*Chapter 1: The Contract*

The bank manager didn’t look at me when he said no.

He looked at the papers. At his watch. At the “Declined” stamp in his hand. Anywhere but at my face.

“Miss Carter, your father’s company is a liability. We can’t extend the loan.”

My father’s company. The one he built with 30 years of calloused hands. The one the hospital bills were bleeding dry. The one that had 48 hours before the bank seized everything.

“Please,” I said. Voice steady. I’d practiced it all morning. “Just 30 more days. We have buyers lined up. The new contract—”

“There is no new contract, Maya.” Finally he looked up. Pity in his eyes. Worse than anger. “Sign the surrender papers. It’s over.”

It wasn’t over. It couldn’t be.

I walked out of the bank with the refusal letter crumpled in my fist and $4.27 in my account. Downtown glass buildings reflected the sun back at me like they were mocking me. My phone buzzed. Hospital. Again.

Maya, your dad’s treatment authorization expires tomorrow.

I pressed my forehead against the cold glass of a coffee shop window and tried not to cry in public. Crying didn’t pay bills. Crying didn’t save companies.

“Looking for a miracle?”

The voice was low, smooth, expensive. Like whiskey aged in boardrooms.

I turned. Man in a black suit. No tie. Watch that cost more than my car. He held two coffees. Offered me one. Black. No sugar. Exactly how I drank it.

“I don’t know you,” I said.

“You don’t. But I know you.” He nodded at my bank folder. “Maya Carter. 26. MBA from State. Took over Carter Manufacturing 8 months ago when your father got sick. Now you’re 48 hours from bankruptcy.”

I stepped back. “Are you following me?”

“Research.” He sipped his coffee like we were discussing weather. “I’m Dante Moretti. CEO, Moretti Holdings. We acquire failing companies.”

“And?” My jaw was tight.

“And I don’t want your company.” He held out a different folder. Not a loan. A contract. “I want you.”

I almost laughed. “That’s not—”

“Personal assistant. 1 year. You handle my schedule, my meetings, my... complications. In return, I pay your father’s medical bills. I clear Carter Manufacturing’s debt. I give you enough capital to walk away clean when the year is up.”

The paper felt heavy. Too heavy for ink.

“What’s the catch?” I whispered. Because there was always a catch.

Dante’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. Dark eyes. Old eyes. “Clause 7. No personal relationships with me during the contract. Clause 12. You don’t ask about my business outside office hours. Clause 19...” He paused. “You don’t try to break the contract.”

I stared at the signature line. One year of my life. For my father’s life. For the company with my last name on the door.

This was a deal with the devil. I knew it.

But devils pay on time. Banks don’t.

My hand shook as I took the pen.

“One year,” I said.

“One year,” Dante agreed.

As I signed Maya Carter at the bottom, he leaned close. His cologne smelled like smoke and money.

“Welcome to hell, Miss Carter. Try not to enjoy it too much.”

The pen stopped. The deal was sealed.

And somewhere behind his smile, I could’ve sworn I saw horns.

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