New York City – 11:57 PM
The city never slept. But tonight, Evelyn Hart wished it would.
Rain streaked across the glass like tears as she sat in the backseat of the sleek black car, heart pounding beneath her thrift-store coat. The night was cloaked in silver mist and the ache of old memories she had tried for years to bury. Neon lights flickered over the wet pavement like ghosts whispering warnings.
Three minutes. That's all she had left before her life changed forever.
Her phone buzzed again. A final message from the devil himself.
> Damien Wolfe:
Don't be late. My time is expensive. Like everything else in my world.
Her hand trembled as she slid the phone back into her purse. Her fingers grazed the old hospital bill folded inside.
$127,430 — the price of her sister's lungs.
Evelyn swallowed the lump in her throat. She wasn't walking into a business deal. She was walking into a cage. A luxurious, suffocating cage built of secrets and blood.
She whispered under her breath, "This is for Isla. This is the only way."
---
Wolfe Enterprises – 12:00 AM
The double doors opened without a sound, and Evelyn stepped into a world that smelled like power and winter steel.
A man stood with his back to her, staring out of the floor-to-ceiling windows. The skyline flickered behind him like a blade. Tall, precise, emotionless.
Damien Wolfe.
The billionaire whose company had destroyed her family's business five years ago. The man she'd sworn to hate for the rest of her life.
"Miss Hart," he said without turning. "You're late."
Her voice didn't waver. "By thirty seconds. Shall I subtract it from your ego?"
He turned.
The moment their eyes met, the air shifted. Not just in the room — inside her bones.
Damien was dressed in midnight: charcoal suit, black shirt, and a stare colder than death. But something flared in his gaze when he saw her. Surprise. Or something sharper. Something... familiar.
"Still got that sharp tongue," he murmured.
"And you still enjoy dragging people into hell."
He smiled, and it was lethal. "Welcome to the underworld, Mrs. Wolfe."
---
The Contract
The table was bare except for one thing: a red folder marked CONFIDENTIAL – MERGER AGREEMENT.
"This isn't a marriage," he said. "It's a merger. You'll wear my ring, smile in public, and follow my script. In return, your sister gets the transplant and lifetime care."
"And your PR scandal goes away." Evelyn's voice was quiet, deadly.
Damien sat, steepling his fingers. "A billionaire caught with a dead mistress is bad for business. A sudden marriage? Makes me look... domesticated."
Her heart froze. "You killed someone?"
"No." His voice darkened. "But I was there. And the woman didn't die by accident."
Something shifted. A chill slid down her spine.
"Why me?" she asked. "Why not a model, or an actress who would enjoy this?"
He leaned forward, and for the first time, she saw something unguarded in him. Regret? Rage?
"You were the only one who didn't beg. You said no when I offered you money last year. I trust people who hate me."
Evelyn stared at the contract. Ink, paper, blood.
"Sign it," he said. "Before I change my mind."
Her hand shook as she picked up the pen.
The moment the ink touched paper, something strange happened.
The chandelier above flickered. A low hum filled the air — ancient, unnatural. Her skin tingled, and a hot pulse shot through her fingertips like electricity.
Her eyes flew to Damien. His jaw clenched.
"You felt that?" she whispered.
"Yes." His voice was low. "It happens every time we're too close."
Evelyn's pulse raced. "What the hell is it?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he slid a small box across the table. Inside was a black diamond ring, icy and cold to the touch.
"You're mine now," Damien said softly. "And something tells me this marriage will wake more than just tabloids."
---
The Curse
That night, Evelyn moved into the Wolfe Penthouse — the tallest, darkest tower in Manhattan. But the city lights felt colder than ever.
She stood in the marble bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror. A scar on her shoulder — one she had since childhood — was now glowing faintly blue.
She touched it. A sharp pain flared through her veins.
"What the hell…"
A knock at the door. Damien.
"You okay?" he asked, voice uncharacteristically gentle.
Evelyn turned, covering the mark with her robe. "Fine."
But his eyes narrowed. "You're lying."
She met his gaze. "So are you. There's something you're not telling me."
He stepped closer. "That mark on your shoulder... it's part of something older than both of us. And this marriage — it triggered it."
Her knees went weak. "You knew."
"I suspected." He paused. "And I needed answers. That's why I wanted you."
"You married me… for a curse?"
He looked away. "No. I married you because I couldn't forget your eyes from the first time we met five years ago — at the auction house fire."
Evelyn's heart stopped.
She had been at that fire. She had almost died. And someone had dragged her from the flames.
"You were there?" she whispered.
"I saved you," Damien said quietly. "And I saw the mark then."
The Billionaire's Proposal
Evelyn's heart thundered in her chest as Damien Wolfe leaned closer.
His voice was low, lethal, and unshakably calm.
> "Marry me, Evelyn. Ninety days. That's all I need."
"Are you... insane?" she whispered.
"Possibly," he said smoothly, "But I'm also your sister's only chance."
The mention of her sister snapped her back. "Don't bring Hailey into this—"
"I'm not bringing her into anything. She's already there. Diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia last week, wasn't she? Experimental treatment costs $850,000. And no one's offering that kind of money. Except me."
Evelyn's blood ran cold. She hadn't told anyone. Not even Hailey knew the full extent yet.
