Page 36 of Devil In A Suit

“Not to my knowledge,” she says slowly, but now there is speculation in her eyes as she reassesses my status. I have shown myself to be no ordinary guest.

As soon as she exits, I rush towards the envelope, but my hand hesitates as I reach out, knowing what it contains and not wanting to face it just yet, but I know I can’t just skim through it. I have to read every word carefully because sooner or later, I will have to sign this thing. I have to make sure there are no hiddentraps, no loopholes that he could exploit to weasel out of his end of the bargain. I need to be sure I’m not making a mistake. Despite the strong desire in me to pretend it doesn’t exist, I take a deep breath, grasp the thick expensive paper and break the logo embossed bronze-colored wax as I tear it open.

As expected, it is my contract, and it’s all laid out in excruciating detail, every clause, stipulation and rule is meant to ensure that I am perfectly obedient, always on my best behavior, with no room for rebellion. It’s all one-sided, all for his benefit—my behavior, my schedule, even my wardrobe, all meant to align with his expectations and whims. It’s so controlling, so suffocating that I can’t quite believe I’ve let myself into this situation.

My eyes skim over the legal jargon, the strict terms that bind me, and I feel my chest tightening with every sentence I read. The reality of what I’m agreeing to settles in more heavily with each word, and it’s suffocatingly clear. He’s buying a service. Nothing more. Why did he have to make it so starkly evident that it would be transaction sex?

I remind myself that this is the only way to fix the mess my father is in and focus on the words swimming in front of me. I need to read through every line and every word. I need to understand exactly what I’m signing up for.

Slowly, I begin to comb through the contract, taking it in word by word. Each section feels like a tightening knot in my stomach—stipulations about when and where I must be available, the expectations of how I should behave, the way I must look and present myself, even the things I am allowed to do in his presence. It’s all there, mapped out as if my life is now a schedule he gets to dictate.

Still holding the contract in my hand, I head towards the walk-in closet. It’s bigger than my bedroom, and although it isn’t completely filled, it’s been stocked with every piece of clothingI could possibly need for my month’s stay. Dresses, shoes, bags, accessories, even glamorous lingerie —all in my correct sizes.

I notice another door. I push it open and it leads into the most breathtaking bathroom I’ve ever been in. The space is massive, with premium rose marble floors and gold fixtures that gleam under the soft lighting. It’s almost overwhelming in its luxury, and for a moment, I’m lost in the beauty of it all. A marble alcove is lined with pristine white towels, and the scent of fresh flowers fills the air, mingling with the faint aroma of the soaps and oils carefully arranged on the counter.

In the middle of the room, perfectly positioned to overlook a window with a gorgeous view of the city’s night sky, is a bathtub. It’s enormous, the kind of tub you could sink into and lose yourself in for hours. I can already imagine how warm and soothing the water would feel against my skin, washing away the day’s stress and the feeling of being soiled. For a brief second, I forget everything else as I picture myself sinking into that bath, letting it swallow me whole.

The thought is tempting.

Without thinking further, I turn on the faucet, choosing a mix of the fragrant oils and bubble baths available. The scent of lavender fills the air, and I feel my shoulders start to relax just a little. I select some of the luxurious bath salts and sprinkle them into the water too, watching as they dissolve and release their calming aroma. The steam rises, and I close my eyes, letting it envelop me, imagining that it’s taking away all the tension building up inside me.

I undress and step into the tub. The water is perfect—warm enough to make my skin tingle but not too hot. Lovely. I feel as if I am bathing in the sky. I sink into the water, feeling it rise around me, and then I let my head rest against the edge. The world outside feels far away, and I almost let myself pretend thatthis is a beautiful dream. Everything is fine. There is a gorgeous prince waiting for me somewhere in this apartment.

But reality comes crashing back when I look down at the papers on the floor.

I lay my head back and close my eyes, the water continuing to warm me, until eventually, the bath begins to feel less like a comfort and more like a trap—a reminder of the luxury that’s being used to bind me, the softness disguising the control. The scent of the expensive bath salts hangs in the warm air, but instead of relaxing me, I feel a new tension growing in my chest.

My heart feels heavy as I lean back and let the water wash over my shoulders. I close my eyes and for a moment, I let myself drift, imagining another scenario. I was on a fairytale date with Ivan Ivanovich. He really cared about me. I was his girlfriend!

I shake my head at my open stupidity. He is a billionaire. Billionaires don’t choose struggling estate agents to be their girlfriends. I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. It’s ornate, with a chandelier hanging directly above me—something you’d expect to see in a palace, not a bathroom in the middle of New York. Everything around me is so extravagant, so immaculate, and yet all I can think about is how much I wish I could disappear into this bath and never come out.

But I know I have to face this.

I rise slowly from the tub, water dripping from my skin, and wrap the towel on the footstool around myself. It’s soft, cloud-soft, and I clutch it tightly as I walk back into the bedroom. I pull at the red ribbons of the gift box and open the lid. Inside is a blood-red silk nightie. It is beautiful, but I glare at it, knowing exactly what it symbolizes. It’s another part of the game—a tool to make me feel small, controlled, like a doll he can dress up however he pleases.

I toss the nightie on the bed. No matter how much I want to tear it up, throw it in his face, and walk out the door, I don’t havethat option. Not if I want to save my father. Not if I want to save the agency.

This is my life now, at least for the next one month.

Chapter Twenty-Three

IVAN

It had not even crossed my mind that I’d not be able to stay away from her for the night. I never expected the wild restlessness that would consume me the way a fire consumes a dry field.

Burning, burning…

The throbbing knowledge that she is just across the corridor, waiting, all paid for, completely subject to my beck and call… and yet here I am forcing myself for no good reason to ignore the call. I pour myself a glass of strong whiskey, down it, and lay on my back, staring up at the ceiling. I can’t remember the last time I felt this wound up. As far back as I can remember I have had whoever I want. The fairer have always fallen easily into my lap because of my great privilege, first as my important father’s son and then as a result of my own success.

But tonight, I find myself desperately wanting a woman who actually detests me.

For two hours I endure the torment, but the frustration in my body refuses to settle no matter how hard I try to push her out of my mind. Fuck her. I wrap my hand around myhardness and pump. It’s almost painful. Pathetic, really, but still, it is what it is. I try to picture a woman, any other woman, but her image looking up at me from her awkward position on the ground from that morning refuses to budge from my mind. The more I remember that moment, the sweeter it feels. The friction becomes a good heat and a damn great release. It has me gripping the sheets, caught up in my own need. I tell myself it was not that good, that it’s all in my head. It’s not her, it’s just the idea of a hunt.

And it is a hunt.

“Fuck,” I curse softly, with an odd mix of satisfaction and frustration. I get up, heading to the bathroom to clean myself off. I pull on a pair of silk pajama bottoms and return to my room. Standing there, I stare at the bed. Sleep seems hours away. I need a distraction, something to occupy my mind. I think about going into my study and putting on some trades but realize that in my preoccupied state, I’ll probably just end up losing money.

Maybe a swim will help.

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