the deal with the devil

The next morning, Olivia didn't wake up to sunlight.

She woke up to chaos.

Her phone was vibrating nonstop on the nightstand, lighting up with missed calls and text messages. The notifications were endless—PR alerts, board meetings, social media firestorms.

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and picked up the phone.

BREAKING: DAMON CROSS MARRIES DAUGHTER OF DISGRACED EX-CEO

#OliviaBennett #ArrangedMarriage #CorporateCoup

Someone had leaked the marriage.

And not just leaked it—spun it like a PR scandal dipped in gasoline and set ablaze.

She barely had time to process it before the bedroom door slammed open.

Damon entered, already in a tailored charcoal suit, phone in hand and fury in his eyes.

"You leaked it," he said coldly.

Her laugh was incredulous. "You really think I'd sabotage myself like that?"

His jaw ticked. "Someone did. And this mess lands on both of us."

She stood, silk robe falling open just enough to show the lace beneath. Damon's eyes flicked to it for a split second before narrowing again.

"Fix it," he ordered.

She crossed her arms. "You want me to do damage control on a marriage I didn't agree to?"

"You want to walk into the boardroom and have half the room see you as an opportunistic brat and the other half as my pet project?"

"I'm not your anything."

"Then prove it. Handle this."

Her pulse thundered in her ears. She should've said no. Should've walked out, set the place on fire on her way.

But instead, she smirked. "Fine. I'll clean your mess. But I do it my way."

Damon stepped closer, expression unreadable. "Then impress me, Mrs. Cross."

Later—The War Room

Olivia stood in the conference room with Damon's top executives. She wore a blood-red suit, sharp and commanding, her hair twisted into a sleek knot.

The men around the table looked uncertain.

The women looked calculating.

"Let me make one thing clear," Olivia began. "I didn't marry Damon for love. I married him for legacy. And I intend to protect it."

Silence.

She clicked the remote, and a slideshow lit up the screen behind her.

Headlines. Photos. Financial trajectories.

"I know what people think of me. Spoiled rich girl. Daddy's pawn. Trophy wife. But I didn't survive my father's empire collapsing just to become someone else's accessory."

She let that hang in the air before continuing.

"This is the plan. We spin the leak in our favor. Sell the narrative of a merger, not a marriage. A strategic alliance between two legacies—Bennett and Cross. We position Damon as the ruthless genius and me as the rebranding force behind the scenes."

One of the board members cleared his throat. "And if the media digs into your father's scandals?"

She smiled. "Then we bury them in something juicier."

A different board member raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"

Her eyes flicked to Damon. "We give them something they can't stop watching."

The Photoshoot

The PR team moved fast.

Within six hours, Olivia and Damon were posed like royalty on the marble steps of the Cross estate.

She wore a white couture gown with a slit so high it nearly defied gravity.

He wore black. Sharp. Deadly.

The photographer snapped shots of them against candlelit backdrops, glasses of champagne in hand, faces so close it bordered on scandal.

"Closer," the photographer urged. "We need chemistry."

Damon stepped behind her, sliding his arm around her waist. His fingers brushed her hip bone. Olivia's breath caught.

"This is a joke," she muttered between poses.

He leaned down, lips brushing her ear. "Say that louder. Maybe the press will pick it up."

She turned, face inches from his. "You're enjoying this."

"Only when you look at me like that."

"How?"

"Like you want to kill me and kiss me at the same time."

Click.

The camera captured it.

Fire in her eyes. Ice in his. And something electric pulsing between them.

Later That Night—The Truth Beneath the Lies

The photos went viral before midnight.

The media spun it perfectly: The Ice Queen and the Devil King. Corporate fairytale. Dangerous romance. Headlines that made Olivia want to choke.

She found him on the balcony, overlooking the glittering skyline.

"You really think this is going to work?" she asked.

Damon didn't turn. "It's already working."

She joined him, glass of wine in hand. "You didn't ask for this either, did you?"

He glanced at her. "No."

"So why agree to it?"

He was silent for a beat too long.

Then, softly, "Because you're not just your father's daughter. And I'm not just the man they say I am."

She looked at him. Really looked at him.

The man the world called ruthless. The one who crushed competition with a smile.

But there was something underneath. A flicker of something broken.

Or maybe dangerous.

Maybe both.

"I still don't trust you," she said.

He looked at her with something unreadable in his eyes.

"Good," he murmured. "Trust makes people stupid."

They stood there in silence, watching the city burn with light.

Neither of them said it.

But the war was no longer just public.

It was personal.