
The Deal with the Billionaire Devil
"This is not a game." As I wrapped my arm around her waist, I slipped my hand under her dress.
"What are you doing?" She froze, eyes like a deer caught in the headlights.
Kissing the back of her ear, I whispered, "Do you want me to take it out now?" I rubbed my finger against her pussy. As expected, she was soaking. A blaze of lust and need swept through me. My cock was hard, pressed against her ass. "You're drenched, my love. I know you enjoy it. Stop fighting it. Give in. Submit to your desire."
***
TARA
A family practice forces me to run away from home, leaving me disgraced and my family in shame.
Just when I start making new friends, someone threatens to expose who I am and the person behind my nom de plume. The condition- a contract marriage, the very same reason I fled from.
So, what's so different this time? Mad Shanewood- the achingly handsome, with waving red flags, an irrefutable passion, or a magnetic attraction?
With my secrets still haunting me, now the whole world is watching, and our delicately fragile public image is at stake.
After a glimpse beneath his shallow exterior, there is a damaged soul who makes me feel as if I'm everything to him.
And how is it that the one thing I never wanted has me fighting so hard to keep?
***
MAD
I always get the deal done until my recklessness has thrown the company into a tailspin, derailing my path to a billion-dollar project.
With my image under brutal public scrutiny, marriage is my last straw.
Tara Montimer not only intrigues me. She's selfless, kind-hearted, and sexy as hell. And something deep in her eyes makes me question if I'm worthy to be her husband.
For me, it seems that it's not just fixing my reputation anymore- the entrancing deposed princess didn't only steal my breath away. She penetrates the protective wall around my heart that I built for years.
Our goals may be aligned. But then there's a disapproving father who is a King, a law, and constant threats that prevent us from getting married.
Will this razor-thin edge arrangement be enough to fix what's been broken, or is something between us worth fighting for?
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Chapter 4
TARA
I twisted and turned in bed for hours as I couldn't shake the thought of the threat out of my head. Knowing it came from Alessia, I knew she would do it in a heartbeat.
I got up from bed and sat in my kitchen in front of my laptop for two hours, trying to write an outline. Every time I put my fingers on the keys, I came up with nothing. All I could think of was my face flashing over the internet with a horrible headline and vile comments on social media.
I still ended up with nothing. I finally grew tired of staring at the black page and yawned at three in the morning. I barely slept and woke up with anxiety.
Here, I was back to work, trying to squeeze the idea out of my head for another commentary. As they say, easy peasy lemon squeezy. I finished it within an hour, proofread, and submitted it to my boss. But when it came to my next book, I got nothing. I didn't even believe in writer's block, but right now, it felt like it.
I checked the time on the screen. The 24-hour ultimatum was over. Simultaneously, my phone vibrated.
I picked up the call with my heart pounding hard in my chest. "Hello?"
"You have five seconds, my dear." I instantly recognized Alessia's voice and rolled my eyes. "Call the number, or you're a click away from being famous again." The line went off.
"Bitch." I picked up the calling card and dialed the number. The line answered right away as if someone was expecting a call.
"Vysper Rowe."
"Ms. Rowe, I'm Tara."
"Great," she replied chirply. "Meet me at the address I'm sending it to you right now. I'll send a car to pick you up."
"I'm sure I know how to get there." My phone just pinged. "When?"
"Right now, if you're free."
"Okay." I drew a deep breath when the call ended.
When I thought my life would be a little bit better after I got my first book published, received the royalties, and the readers loved it, I was wrong. I had a good life away from scrutiny, and the reason why I preferred to be anonymous in the first place.
Since that incident, I hated to be the center of attention. I'd been able to acclimate just like an ordinary person, and yet, here we go again.
My identity remained unknown because I'd rather have my fans love the book and the characters than the author. Fortunately, my publisher had agreed to my terms until Alessia threatened me.
My drive to the address was filled with silence and uncertainty. I didn't even know what I would do if I didn't do as she said. I had a feeling that I might have to sell my soul to the devil.
The Shanewood Tower, a high-rise complex building located in the central financial district in New York, soared higher in front of me upon parking my car. Before I could inquire at the reception, someone called my name.
