CHAPTER ONE: THE CONTRACT
The air grows colder.
Not the kind of cold that comes with weather or nightfall — this is something else. Something unnatural. It slips beneath your skin like a whisper, freezing your thoughts, slowing your breath. The room stays silent, yet something feels different. He's here.
The flickering flames in front of you cast long, twisted shadows along the wall, dancing eerily like they're alive, like they sense his presence too. And then you hear it — a voice. Smooth. Deep. Calm. Yet it echoes with something ancient and knowing.
"What do you desire?"
You turn, startled. Your heart leaps. Standing just behind you is a man — tall, well-built, dressed in a perfectly fitted black suit. His face is breathtaking, almost too perfect to be real, with a charming smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. His presence is both unsettling and oddly comforting, like he understands something about you that no one else does.
And he does.
This man — this demon — always shows up in the darkest moment. When your hope is gone, when you've fallen too far to climb back up, when you're on the edge with nothing left. That's when he comes. Not before. Not after. Just at the exact moment when you need something — anything — to survive.
He leans in slightly, voice still soft.
"What do you desire?"
And even though you should run, even though your instincts scream danger, you don't. Because something in the way he asks makes you believe he truly can fix it. That he truly understands. That he isn't offering a lie.
Because he's not.
He promises to give you exactly what you need. Riches, power, revenge, success, love — whatever your greatest desire is, he can make it happen. Not in years. Not in months. Instantly. He'll give it to you in abundance. He'll lift you higher than you ever imagined. He'll make you unstoppable.
But nothing that good comes free.
The price? Your soul.
Not right away, of course. He's not a monster.
He gives you ten years. A full decade to enjoy your desire. To live the life you never thought possible. To shine, to reign, to laugh at everything that once brought you pain. And all it takes is a drop of blood. Just one.
The contract appears before you the moment you speak your wish — inked in glowing red, the language ancient yet readable. You don't need a pen. He offers a dagger. One small cut on your finger, and your signature writes itself in blood. As soon as your name is sealed, it begins.
Your life changes instantly. You start winning. Doors open that were once locked. The people who ignored you now want to be close. The world bends for you.
But something else starts too — something you don't see.
The moment the deal is sealed, a special clock with your name is created. It exists in a realm only Damian can enter. Its gears begin turning the second you sign. And once it starts ticking, it doesn't stop — not until it hits zero.
You won't hear it. You won't see it. You won't feel it.
But it's counting down every second of your new life.
Because when the ten years are over, Damian comes back.
To collect.
People think they'll be ready. That they'll find a way out. That somehow they'll be smarter, faster, better than the others. But no one is. No one escapes.
And no — he won't forget. Ever.
That's the mistake they make. Thinking he's like a man who breaks promises or gets distracted.
He's not.
He remembers every name. Every deal. Every clock.
Because the moment your signature dries, your fate is sealed.
Is it possible to resist the demon's offer at that desperate moment? When everything seems lost? When you have nothing left and he's standing there, hand outstretched, smiling?
"No one can refuse my offer," Damian said confidently, his tone dripping with certainty.
He reclined lazily on a sleek black couch, swirling a glass of dark wine as he admired himself in a mirror. The room around him glowed with a soft red hue, casting his flawless face in an almost angelic light.
"The best part of being a demon," he said to himself with a grin, "is not aging. I look so damn good every single day."
He ran a hand through his thick, dark hair, perfectly tousled, admiring the reflection of his ageless body and chiseled features.
He had been doing this for over 200 years — granting desires, collecting souls, watching humans fall into the same trap over and over again. And yet, it never got boring.
As he admired himself, something shifted.
Across the room, a faint click echoed.
He turned sharply.
One of the clocks on the wall — a grand, ancient timepiece covered in red markings and gold — had stopped ticking. Its hands froze. The glow behind the name beneath it pulsed once, then dimmed.
"It's time," Damian said, standing up and fixing his cufflinks. "Time to collect a debt owed."
He chuckled, eyes sparkling with wicked satisfaction.
As he prepared to leave, a shadow passed over his perfect face.
Because even demons have problems.
No matter how powerful they are, no matter how many souls they collect, sometimes… things get complicated.
And Damian was about to face one of those complications.
---
That same night, across the city, champagne flowed and lights glittered at the grandest event of the year — the annual City Titans Gala.
Every major business figure, investor, and influencer was there. The elite of the elite. The ones who ruled industries and shaped the future. The room was filled with chatter, flashing cameras, designer gowns, and the sound of polished shoes on marble floors.
The moment everyone had been waiting for finally arrived.
The host stepped forward on stage, grinning as he held the golden envelope.
"And the award for Most Successful CEO of the Year goes to…"
A dramatic pause.
"…Celeste Grayson!"
The crowd erupted in applause. Cameras snapped. Spotlights turned.
From the crowd emerged a young woman, poised and elegant in a sleek black dress that shimmered with every step. Her heels clicked against the floor with purpose. Her dark brown hair was pinned up in an elegant style, and a diamond necklace sparkled on her collarbone.
Celeste Grayson, age 25.
The CEO of Grayson Group of Companies.
She walked up to the stage like she owned it — and she did. All eyes were on her, some filled with admiration, others with envy. She felt the heat of their stares, the quiet whispers of jealousy, the polite applause masking bitter hearts.
But she didn't care.
She had earned this.
She took the award, her expression calm and powerful. Smiling for the cameras, she adjusted the mic and began her speech.
"Thank you for this honor…" she began, her voice polished and strong. "To all who believed in me, I'm grateful."
The words flowed, smooth and gracious — practiced. But deep down, she meant none of it.
She appreciated no one.
No one had been there when her parents died in that car crash. No one had held her when she cried at age 12, alone in the world. It was her adopted mother who gave her a second chance, who passed the company to her when she was barely 21. But everything else — every step to success — she took by herself.
With or without help.
And if there were whispers that her rise had been "too fast," "too lucky," or "too perfect," she silenced them all with results.
The night went on.
Champagne was raised. Hands were shaken. Smiles were exchanged.
And Celeste Grayson stood at the top — untouchable.
But far away, someone else was watching her.
Someone who had given her everything she ever asked for.
And her clock had just stopped ticking.