Ashley Carter stared up at the sleek, obsidian tower that loomed above Fifth Avenue. Its mirrored surface reflected the burning New York sunset, but the air around it felt colder than the October wind. She clutched the invitation tighter in her gloved hand — heavy black paper, gold-foiled edges, and her name in calligraphy. No job title. No company. Just an address, a time, and one sentence in red ink:
"Come prepared. The Devil does not tolerate disobedience."
She had almost tossed it in the trash. Almost. But rent was due, and her part-time bookstore job barely kept her fed, let alone warm. The pay promised was... insane. Ten thousand dollars a week, no prior experience required. It sounded like a scam — or a porn shoot. But here she was, standing in front of what looked more like a fortress than an office.
The lobby was eerily silent.
Marble floors stretched endlessly beneath her heels. There was no front desk. No receptionist. No background music. Only the sound of her own breathing, and a single elevator — doors already open, waiting.
She hesitated. This was either the start of something huge… or the stupidest mistake of her life.
She stepped in.
The doors shut with a soft hiss, and the elevator rose without her pressing anything. A smooth, velvety voice poured out of hidden speakers. "Ashley Carter. Twenty-two. Top of your class in creative writing, dropped out two semesters before graduation. Estranged from family. Currently late on rent, and heartbroken from a recent betrayal. You want purpose. Direction. Power. Yes?"
Her stomach flipped. "What the hell is this?"
The voice chuckled — dark, amused. "It's a job interview."
The elevator stopped at the top floor. Doors slid open with a whisper.
Beyond was a hallway lit in crimson. Velvet walls, black carpet, and a long line of flickering wall sconces. At the end stood a set of ornate double doors.
And behind them… he waited.
Ashley's heels clicked softly as she approached, each step heavier than the last. Her hand trembled slightly as she pushed the doors open.
The office was immense — dark wood, gothic chandeliers, floor-to-ceiling windows showing a sweeping night view of Manhattan. But the man at the center of it all eclipsed the grandeur.
Raphael.
He rose from behind the desk like a god carved in sin. Six-foot-something of pure danger. Jet-black hair fell in tousled waves around his sharp jaw. His eyes… impossibly dark. They pinned her in place like daggers dipped in fire.
He smiled. It wasn't friendly.
"Miss Carter," he purred. "Right on time."
Ashley's throat dried. She tried to gather her voice. "I—I got your invitation, but I don't really know what this job is about."
"You're here to serve me."
Her breath caught.
"I need an assistant," he said, walking toward her with the smoothness of a predator. "But not the kind you're used to. You'll obey. You'll follow instructions. And in return, you'll be compensated beyond your wildest dreams."
She forced herself not to step back. "That sounds… vague."
"You're not here for vague," he replied. "You're here because you're desperate. And curious."
His hand reached toward her, fingers brushing a strand of hair off her cheek. The contact made her knees weaken — not from fear, but something far more dangerous.
"You knew this wasn't a normal job," he said softly. "And yet, you came."
"Who are you?" she whispered.
Raphael's smile deepened. "The Devil you signed yourself to."
She blinked. "Excuse me?"
He stepped back and pulled open a black drawer from the desk. Inside was a crimson leather-bound book. He opened it, flipping through symbols that looked far older than English — and then stopped on a page.
Her name.
Ashley Carter, written in blood-red ink. Not typed. Not printed. Written, as if by hand.
Her heart pounded. "What is this?"
He turned the book so she could see. "The contract."
"I never signed that!"
"You did the moment you opened the invitation and walked through my doors," he said. "Intent is everything. And your desire was louder than your doubts."
She tried to take a step back, but the room felt like it tilted. Her body burned. Heat spread low in her belly, and every inch of her skin tingled as if charged with static.
"What… what's happening to me?"
Raphael closed the book with a thud and leaned in. His voice was velvet and smoke.
"You're feeling what it means to be owned."
Her breath caught.
"Every time you resist me," he murmured, "you'll ache. Your body will crave punishment. Submission. And every time you obey…" His hand cupped her chin, tilting her gaze to meet his. "You'll learn what true pleasure feels like."
Ashley's mind screamed — Get out. But her body was betraying her, shaking under his touch, thighs clenching from the hot flush that throbbed at her core.
"You're insane," she whispered, but it sounded more like a plea than defiance.
Raphael's eyes burned. "Insanity is denying what your soul already knows."
He stepped back and gestured to the chair in front of his desk. "Sit."
She hesitated.
"Disobedience already?" he asked, head tilting. "Would you like to feel how that contract enforces itself?"
Her knees buckled, and she dropped into the chair, gasping. A rush of heat exploded between her legs, as though some invisible force had gripped her body in a teasing vice.
She clutched the armrests, trembling. "What… did you do to me?"
"I don't have to do anything," he said smoothly. "You're connected to me now. The contract responds to your choices."
She stared at him — half-terrified, half mesmerized.
He circled the desk and leaned on the edge in front of her, those impossibly dark eyes devouring every inch of her with ravenous hunger.
"This is your first and only warning, Ashley," he said, voice like a growl beneath silk. "I will not tolerate lies. I will not tolerate defiance. But if you give yourself to me fully, I will show you pleasure that will ruin any man who comes after me."
She should've run. She should've screamed.
Instead, she whispered, "What exactly do you want from me?"
His lips curled into something dark and victorious. "Everything."