"Yes?" I turned to a thirty-ish-tall man in a dark suit. "That's me."
"I'm Rey Nites. I'll take you to Ms. Rowe." He gestured to the elevator.
"Mr. Nites, may I ask what this is all about? I'm kinda in the dark here," I said as I followed behind him.
"Call me Nites, ma'am. I'm sorry, I have no idea." He used a key card to access the private elevator. "I'm sure Ms. Rowe will explain it to you. Lady's first."
I walked in. "I get it. You're not at liberty to discuss it with me."
He briefly looked at me and smiled.
As the elevator brought us up, I counted numbers in my head to calm my rising heartbeat. Rey Nites hadn't said a word. The floor number kept rising and stopped at floor PH.
Penthouse?
My heart sank. I still didn't know what I was doing here, and it felt like I was thrown into a crocodile pond.
I managed to enter through the fancy door of the luxurious penthouse without collapsing. I released a shaky breath that I didn't know I was holding for too long.
The stunning architectural design had achieved an expansive interior like a space in the sky with an extraordinary level of sophistication, yet it was more than just a residence, but an element of home. But what truly captivated me was the view behind the floor-to-ceiling window- it was spectacular.
"Do you like it?" The woman must be Vysper, who just appeared out of nowhere as I was too caught up checking out the captivating skyscraper from the window.
"Sublime." Still in an American accent, I smiled and offered my hand. "It's nice to meet you, Ms. Rowe. I suppose you and Ms. Hearst are friends."
"Yes, we are." She shook my hand and offered me to sit.
I took a seat just to be polite. "Thank you. I have to get back to work. So, why am I here?"
"Alessia told me about you." She sat across from me, studying me candidly.
"And you believe her? As to why I am here, I'm still clueless."
"I didn't believe her until she showed me proof." Her smile was practiced as if she were trying to impress someone. I knew it because I was trained to act the way she just did.
"She threatened to expose who I am. And you? Am I here to be blackmailed by you, too?"
"Quite the opposite. I'm here to offer you and give you a chance."
"I suppose there's always a catch." I also wondered how deep she knew about me.
"Aren't you tired of hiding the truth, of who you really are?" Agh. That crap again. I wanted to roll my eyes. "If you can do something good, wouldn't you take that opportunity?"
Still confused, I stood up. "I did something good, and look where it took me? And besides, if you do something out of the goodness of your heart, the best reward is to do it in private. So, just tell me already, or I'll walk out. "
Before Vysper could answer, I heard strong footsteps behind me, and she rose and smiled.
"Vysper," said the deep baritone voice that instantly caught my attention- the kind of voice that hypnotized me to turn around and face him. And by that single word, it was awfully familiar, like it was fresh in my head.
All of a sudden, I could feel my heartbeat drumming in my chest as I turned around. The world seemed to have stopped spinning- time struck a halt.
His strides were long and confident. His hands were stuffed in the pockets of his dark pants. He met my gaze with his hazel eyes, surrounded by natural, thick, long lashes.
Hazel eyes. The same hazel eyes that hypnotized me. No, this wasn't real. This wasn't happening.
You've got to be freaking kidding me!
This was not a coincidence.
I tried not to stumble over my feet as I shut my mouth. The closer he got, the more familiar he became, like I'd seen that face somewhere.
Shanewood Tower.
Penthouse.
It took me seconds to realize what this was all about.
Of course, the condescending Playboy Mad Shanewood, and I were here for him, not for Vysper, and this was his penthouse where he hooked up with that poor girl who tried to take her own life livestream.
He stopped before me, offered his hand, and smiled that didn't reach his eyes. But what was more humiliating? He didn't recognize the sapphire- the birth freaking stone- the woman he kissed two nights ago.
Well, that was a bummer.
"Hi. I'm-"
I looked up at him. I was viscerally aware of how tall he was, with a powerfully built body, almost making me look fragile before him. And not to mention that long, thick, and- crap!
"Why am I here, Mr. Shanewood?" He didn't even recognize my voice, or maybe the accent confused him. For a second, I thought he was drunk or maybe had hit his head before he left two nights ago.
For God's sake, Tara. He's a manwhore.
