Chapter 1: Amber Blue-Eyed Demons

The blinds are pulled back by deft hands allowing the room to be bathed in light. The afternoon sun is high and bright, a little too bright for the gloomy figure that stirs in the grand four-posture bed, a melodic groan leaving full lips.

The room is a mess, mostly when its owner is in a particularly bad mood. Several books line the floor in disarray as if taken off the white wall shelf and thrown to rot. Paint brushes lie mess on a canvas atop the white wood desk pushed against the baby blue accent wall. Pillows are plucked off the bed and thrown around in an anger fit thanks to the news that has been revealed upon the young heiress of the family last night.

The old maid tuts, her pristine bun greying at the roots as she gently shakes the restless figure under the white sheet. She holds her breath because she knows how the heiress gets when she is irked. "Fea, you must wake up, or you will be late for the conference," she coaxes softly.

The sheet is pulled down begrudgingly to reveal shiny blonde locks and breathtakingly gorgeous midnight blue eyes that look like the cloudless night sky during a full moon. Sometimes, it's difficult to look at their young mistress without losing their ability to breathe due to how painstakingly beautiful her features are.

Over the past three years, more than ten servants have been dismissed since the young mistress returned from boarding school, each falling helplessly in love with her. "Good for me," the old maid thinks to herself. "Or why else would they keep an old lady like me to tend to the young mistress?"

"It's today then?" the lilting voice has her breaking out of her selfish musings. The young mistress sits up in bed, the sheets falling away to reveal her soft, doll-like face and a frown that doesn't suit it one bit. But what can Mariah do? If she could, she would bring the sky down to make the young heiress feel better but nothing is in her control.

"I'm afraid so, Fae. Get ready now, your manager will be here any second now," she encourages, pulling back the sheets so she can hurry her.

Serafina Rose Falcone pouts to herself, frowning before she gets up to get ready. In her twenty-four years of life, she never thought that she would find herself in a situation where she would hold a press conference to declare her marriage to her sworn enemy.

She huffs to herself as she pulls off her pink silk slip dress and steps into the heated shower. If she only knew that hiring private investigators to spy on her enemies would come to bite her in the ass like this.

But then again, how could she have possibly known that one of the investigators would anonymously leak information about Kyng Enterprises' links with the mafia that would ultimately connect her own entertainment company with it?

After a quick shower, Serafina emerges, droplets of water glistening on her skin like diamonds. She wraps herself in a baby pink robe, the fabric soft against her delicate frame, and moves with purpose as she prepares for the looming press conference.

Her manager is there to greet her when she steps out of her closet after downing a short baby blue two-piece outfit, couldn't bring herself to wear pink on such a bad day. The skirt hugs her hips just right, and the jacket sits above her navel.

"Let me do your hair," her manager says, placing her coffee on her vanity but Seraphina shakes her head, looking herself in the mirror as she starts to put on the most expensive pearls she owns.

"I'll just leave it as it is, think the blowout came out nicely," she brushes the blonde strands back and sees that the arm workout she went through to achieve it was all worth it. The last thing she wants is to be caught looking ugly next to her enemy. Not that it was physically possible for her to look ugly but then again, the man she is announcing her engagement to has a way of appearing ethereal.

Her manager nods in agreement, "We have to leave soon, Fae," she knows her manager is trying to not break the truce that the morning has brought upon them after the screaming session they had last night when her mother informed her about the arrangement that both the CEOs had decided in favor of both companies. It ended with Serafina rushing out of her mother's study with tears in her eyes.

She curses the spy a thousandth time since the leak as she follows her manager out of their manor. They reach their destination quicker than Serafina would have liked. The flash of cameras threatens to penetrate the shaded glass to get a glimpse of the young heiress. She takes a breath, dread clogging her pores when she notices the number of reporters waiting outside before her door is opened. The moment she steps out of her car, they are met with a blinding barrage of flashlights, the paparazzi eager to capture every moment.

Serafina squints against the sudden brightness, her heart racing. The cacophony of shouts and clicks fills the air. She clutches her manager's arm, steadying herself as they navigate through the throng, each flash illuminating her porcelain skin and the striking blue of her eyes.

"Serafina!" Multiple people scream her name.

"Serafina, look this way," one of them shouts.

"Serafina, is it true that you and Mr. Damien have been in a secret relationship since last year?" The question catches her off-guard, has icy anger prickling her skin. She can't believe it has led to this. She now has to associate with her worst enemy in the most intimate of ways for the public. Just thinking about it makes her want to throw up.

"Serafine, are you and Mr. Damien marrying in two weeks? Why the hurry?" Someone shouts in her ear and she has to turn away.

"Just keep walking, Fae. Focus on me," her manager urges, guiding her through the swarm.

With each step, Serafina feels the weight of her decision bearing down on her—a contract marriage to her sworn enemy, a spectacle for the world to see. As they enter the hall where the conference is being held, she takes a deep breath, steeling herself for the storm ahead and promising herself she won't lose her cool because of Damien today.

That of course, turns out to be her delusion speaking because half an hour after she has been seated for the conference, her fiance is yet to show up. She bites the inside of her cheek to keep her anger from showing on her face, her posture stiff as she looks down at all the reporters whispering to each other in their seats. Her skin pricks with embarrassment, cheeks are a tiny bit flushed making her appear excited rather than absolutely livid.

Her mother sits next to her having arrived earlier, her bun immaculate with not a single strand of hair out of place and her angelic face stoic. Serafina sometimes is in awe of how her mother can keep it together like this in the most maddening situations. Her mother's manager whispers to her and it has Serafina looking over at her manager quizzically. Gracie gives her a tight-lipped smile, an indication of the impending doom or silent encouragement, Serafina can't tell.

Just when her anger is about to get the best of her and she is considering storming out of the hall, the front doors open.

And there he stands.

Damien Alistair Kyng.

Her breath hitches in her throat, cheeks burning as she instantly catches his eyes. His heterochromatic eyes seem to hold different emotions as the cameras flash at him, illuminating the mischief that resides in his blue eye and the danger that lives so comfortably in his amber one. He stands like a god among men with his six foot three stature, the maroon silk shirt he wears leaves little to the imagination about his muscular frame.

His golden skin glows a healthy hue as he brings his hand up to brush the raven strands of his hair back. It brings into focus the red snake tattoo he has on his hand which Serafina knows, ends at his elbow. The red snake coiled around his right forearm with its head covering the back of his hand, its mouth open to reveal sharp fangs over his thumb and its forklike tongue in the shape of a skull tattoo next to his index finger.

He smiles at one of the cameras, canines that are a bit longer than the rest of his teeth glint pearly, "I apologize for the wait," his husky baritone that carries hints of devilishness sounds over the shutter of the cameras. Fae hates the way her stomach swoops, her heart missing a beat in the face of that smile.

"Hello, angel..." The belittling nickname has heat cursing in her veins, a hatred that she's grown familiar with enclosing her heart.