"How did you—"
"I make it a point to know everything about people I intend to own."
"Own?" she hissed, taking a step back, her pride flaring.
But Damien just smiled, that same cruel smirk that was both dangerous and magnetic.
"It's just business, Evelyn. You sign the papers, I transfer the money. After ninety days, we go our separate ways."
Evelyn crossed her arms tightly over her chest, as if to shield herself. "Why me? Why not a model, an influencer, some desperate socialite?"
Damien's eyes darkened. "Because I need someone the world wouldn't expect. Someone who hates me. And most importantly… someone cursed by my family's past."
That silenced her.
He knew. He knew.
Her grandmother's dying words echoed in her ears:
> "Never fall for a Wolfe… The curse will awaken again."
"You think this is some kind of game?" she said, almost breathless. "There's no curse. That's just a myth."
"And yet you wear gloves in July," he said quietly.
Evelyn stiffened. Her hands — always covered. The marks. The symbols. The ones that burned in her nightmares.
He continued. "Our families are tied by blood… and betrayal. Yours hexed mine centuries ago. My father broke the pact. And now, every generation, it returns. Always through a woman."
His gaze dropped to her hands. "You're marked, Evelyn. Whether you believe it or not."
"I don't believe in curses," she snapped.
"Good," he murmured. "Believe in contracts then."
He slid a file across the table. Her name was typed in bold at the top.
MARRIAGE AGREEMENT – WOLFE & HART
Evelyn stared at it. Her name looked so… final next to his. Like a trap.
"You want me to sell myself for ninety days."
"I want you to pretend to be my wife. Be seen with me. Attend events. Smile at cameras. Sleep in the same house. That's all."
"You left out 'kiss me,'" she said bitterly.
His eyes glinted. "That, Miss Hart, would be entirely up to you."
Silence stretched between them.
She hated him.
But she needed him.
And somewhere deep down, her instincts screamed that this wasn't just about business… or money… or even revenge.
Something ancient was stirring.
"I want full medical coverage for Hailey. No loopholes. And if she relapses, I want the treatment extended."
"Done."
"No sleeping arrangements. I stay in my own room."
"You may try."
"No control over my life. I still work."
"You'll be working for me."
She glared at him.
He smiled — predator calm. "Do we have a deal?"
---
🌑 Seven Days Later
The dress was white. Of course it was. But it wasn't fluffy or romantic — it was tailored like a power suit. A fashion knife.
Evelyn's lips were blood red, her dark hair twisted into a regal bun, and her face unreadable.
Beside her, Damien Wolfe looked like sin in a custom black suit. His presence was cold fire — alluring and terrifying.
The press snapped photos as they stood under the marble arch at the courthouse.
Click. Click. Click.
No vows. No flowers. Just signatures and flashing cameras.
"I now pronounce you… legally bound," the clerk said, bewildered by the emotionless ceremony.
Damien offered her his arm.
Evelyn took it without a word.
They walked out to the waiting limo. Cameras screamed. Reporters shouted questions.
> "Evelyn! Are you pregnant?"
> "Is this revenge for the Hart-Wolfe scandal?"
> "Damien — are you in love?"
He didn't answer.
Inside the limo, the air turned electric.
Evelyn stared out the tinted window.
"I feel like I've just signed my soul away."
"You did," Damien said lightly, pouring champagne. "To the devil with a bank account."
---
🏛️ Wolfe Manor
It was night when they arrived.
The Wolfe estate loomed like a gothic castle in the forest, all stone and silence. Its towering gates creaked open.
As the limo rolled through, Evelyn felt a wave of cold pass through her body.
The same icy pressure she'd felt in her dreams.
The same voice that whispered warnings when she was six years old:
> "Run… before he finds you."
She shook her head.
Inside, the manor was modern yet eerily sterile. Too perfect.
A staff of five bowed in silence.
"This way, Mrs. Wolfe," Damien said, his tone mocking.
A butler opened the grand staircase. She followed him up.
Halfway up the stairs, Evelyn stumbled.
The lights flickered. Just for a moment.
Then she saw it.
A shadow — standing at the top of the stairs. Watching.
Not Damien.
Not staff.
A girl. Dressed in white. Eyes glowing faintly.
Evelyn blinked. Gone.
She turned sharply. "Did you see—"
"No," Damien said. Too quickly.
He kept walking.
She followed.
---
🛏️ Guest Bedroom – Midnight
The room was lavish. Silk sheets. Crystal lamps. Designer everything.
But Evelyn couldn't sleep.
The air was too still. The silence too loud.
She walked to the window and opened it slightly, breathing in cool night air.
Then… she heard it.
A whisper.
> "You shouldn't have come…"
She turned around. The mirror fogged up — from the inside.
Another whisper. Closer now.
> "He is cursed… and so are you."
Suddenly — her hands flared.
A red mark, glowing under her skin, spread up her wrist like fire.
She gasped, clutching the sink.
Her reflection shifted.
Her eyes glowed — golden.
Not her own.
She screamed.
The door flew open.
Damien stood there, breathless.
He saw her hand — the glowing mark. The mirror.
Evelyn backed away. "What the hell is happening to me?"
He stared. For the first time… he looked afraid.
"It's started," he said softly.
"The curse. It's real."