Instead of answering me, he looked at Vysper. "You haven't told her?"
"Told me what?" I bounced my gaze between him and Vysper. "To work for him? I have a job, and I'm not currently looking for a new employer. I'm sorry to have wasted your time. Obviously, there's been a mistake." I walked past them.
Before I made another step, Vysper called my name. "Do you know your brother mediated a deal with a billionaire that can destroy a mountain in your country to build a luxury resort?" I know you're an environmental activist-"
I turned around. "That's not possible. And I hate to break it to you, Ms. Rowe, but you approached the wrong person. I can't help you."
"Listen to me, Tara. This offer is once in a lifetime. I know deep inside you, you still care about your country and who you are. You still carry your family's blood in your veins. You don't need those fancy titles anymore to help other people. All you need is an influential husband to make a difference."
My heart stopped. I felt like my world just turned black. "Did you just say husband?"
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9.1
With only fifteen days of cash flow left to save her tech startup, Aida had no choice but to seek a five-million-dollar bridge loan from Brendan Walls, a ruthless billionaire predator.
He agreed to sign the check, but on one sickening condition. He demanded Aida act as bait to get close to his corporate rival, Grayson Lott, treating her like a high-end call girl for a business transaction.
Forced to comply to save her employees, Aida let Grayson take her to a windowless underground club, where he secretly spiked her whiskey.
As the drugs paralyzed her body, triggering horrific flashbacks of a brutal assault from six years ago, Aida locked herself in the bathroom. She had to shatter a mirror and slice her own thigh open with a jagged shard of glass just to stay conscious enough to call Brendan for help.
Brendan's armored SUV immediately smashed through the club's wall to save her, and Grayson was arrested. But lying in the hospital, the horrifying truth finally clicked in Aida's mind.
The rescue was too fast. Brendan’s men hadn't rushed from Midtown; they had been parked outside the entire time. He had watched Grayson drug her and waited for the felony to happen just so he could legally seize Grayson's company. He had gambled her life and trauma for a hostile takeover.
When Brendan casually tossed a signed contract and luxury car keys onto her hospital bed as hush money, the last thread of Aida's sanity snapped.
"The deal is dead. NovaTech is mine. If you ever come near me again, I will kill you."
Bleeding and shaking with icy rage, Aida threw the keys at his chest, formally declaring war on the monster who thought he could buy her soul.

8.9
My father was marrying a gold-digger, the mother of my cheating ex-boyfriend.
To end the charade, I crashed their luxury wedding with a ten-foot funeral wreath.
In front of hundreds of elites, my father slapped me across the face, calling me a vicious bitch while his new wife smiled in victory.
I triggered the estate's fire system to ruin them, but a terrifying stranger in the VIP section bypassed my military-grade hack in seconds.
He was Kavon Velasquez, a dangerous billionaire heir who had been missing for twelve years.
Instead of exposing me, he shielded me from my father's second blow.
When my pathetic ex tried to drag me away, I grabbed Kavon and kissed him to humiliate my ex.
I shoved a $500,000 check into Kavon's pocket as hush money and left.
I thought that was the end of it.
But why did this apex predator move into the penthouse right next to mine at 2 AM?
Why did he violently crush my ex's face the next morning just for grabbing my arm?
"She is my woman. If you ever come within ten feet of her again, I will bury you."
I didn't understand why a man with lethal skills was suddenly hunting me.
Then I found out he had just blackmailed my father with undeniable proof of corporate money laundering.
His demand wasn't money. It was me.
He ordered my father to announce our engagement by tomorrow sunset, and this dangerous game officially began.

8.4
Everly spent four years playing the perfect, accommodating wife to Carson Moss, swallowing every grievance just to secure medical treatments for their sick daughter.
But at a high-society banquet she exhausted herself organizing, Carson's pregnant mistress crashed the party.
The woman shoved an ultrasound of Carson's "real heir" directly into Everly's frail grandfather's face.
The shock triggered a massive heart attack.
Carson refused to use his private helicopter to save the dying old man, choosing to protect his mistress and his company's IPO instead. Her grandfather died on the hospital table.
