The Devil in a Suit
The rain hit the city hard, making it feel colder than it really was. Drops sliced through the sky like shards of glass.
I pulled the hood of my worn-out jacket tighter around my face. My fingers trembled, not from the chill but from the letter burning a hole in my pocket. I'd received it earlier today, and it had set everything in motion.
My last name used to mean something. The Marco family was once a powerful name in Spain, running shipping lanes and vineyards.
But after my father's mysterious death and the betrayal that followed, everything came crashing down. I was just seventeen when the wolves showed up.
Bankers, enemies, and traitors came in and stripped us of our legacy. Now, at twenty-three, I was just a shadow of the heiress I used to be.
I was stuck working double shifts at a coffee shop, barely scraping by to pay rent on my tiny apartment with peeling paint and cracked tiles.
But today wasn't about survival; it was about revenge. And it all started with him.
I walked into the lobby of the Seraphim Tower. Sixty floors of glass and steel, radiating danger. Everything about that building screamed *power*, and it all belonged to one man.
Domain Cross.
They called him "the devil in a suit." Born into the mafia, a billionaire by thirty, and untouchable by the law. Rumors said his hands were stained with blood, but no one had ever proved it. I didn't need proof. My father had whispered his name with his last breath, and that was enough for me.
The elevator doors opened to a private floor. Everything was black marble with silver accents, and the silence pressed down like a weight. I stepped out, my heart pounding as I prepared to face the devil himself.
Damian stood by the window, his back to me. He was tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in a custom black suit that probably cost more than my yearly salary.
His presence filled the room, exuding a stillness that felt almost unnatural. Everything smelled like *power, control, and danger*.
"You're late," he said, his voice deep and smooth, laced with amusement. I swallowed hard. I hadn't realized I was on *his* schedule.
He turned slowly, and I found myself staring into the cold, gray depths of his eyes impossible to read.
"You're here because you begged for this meeting," he said. "Don't forget who holds the power."
My knees felt weak under his gaze, and my voice wavered. I clenched my fists. "I didn't beg; I made an offer."
"A foolish one," he replied.
He started circling me like a predator eyeing its prey. "You want access to files about your father. I own them. Want the truth? It comes with a price."
I lifted my chin defiantly. "I'm not afraid to pay."
"Is that so?" He leaned in, stopping just inches from my face. "You think you can handle the truth? That sweet little face of yours will shatter when you see what your father really was."
"Try me," I said, my voice shaking.
A slow, wicked smile crept across his lips. "Alright, Miss Marco. I'll give you the truth. I'll give you everything you want. But you'll belong to me."
I blinked in confusion. "What?"
"I need a wife," he said nonchalantly, walking over to his desk and pulling out a file. "A contract marriage. Public, legal. For six months, you'll play the perfect bride. I'll provide protection, wealth, and access to everything in my empire. In return… you'll give me what I need."
I locked eyes with him. "Why me?"
"Because you're desperate," he said plainly. "And because I want you."
My stomach flipped at his bluntness. He wasn't trying to woo me; he was just stating a fact.
I hesitated. This was insane. But revenge rarely came easy, and I needed him. "Fine," I whispered, my voice shaky. "I'll marry you."
He didn't smile or gloat; he just nodded like everything was going according to plan. "Good," he said. "The wedding is Friday, and you'll move into my penthouse tomorrow. Wear red."
"Why red?"
His eyes darkened. "Because that's the color of sin."