Chapter 6 A Deal With The Devil

• Amara spent the rest of the day in turmoil, Damian’s ultimatum echoing in her mind like a haunting melody. The office buzzed around her, oblivious to the storm raging inside her. She sat at her desk, staring blankly at her computer screen, the soft hum of the air conditioning doing little to quell her rising anxiety.
• By the time the clock struck five, her resolve was still fragile. She had spent hours dissecting Damian’s words, trying to decipher the true meaning of his proposal. Was he testing her loyalty? Or was this something more sinister—an invitation into a world she had no business entering?
• Her phone buzzed, snapping her out of her thoughts. It was another message from Damian: “My office. Now.”
• Amara’s breath caught as dread coiled in her stomach. She grabbed her notepad—a feeble attempt to maintain the appearance of professionalism—and made her way to his office. Her heels clicked against the polished floors, each step reverberating like a countdown to her doom.
• When she entered, Damian was seated behind his massive mahogany desk, his expression unreadable. The late afternoon light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the room.
• “You’re late,” he said, his tone icy.
• “I was—”
• “I didn’t ask for an excuse,” he interrupted, his gaze locking onto hers with the precision of a predator.
• Amara’s fingers tightened around the notepad, her heart pounding. “You wanted an answer,” she said, her voice steady despite the storm brewing within her.
• Damian leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he studied her. “And?”
• She hesitated, the weight of the moment pressing down on her like a vice. “I’ll do whatever it takes,” she said finally, the words leaving her mouth before she could second-guess them.
• A ghost of a smile played at Damian’s lips. “Good,” he said simply, as if her decision had been a foregone conclusion. “But understand this, Amara—there’s no turning back now. Once you’re in, you’re in for good.”
• She swallowed hard, nodding. “I understand.”
• “Do you?” He stood, his imposing figure casting a long shadow over her. “Because the world I operate in isn’t kind. It isn’t forgiving. You’ll need to prove yourself, and that means following orders—no matter how difficult they may seem.”
• Amara’s pulse quickened as she tried to read between the lines of his words. “What kind of orders?”
• His smile turned cold, devoid of any warmth. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
• He walked around the desk, stopping just a foot away from her. His presence was overwhelming, his proximity making it hard to breathe. “Tomorrow, you’ll accompany me to a meeting,” he said. “Consider it your first test. Be ready by seven.”
• “Seven?” she repeated, her mind racing. “In the morning?”
• He arched a brow, as if amused by her naivety. “Yes. Is that a problem?”
• “No,” she said quickly, shaking her head.
• “Good.” Damian’s gaze lingered on her for a moment before he turned away, dismissing her as effortlessly as if she were a piece of furniture. “That will be all.”
• Amara left his office feeling as though she had just signed a deal with the devil. Her chest felt tight, the enormity of her decision weighing heavily on her shoulders.
• The next morning arrived far too quickly. Amara barely slept, her mind plagued by questions she couldn’t answer. By the time her alarm blared at 5:30 a.m., she felt more like a zombie than a person.
• She dressed carefully, choosing a sleek black dress and matching heels. Damian hadn’t given her any details about the meeting, but she knew she needed to look the part.
• When she arrived in the lobby of Volkov Enterprises, Damian was already waiting. He looked impeccable as always, his dark suit tailored to perfection.
• “You’re on time,” he said, a hint of approval in his voice.
• “Of course,” she replied, her tone clipped.
• “Good.” He gestured for her to follow him to the sleek black car waiting outside. The driver opened the door, and Amara slid in, her nerves fraying with every passing second.
• The ride was silent, the tension between them palpable. Amara stared out the window, the city blurring past in a haze of lights and shadows. She had no idea where they were going, but something about Damian’s demeanor told her it wasn’t anywhere pleasant.
• When they arrived, Amara’s stomach dropped. The building was a nondescript warehouse on the outskirts of the city, its exterior weathered and unassuming.
• “What is this place?” she asked, her voice trembling.
• “A test,” Damian said simply, stepping out of the car.
• Amara followed him inside, her heels clicking against the concrete floor. The air was heavy with the smell of oil and rust, and the dim lighting did little to dispel the shadows that clung to every corner.
• Inside, a group of men waited, their expressions ranging from bored to hostile. Damian greeted them with a curt nod, his tone sharp as he spoke in Russian—a language Amara didn’t understand.
• One of the men glanced at her, his gaze lingering in a way that made her skin crawl. Damian must have noticed because he stepped closer to her, his presence protective.
• “This is Amara,” he said, switching to English. “She’s with me.”
• The men exchanged glances, their expressions skeptical. “She doesn’t look like much,” one of them sneered.
• Damian’s gaze turned icy, his tone lethal. “Looks can be deceiving. She’ll prove herself soon enough.”
• Amara’s stomach churned as she realized this was more than just a meeting—it was a test of her loyalty. And she had no choice but to rise to the occasion.