Then, in one of those late-night moments when exhaustion blurred into desperation, a thought crept into my mind—a dangerous one, but one that could change everything. I had heard whispers about him, a billionaire whose name carried weight, power, and an air of cold detachment. He was the kind of man who turned failing ventures into gold with a snap of his fingers—but not without a price.
His reputation was intimidating. People said he was ruthless, calculating, someone who played by his own rules and never lost. He'd made a fortune on the backs of broken businesses and shattered egos, and he was known for stepping in when companies were on the verge of collapse, offering lifelines that always came with strings attached. Some said he had no soul, just a brilliant mind and a heart of ice.
But I couldn't deny that his help could be the turning point I needed. He had the resources, the connections, the kind of influence that could breathe life back into my company in ways I couldn't even begin to imagine. It was dangerous, though. People who sought him out often found themselves locked in deals that were impossible to break free from, shackled to his terms.
Still, the thought lingered, gnawing at the back of my mind. I knew the risks. If I went to him, there would be no turning back. I could lose control of everything I'd built, everything I'd worked so hard for. But with the business slipping through my fingers, the thought of salvaging what I could was too tempting to ignore.
The next morning, I sat at my desk, staring at my phone, debating whether to make the call. His number wasn't easy to come by, but in my world, if you looked hard enough, you could always find a way. My hand hovered over the screen, heart racing.
Was I really going to do this?
I hesitated for what felt like an eternity, but then, with a deep breath, I dialed. The phone rang once, twice, and then clicked.
A cold voice answered. "I've been expecting your call."The first time I met him in person, the air in the room shifted the moment he walked in. I'd seen photos of him in the business magazines—sharp suits, a piercing gaze, always looking like he was a step ahead of everyone around him—but seeing him in real life was different. His presence was almost palpable, and everything about him screamed control.
I was waiting in his office, a sleek space high above the city, where every detail was as cold and meticulous as the man who owned it. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the skyline, but the view felt distant, almost irrelevant compared to the tension filling the room.
When he finally entered, I felt my heart skip a beat. He was taller than I expected, his black suit perfectly tailored to his form, his movements smooth, deliberate. He didn't smile. He didn't need to. His ice-blue eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that made my throat dry up for a second. This was the man people whispered about—the billionaire who could save companies or tear them apart with a flick of his hand.
"Ms. Emma" he said, his voice as sharp as his gaze. "I trust you know how this works."
I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to fidget under his scrutiny. I had rehearsed this moment in my head a hundred times, but being here now, face-to-face with him, I realized how real the stakes were. I nodded. "I understand."
He didn't sit. Instead, he moved toward the window, his back to me as he spoke. "You're in trouble. And you've come to me because you know I can help. But nothing comes without a cost." His words were slow, calculated, as though each one was a piece of some grand chess game only he could see.
"I'm willing to do what it takes," I said, forcing confidence into my voice, though my heart was pounding in my chest.
He turned slightly, just enough for me to catch a glimpse of his profile. "Are you?"
That question hung in the air, heavy with implications. He wasn't asking if I was willing to work hard or sacrifice sleep. He was asking if I was ready to give up control, to make compromises I hadn't yet considered. This man didn't just fix things—he took them over. I knew that, and still, I was here.
"I wouldn't be sitting here if I wasn't."
For the first time, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Good," he said, finally turning to face me fully. "Because this won't be easy. You'll have to play by my rules. But if you do, I can make your company more successful than you ever imagined."
There was a moment of silence, where the weight of his offer settled between us. I knew what he was offering—a lifeline, but one that came with a price I couldn't yet see. Still, I had come this far, and walking away wasn't an option.
"I'm ready," I said, even though part of me wasn't sure if that was entirely true.
He walked over to his desk, pulled out a sleek black folder, and placed it in front of me. "Then sign. And once you do, understand this: everything changes." And my brain kept shouting "trouble ''
My name is Alex Volkov, 30 years old with no love life, people are scared of me and I don't need to know y because they call me the devil, don't ask me why . The name alone carried a weight, a reputation that lingered in boardrooms and whispered conversations. I wasn't the kind of billionaire who appeared in tabloids or flashed his wealth on magazine covers. No, I thrived in the shadows, a kingmaker of sorts—powerful, untouchable, and cold as the steel and glass towers I owned across the globe.
I built this empire not by following the rules but by mastering the art of breaking them, bending them until they worked in his favor. Companies crumbled or thrived at my touch, and i always made sure to come out on top, whether by charm or calculated ruthlessness. I wasn't just a businessman—I'm a force of nature, one that left people wondering whether they had struck gold or made a deal with the devil himself. I recently caught attention of a little mouse who's company is about to go down, I don't know why I'm interested in that company but business is business as they say.
I stepped into the room, the air thick with
tension. There she was, sitting at the sleek glass table, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. I could see the determination in her eyes, but beneath that façade lay uncertainty—something I was all too familiar with in people who came to me for help. She was young, maybe too young for the weight of the business world she was trying to navigate, but there was a spark in her that intrigued me.
She didn't flinch as I approached, though I could sense the way she measured my movements, trying to gauge who I was beneath the tailored suit and the cold confidence. It was a game we both knew well. I'd seen her type before—ambitious, hopeful, but ultimately naïve. They think they can charm their way through the darkness, but I knew the truth. In this world, charm gets you nowhere; results do.
"Ms. Emma" I said, my voice steady, cutting through the silence like a knife. "I trust you know how this works."
She held my gaze, and I noted the slight tremor in her voice. "I understand."
But I could see she didn't. Not yet. The real understanding comes later, when the ink dries and the weight of the agreement settles on their shoulders. I leaned against the window, letting the skyline serve as a backdrop to our conversation, a reminder of what was at stake.
"You're in trouble," I stated plainly. "And you've come to me because you know I can help. But nothing comes without a cost."
Her breath hitched, and I saw the flicker of fear mixed with determination. Good. That's exactly the kind of energy I needed to work with. It meant she was still fighting, still hoping.
"I'm willing to do what it takes," she declared, her voice firm this time.
The corner of my mouth twitched upward slightly. "Are you?"
I enjoyed the moment of silence that followed. It was always a turning point—an opportunity for them to back out or dig deeper. In her case, I sensed she would choose the latter. I watched as she weighed her options, her mind racing, and I leaned in slightly, adding pressure without saying a word.
"I wouldn't be sitting here if I wasn't," she replied, chin lifted defiantly.
I straightened, recognizing the spark in her eyes—a mix of bravery and desperation. She had spirit, that was for sure. But spirit alone wouldn't save her.
"Then sign," I said, moving to my desk and retrieving the folder. I slid it toward her with a deliberate motion, the weight of it heavy in the air. "And once you do, understand this: everything changes."
She hesitated, and I could see the conflict playing out on her face. I'd seen that look countless times before—the realization that she was stepping into a new world where I held the reins. It was a gamble, but then again, so was every deal in this cutthroat business.
Finally, she reached for the pen, and I watched as her hand trembled slightly before she steadied herself and signed. There it was—the moment of commitment. Once the ink dried, she'd be tied to me, and I could already feel the shift in the air. The game had begun.