Dawn broke with a bruise‑purple sky, the first light of morning pricking Elara's eyelids like angry needles. She awoke on the leather chaise in her living room, contract still scorched beside her.Her coronary heart pounded in her throat. For a second, she lay entirely still, trying to decipher dream from reality. The memory of that vaulted corridor and the demon lord's iron gaze lingered like smoke.
Rising, she padded across the room barefoot, every step echoing inside the silence. She stared at her mirrored image in the complete‑period mirror by means of the window: eyes rimmed with exhaustion, darkish circles tracing crescent moons underneath each. She pinched the pores and skin underneath her eye, tasting the metal tang of fear. How may want to she negotiate with a being who demanded her blood in alternate for electricity?
The morning ritual was mechanical: black coffee brewed too strong, toast burned at the edges, and a glance at her phone's notifications—a barrage of missed calls from her finance team and the terse email from the bank: Final notice. The corporation she loved was dying.
She poured the coffee into a chipped mug, her mother's silver spoon stirring red‑brown swirls. A sudden chill curled up her spine. Elara snapped her head toward the desk. The contract lay face down, as if ashamed. She edged closer, flipped it over—and gasped. The parchment was blank. Every word, every swirling rune had vanished, leaving only faint ash‑gray smudges at the margins.
Her pulse sped. Had she imagined it all? The promise of salvation—or was it condemnation?
A soft knock at the door startled her. She hustled across the hardwood floor to open it, revealing her best friend and CFO, Nathan Reyes, his brow creased in concern.
"Elara, you have to see this," he said, holding up his tablet. "The stockholders' meeting is today at noon. They're voting to dissolve Monroe & Monroe if you don't produce a turnaround plan."
She swallowed hard. "I know. I—"
Nathan's gaze flicked to the desk. "Is that…?"
Before she could answer, her phone buzzed: an address and a time stamped Tonight, Midnight. Aldric Vale. No sender, no subject—just the coordinates of a deserted warehouse by the harbor. Sender: Moonlight Contract.
Elara felt the room spin. She looked to Nathan, who frowned. "What is that?"
She tucked the mysterious message into her blouse, forcing a smile. "A lead. That might save us."
Nathan hesitated, then nodded. "We'll figure this out. I'll back you. Whatever it takes."
His support was a lighthouse in her storm. Elara squared her shoulders. "Thank you."
As Nathan left, she sank into her desk chair, stomach twisting. Midnight at the docks. She'd have to confront whatever—or whoever—behind this contract. And if Aldric Vale was real, she might very well be walking into a trap.
The hours crawled. By midday, she had delivered a shaky presentation: cost‑cutting measures, emergency loans, an aggressive rebrand. The board remained unconvinced but postponed the vote by one week. A reprieve, however slim.
That nighttime, her match hung unworn. Instead, she pulled on dark denims, a leather-based jacket, and boots. She tucked the smartphone into her pocket, ring still on her finger. As she left her condominium, the town's neon symptoms gleamed like guiding stars—or ominous warnings.
At the harbor, the ocean air smelled of salt and rust. The moon turned into a faded disc, fourth‑zone, casting silver trails at the water's ripples. The warehouse loomed at the end of a deserted pier, its broken home windows like blind eyes.
Elara's breath stuck as she stepped interior. Shadows pooled in corners; the handiest light turned into moonbeams filtering via shattered glass. She whispered, "Aldric Vale?"
Silence. Then footsteps: planned, echoing at the steel grating. She spun, elevating a hand defensively—but froze on the sight of him.
Tall, lean, and draped in a middle of the night‑blue coat that appeared to take in the dim light. His hair turned into as darkish as polished obsidian, and his eyes glowed with an internal fire. When he spoke, his voice changed into low, velvety—both command and invitation.
"Ms. Monroe." He inclined his head. "You honor our arrangement."
Her heart twisted. "You said you'd restore my company. Now show yourself—prove you're not a ghost."
He stepped forward, the boards creaking underfoot. "Proof requires trust. And you have yet to grant me yours."
Elara swallowed. "Explain what you want from me."
He smiled, sharp and knowing. "Your strength—your very essence. And in return, I bestow mine."
She felt a tug in her chest, half fear, half fascination. "Speak plainly."
Aldric's gaze sharpened. "The Contract was never about money or power alone. It is a bond—symbiotic and profound. You will learn to wield blood magic, to see through the Veil between worlds. In turn, I bind my fate to yours. Our destinies entwined."
Elara shook her head. "It sounds insane."
His hand hovered over his coat's lapel. "Then judge this." He withdrew a small vial of crimson liquid—blood, she realized with horror. "One drop in your coffee tomorrow, and the Contract's promise will manifest. You will wake to find your assets doubled—and your powers awakened."
Her mind reeled. "And if I refuse?"
Aldric's eyes darkened. "You already accepted."
He turned, stepping back into the deeper shadow. "Eternity waits for your answer, Elara Monroe."
With that, he vanished, swallowed by darkness. Elara stood alone, the moonlight catching on the vial's ruby depths.She slipped it into her pocket and fled the warehouse, coronary heart pounding, mind racing.
As the night wind whipped round her, she realized that the following day, at sunrise, she would pick: strength at any fee—or the slow dying of the whole lot she held pricey.