Chapter Two: A Deal with the Devil.

(Helena’s POV)

I told myself I wouldn’t go, that I had dignity and I still had options. But dignity didn’t pay the bills. And the bank didn’t accept pride as currency.

So I stood in front of Cavendish & Co., my heart pounding, knowing this was my last chance to crawl out of the wreckage Daniel had left behind.

It had taken me an hour to gather the nerve to call him. Another hour to talk myself into stepping into the black car he had sent. And now, as I stared at the massive glass doors before me, I wondered if I had made the worst mistake of my life.

I stepped inside, my heels clicking against the polished floors, and barely had a moment to collect myself before a poised, impeccably dressed woman at the front desk glanced up.

"Mrs. Whitmore?" she asked smoothly, already expecting me. "Mr. Cavendish is waiting for you. Follow me."

I exhaled slowly, steeling myself. There was no turning back now.

He led me to the private elevator, and I rode up in silence, my fingers twisting around the fraying edge of my coat.

I shouldn’t be here.

Not with the mysterious Adrian Cavendish, but I was out of choices.

The elevator doors slid open to reveal Adrian, standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, his gaze fixed on the city below like he owned it.

Which, in many ways, he did.

Adrian built his empire from nothing. He wasn’t like the old-money elite who were born into their power. Adrian took his. Carved it, one ruthless deal at a time.

He turned at the sound of my heels clicking against the marble floor, his expression unreadable. Sharp blue eyes, piercing and impossibly cold, framed by thick lashes that softened nothing. The sharp cut of his jaw, the hint of stubble—controlled, deliberate, like everything about him. The tailored suit fit him too well, molding to broad shoulders and a lean muscular frame that made it impossible to ignore just how devastatingly handsome he was.

For a second I forgot to breathe.

Adrian Cavendish seemed like a man who never showed his cards unless he was ready to win. And looking at him now, I had the sinking feeling I was already losing.

“Helena.” His voice was smooth. I lifted my chin and replied. “Mr Cavendish”

“Please just Adrian” A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it didn’t reach his eyes, then gestured toward the sleek leather couch.

“Sit.”

I stayed standing. “I’d rather get to the point.”

His smirk widened, but there was nothing warm about it.

“Of course,” he murmured, walking toward the office table and poured himself a glass of scotch but didn’t offer me one.

He knew why I was here. He was just waiting for me to admit it.

I swallowed hard. “I need a loan.”

Adrian lifted his glass, taking a slow sip before answering. “Is that so? But I thought your house was foreclosed?”

I forced myself to keep my voice steady. “You know about the foreclosure?”

His gaze flickered, like he wasn’t surprised. Of course, he wasn’t.

Adrian knew everything.

“The bank is taking the house,” I continued, forcing the words out. “I have nothing left. No accounts. No assets.” I exhaled sharply, hating that I had to say this aloud. “I came here because i thought… I need help, Adrian.”

He was silent for a long moment, watching me like he was measuring the weight of my desperation.

Then, finally, he set his glass down and said, “No.”

The word hit me like a slap.

I blinked. “No?”

He leaned back against his chair, arms crossed. “I don’t give handouts, Helena.”

My stomach twisted. “I’m not asking for a handout. I promise, I’ll pay you back.”

A slow, deliberate smirk curved his lips. “With what money?”

Humiliation burned hot in my chest, but I clenched my fists and forced myself to stay composed.

I had expected this, from what Daniel told me Adrian Cavendish never did anything without calculating the cost.

Still, I had hoped and prayed—that for once, he might just offer kindness.

I should have known better.

“Right,” I muttered, my throat tightening. “Of course. You don’t help people unless there’s something in it for you.”

He didn’t deny it.

Instead, he pushed off his seat, his sharp blue eyes locked onto mine, and said, “But I do have an alternative.”

Something about the way he said it made my pulse skitter.

“…An alternative.”

He walked toward me, slow and deliberate, stopping just close enough that I could smell the faintest trace of his cologne.

Then, in a voice so calm it made my skin prickle, he said—

“Marry me.”

I froze, the words barely registered, before room tilted slightly, my ears ringing. “I—”

Adrian watched me, his expression unreadable.

I let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “You’re joking.”

“I never joke.”

“You want to marry me?” My voice was hoarse, my throat suddenly too tight.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He didn’t blink. “Because it benefits us both.”

I shook my head, disbelief crashing through me. “That’s not an answer, Adrian. I came here asking for help, not—”

“This is my help.” His voice was cool, firm.“I clear your debts, help build your husband’s business and you become my wife.”

I could barely breathe. “You can’t be serious.”

His lips curled slightly. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

I stepped back, exploding in anger. “You think I’m some desperate idiot who’ll just—”

“I think…” he cut in smoothly, “that you have exactly two choices. Take my offer and i'll help turn your husband’s failed business around or walk out of here with nothing and be destitute within the month.”

My hands curled into fists. “You arrogant son of a—”

He smirked, as if he was enjoying this.

“Go ahead,” he murmured, low and taunting. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

I opened my mouth to say something but nothing came out.

Because he wasn’t wrong, And that was what made me hate him the most.

Without help, I’d have nothing. No home. No security. No future. But this? Marrying him? I couldn’t do it.

He was a bastard—cold, ruthless, and insufferably arrogant—My pulse pounded, my nails biting into my palms. Then, slowly, I lifted my chin and met his gaze head-on.

"Go to hell," I whispered.

And just for good measure, just to make sure he knew exactly what I thought of him—I added,

"You’re an asshole."

Then I turned on my heel and stormed out, never looking back.

I made it all the way down the elevator, through the marble lobby, and onto the street before my breath finally shook free from my chest.

I walked fast, t barely feeling the winter air slicing against my skin.

Why did his words—his damn voice—still echo in my head?

I gritted my teeth, shoving the thought away.

I would find another way.

I had to.

But as I disappeared into the night, a sinking feeling settled deep in my bones, because Adrian Cavendish never made offers he didn’t expect to be accepted.

And something told me…

This wasn’t over.

For him, it was a business deal. For me? It was a lifeline wrapped in chains.