The Devil's Desire

LUCIANA

Change.

They say change is inevitable. But sometimes I ask myself: at what cost?

It’s safe to say my life was once normal-ish. There was a routine in my family that looked normal. And by that, I mean, waking up, going to work and coming back home in the evening for dinner, business meetings, business trips, busy parents, outings with friends…

The little laughters felt like home.

Until the melody began to fade away. Slowly.

It all began when the family company was on the verge of collapsing, and it felt like I was using my hands to hold it together, which was stressing the hell out of me.

It was almost as if someone had suddenly unleashed an attack on the Vargas family.

And it all started three months ago.

Yes, three months ago.

*

*

*

THREE MONTHS AGO

I’m sinking into a bottomless pit. The harder I try to fight my way back up, the faster I am sucked into the void, like a vortex from which I cannot escape.

My savior is only an inch out of reach. I try to grasp his hand, but just as our fingers brush, two mean-looking men the size of polar bears appear beside him, and one lands his beefy hand on my savior’s shoulder. In the blink of an eye, they are gone, and I fall rapidly into the darkness.

“Luciana,” a gentle, yet panicked voice whispers in my ear. “Wake up.”

I jolt up as I force my eyes open. Through my haze, I notice a familiar figure sitting on my bed.

“Dylan?” I whisper, blinking the drowsiness away.

She makes a show of looking down at her chest. Last time I checked, I was a woman, and my name is Paula.

Her joke is lost in the void, much like I was in the dream I just woke up from.

“Are you having nightmares again?” She feels my forehead.

Nightmares…is that what it was? It felt so real. I know dreams are insane and often make no sense, but it felt like much more than that.

Paula shuffles out of my room and returns with a glass of water and painkillers.

“I’m fine,” I tell her.

“What you are is far from fine if you're having nightmares, Luciana,” she says sternly, practically shoving the water in my face so I can drink it.

It’s only when I take the first sip that I realize how thirsty I am, and I end up gulping the whole thing in a few huge swings.

The recurring nightmares only worsen when I’m stressed, and between trying to save my family's company and several clients canceling on me, the last few weeks have been hectic. I’d explain this to Paula, but she would still make a mountain out of a molehill.

When I try to get out of bed, she presses my shoulder down. “You need to rest, young woman. You were up working late last night.”

I give her the look that lets her know not even chains of steel can keep me down. She gives up, but says, “Have some breakfast, at least. I’ll make you some of those sunny-side-ups you love, and if you say no, I’ll shove them down your throat.”

I smile. She's talking about the sunny-side-ups she used to make, with pineapple pieces on the edges. With two strawberries on the face and a banana a few inches beneath them, my breakfast plate would resemble a smiling sun.

She’s one of the best things that has ever happened in my life, even if she thinks I’m still six.

I’ve freshened up by the time Paula returns with my breakfast, and I’m sitting on the couch, pondering a new strategy.

She places the plate on the coffee table before me as she mutters, “If this is about Vicente again…”

I laugh at her unfinished threat.

“That's water under the bridge, Paula.”

She nods and leaves, but her words linger in my mind. Vicente who?

I’m trying to save a famous multimillion-dollar company—it may be on the verge of bankruptcy, but it used to be the only real estate agency anyone worth mentioning would look to.

Am I grasping at straws?

I know I am. Vargas Real Estate is a sinking ship, and my efforts will probably go to waste. But if it keeps me from thinking about my traitorous ex-boyfriend, it's a welcome distraction.

_________

I’m about to head off for work, but not before having a word with my dad. I walk to his study.

He's been juggling between reviving VRE and the new Construction Company project he's been working on for months. He calls that his Plan B.

He’s on the phone when I poke my head in, but he waves me over and ends the call soon after.

“Looks like I’m not the only one pulling all-nighters around here,” I tease, nodding to the documents strewn all over his desk. One of us is going to give the worrisome Paula a stroke.

“Just an early bird.” He adjusts the rims of his glasses. I realize he has grown a few more wrinkles in the last few weeks, and it gnaws at me. I need to put VRE back on its feet pronto.

“So,” I take a seat. “Caught any worms, yet?”

“Someone got to it before me.” He knits his brows in frustration, but attempts a smile when he looks at me. “How’s it going with you?”

“Same old. It must be because I wasn't the early bird.” I attempt a joke to lighten the mood, but the situation is too dire to be pushed under the rug.

He doesn't ask for details, but his disappointment is apparent—not in me. I know he blames himself somehow, when none of this is his fault. Times change, and we just happen to be on the wrong side of it this time.

I promise myself to revive VRE by hook or crook.

______

When I enter my office, my secretary follows me in, and I look at her over my shoulder.

“You look like you have good news for me. Did some billionaire perhaps get redirected to the wrong website and end up booking an appointment with us?”

She winces through a forced smile, and I don't need a verbal answer. We have been too down on our luck for such a miracle to happen.

“So what grenade exploded in our kitchen this morning?” I ask as I sit at my desk, as if that will help me brace for the inevitable bad news.

“The Coopers’ attorney sent a contract termination letter.”

“How could they? It's not even been—” never mind. There's no point arguing. It was bound to happen sooner or later, as usual.

Sofia is still standing before me, her clipboard clutched tightly close to her chest.

“Anything else?” I probe.

“Someone has been waiting for you in the conference room.” She mutters, sneaking a glance at the door like she's ready to bolt out in avoidance of my wrath.

She’s acting quite strange for someone who's worked for me so long that we've become more like friends than boss and employee.

“Is it the Grim Reaper or something?”

“I think you should see him for yourself,” she says and quickly retreats.

“Give me ten minutes and then let him in,” I tell her.

I use the time to check my emails in case I've missed anything.

So far, my inbox is exactly the way I left it—as empty as my ex-boyfriend’s ability to come up with a believable excuse.

I'm sailing on a ship of thoughts when the door cracks open. I expect Sofia to be back with more news, but what meets my eye is someone I would rather poke my eyes out than see.

“What are you doing here, Vicente?”

“My morning has been great. Thanks for asking.” He struts in like he owns the place, as though I owe him a second out of my busy day.

Can we reverse time back to when Sofia announced someone was here to see me? I would prefer meeting the Grim Reaper to this dork, thank you very much.

He makes himself comfortable in the seat opposite me, usually reserved for clients. If I knew he was coming, I would line it with cactus.

“I have a solution to your problems,” he offers, opening his arms wide and glancing down at his chest. “Me.”