway.

She grabbed the nearest object-a lamp-and hurled it.

It shattered inches from the intruder's face.

"Shit!" Lorenzo's voice barked. "Stand down!"

The lights snapped back on.

Celine froze.

Behind Lorenzo were two of his security men, weapons drawn. Her breath came hard and fast.

"What the hell is going on?" she shouted.

"Someone tripped the internal alarm," Lorenzo growled. "Third floor entry. But they're gone now."

She stared at him. "So I'm not even safe in your fortress?"

His jaw tensed. "They didn't get to you. That's what matters."

"No, Lorenzo. What matters is they tried."

She pushed past him, fury in every step.

He followed. "Celine-"

"Don't. I knew this was a deal with the devil. But I didn't think the devil would be this careless."

She slammed the door behind her.

In the silence that followed, Lorenzo stared at the broken lamp.

And for the first time, he felt it too-

The stakes were no longer just business.

They were personal.

And the beast was waking.