Instead of remorse, her mother-in-law demanded Everly publicly cover up the murder.
"You will do exactly as I say, or I will freeze every single cent of the medical trust fund paying for your crippled daughter's treatments."
When a battered Everly returned to the estate, she discovered her three-year-old daughter covered in dark bruises and pinch marks. Her in-laws were deliberately torturing her disabled child.
Everly couldn't comprehend how a family could be so utterly heartless. Her only family was murdered, her child was abused, and her husband threw a five-million-dollar check at her face as hush money.
They thought she would just break and quietly disappear.
But when a terrifyingly powerful billionaire unexpectedly blocked Carson's security team from locking her up, Everly finally saw her window.
She grabbed her sleeping daughter and ran out into the freezing storm, making a blood-bound vow to make the entire Moss family bleed.

9.3
For years, Gabriela believed the man beside her would be the one she grew old with. They had loved each other since they were young, but in the end, all those years meant nothing beside a younger woman's smile.
Returning from a business trip, she uncovered his betrayal with brutal clarity. Still, she did not cry or beg. She took out her phone, recorded every damning second, and filed for divorce the moment she could.
Afterward, she rebuilt her life into something brighter, richer, and stronger, even marrying a powerful tycoon. As for her ex and his shameless mistress, they could rot together.

9.5
Bridget left the office early on her anniversary, her pocket heavy with a custom velvet ring box meant for her fiancé.
But when she pushed open the bedroom door, she found him tangled in their bed with her best friend, Chloe.
"Bridget! Wait, it's not what it looks like!" Jacob stammered, his eyes wide with panic.
"Evidence," Bridget stated coldly, snapping a photo of their naked bodies before fleeing into the freezing New York night.
Desperate to numb the betrayal, she got blackout drunk at an underground lounge and threw herself at a dark, terrifyingly handsome stranger.
She woke up in a penthouse suite alone, finding only a limitless black credit card left on the nightstand.
Humiliated and feeling like a cheap escort, she ran away, swearing to forget the nightmare.
But the nightmare had just begun. When she rushed into the office, she discovered the stranger was Jevon Rocha—the ruthless billionaire CEO of her company.
He didn't fire her. Instead, he trapped her in a twisted, obsessive power game, forcing her into his private life and demanding she report to his penthouse.
Bridget couldn't understand why a ruthless billionaire was so dangerously fixated on a low-level employee.
Until she stumbled upon his secret social media account and saw a crayon drawing of a little kid, captioned with a single word: "Finally."
A wave of absolute horror washed over her. He wasn't just playing games; he was hiding a secret child and a messy, high-stakes family drama.
She refused to be the naive collateral damage in a billionaire's twisted life.
Trembling, Bridget hit "Block" on his profile, determined to escape his dangerous web.

8.6
Eleanor Sinclair always knew her stepmother and stepsister were leeches, but she never expected their betrayal to reach into her private study.
In the dead of night, she caught the family's trusted nanny of twelve years photographing confidential trust documents. The mastermind paying her off was Lillian, Eleanor's stepmother, who had been secretly embezzling estate funds and bribing tutors to deliberately ruin the academic future of Eleanor's younger brother, the only legitimate heir.
Emboldened by their deceit, the parasites grew arrogant. Her stepsister, Isabelle, deliberately flaunted her secret affair with Eleanor’s billionaire fiancé, sobbing fake tears while waiting for Eleanor to suffer a humiliating nervous breakdown.
When the tension finally peaked, Lillian played the victim so perfectly that Eleanor's own father, a powerful U.S. Senator, stormed into the room with a raised hand, ready to strike his own daughter.
"You will apologize to your stepsister immediately! I will not have this family harmony destroyed by your petty jealousy!"
They actually expected her to be a weeping, heartbroken girl. They thought cheap hotel affairs and stolen pennies could outsmart the true Sinclair bloodline. Did they really believe a few fake tears and a weak-willed father could strip her of her empire?
Eleanor didn't feel anger; she felt the cold, detached fascination of a biologist observing doomed insects. She calmly pulled out the forensic audits, locked down the estate's exits, and prepared her stepmother's psychiatric commitment papers. The merciless purge of her family had officially begun.