Chapter 3 A Deal with the Devil

ELAINE

“I see you’ve met Mr Von Richter,” the doctor’s voice cut through, pulling my attention away from the man whose hand was still firmly wrapped around my arm.

“Mr Von Richter?” I asked, looking over at the doctor, who was standing mere inches from us with the nurse beside him.

“He’s the Good Samaritan who found you abandoned in the ravine off Mulholland Drive and brought you here. He also took care of all your medical bills. If not for him, you wouldn’t have survived that ordeal,” the doctor explained.

“Leave us alone,” the man said, finally letting go of me.

“Yes, sir,” the doctor replied, then left with the nurse.

“Since I saved your life, I believe you owe me an audience,” he said once they were out of earshot.

I swallowed and straightened up. “Mr Von Richter—”

“Zayn,” he cut in. “You can call me Zayn.”

I nodded, compliant. “Fine. Thank you for saving my life, Zayn, but I have urgent business to attend to right now. Maybe we can have this conversation some other time,” I stated firmly, then took a step forward to leave.

“And what exactly do you plan to do, leaving here barefooted, covered in bandages, and dressed in a hospital gown?” he asked calmly behind me.

I stopped and turned back to face him, anger burning hot in my chest. “I’m going to make them pay,” I replied through clenched teeth.

His lips curved slightly, clearly amused for some reason. “And how exactly do you plan to do that? If you kill them, assuming you have the stomach for it, you’ll be branded a murderer. And if you choose to report this to the police instead, it’s unlikely they’ll believe you,” he stated.

I scoffed. “Clearly, you don’t know who I am. My name is Elaine Ferguson, CEO of Ferguson Capital Group and sole heiress to my family fortune,” I said with a great deal of pride and confidence.

However, he didn’t seem impressed.

“Miss Ferguson, you may not know this because you’ve been unconscious for three weeks, but the moment you walk out there and give your true identity, no one will be asking about gunshot wounds or what happened to you,” he said.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Things have changed, Miss Ferguson. All everyone will be concerned with is how you’ve been engaging in corporate fraud by embezzling funds and laundering money. In this game, your ex-husband and best friend are already in the lead, and if you’re not careful, they’ll reach the finish line before you even dream of running,” Zayn explained calmly.

My stomach dropped and my chest felt unbearably heavy. “You’re lying,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Am I?” He reached into his jacket and pulled out his phone, tapping the screen before turning it toward me.

I grabbed the phone with trembling hands, shaking my head as headlines from different news outlets stared back at me, reading: ‘Elaine Ferguson Suspected in Financial Scandal’, ‘CEO Steals Millions and Runs Off with Lover’, ‘Police Place One Million Dollar Reward for Information on Billionaire Heiress Who Laundered Company Funds’, and many others like it.

“No,” my voice broke. “These are all lies. If I can prove that—”

“You can’t,” he interrupted. “Your accounts are frozen. Your name is radioactive. Your father’s former partners have already distanced themselves and pledged their loyalty to your ex-husband, the new CEO. You have no allies,” he paused briefly. “No one but me,” he added.

Tears filled my eyes as I lifted my gaze to his. “And why exactly would you want to help me?”

Zayn shrugged. “Let’s just say I have a peculiar interest in this matter,” he simply replied.

“I’m sorry, but if you’re not being completely honest with me, then I can’t agree to this ridiculous deal,” I shot back.

He let out a soft, humourless laugh. “Come on now, darling. It’s not like you have a choice,” he said, then reached into the folder he’d been holding and pulled out a document, handing it to me.

My breath caught as I skimmed through it and realised it was a marriage contract for a duration of one year, during which there would be no sexual relations between both parties, non-interference in private matters, and strict confidentiality so no one ever finds out.

“This is insane,” I snapped, unable to believe he was actually being serious.

He smirked. “Call it what you will, but know this: You have just twenty-four hours to sign that contract, Miss Ferguson,” Zayn firmly stated. “If you don’t, I’ll be forced to become an even greater nightmare than your ex-husband was,” he concluded.

And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving me standing there puzzled with no certainty of what to do.