Michael Graves sat stiffly at the edge of his leather chair, his fingers tapping nervously on the polished oak desk in front of him.
The quiet hum of the air conditioner did little to calm his nerves.
It had been a long and sleepless night, filled with mounting debts and the thought of his company collapsing under the weight of bankruptcy.
He was here to avoid that disaster.
The door to his study opened slowly, and Michael's breath hitched as two tall, broad-shouldered men in dark suits stepped in.
They didn't speak, didn't even glance his way. Their sole purpose was clear: to make way for the man who entered behind them.
Vorak.
Of course, Michael only knew him by name and reputation. He had heard whispers in business circles—about this wealthy, enigmatic figure who could pull strings in ways others only dreamed of.
His reach was long, his influence deep, and those who struck deals with him usually came out on top… though no one ever spoke about the price they paid.
The man himself—Vorak—entered the room, his presence casting a shadow that seemed to fill every corner.
He wasn't particularly large or imposing, but there was something about him—his sharp eyes, his straight posture, the air of absolute authority—that made Michael instantly aware of how small he was in comparison.
Vorak didn't bother with pleasantries. He didn't greet Michael, didn't smile.
He simply walked to the chair across from Michael's desk and sat down without saying a word, his eyes locking onto Michael's like a predator assessing its prey.
Michael swallowed hard, wiping his palms on his trousers as he leaned forward slightly.
"Mr. Vorak… I—I want to thank you for agreeing to meet me. I understand that you—"
A slight movement from his hand was enough to silence Michael mid-sentence.
His voice died in his throat, and he found himself staring at the man in front of him, unsure of how to proceed.
One of Vorak's bodyguards stepped forward, placing a document on the desk in front of Michael, along with a pen.
The gesture was unmistakable. No negotiations. No discussions. Just sign.
Michael blinked, momentarily stunned by the abruptness of it all.
He had expected some conversation at least—some form of explanation. But the reality of this situation was clear.
This wasn't a business deal. This was something else entirely.
Michael cleared his throat. "I, uh… I'm ready to proceed, but… what exactly do you require in exchange for clearing my debts?"
Vorak's cold gaze flickered briefly, but he didn't answer.
He didn't need to. The answer was in the contract—staring Michael right in the face.
The terms had already been laid out for him in the documents he had received days earlier.
Michael's eyes moved to the top of the contract, where the terms were spelled out clearly:
In exchange for financial relief, one of your daughters must marry Satan's son.
There was a specific clause about producing an heir, but Michael's mind reeled too much to focus on the details.
His hand hovered over the pen for a moment before he glanced up again. His heart raced, but there was no turning back now.
He couldn't afford to hesitate. His company, his livelihood, everything he had built was crumbling beneath him. There was no other way out.
"Which daughter?"Vorak's voice was cold, the first words he had spoken since entering the room.
His tone was emotionless, leaving no room for doubt that this was a transaction—nothing more.
Michael's pulse quickened. He had been dreading this part, knowing full well what it meant for his family.
His eldest daughter, Olivia, flashed through his mind. She was his pride and joy—the one he had always seen as the golden child. She had potential. A future.
But the deal didn't need Olivia.
"Not Olivia," Michael blurted out before he could stop himself. His voice cracked slightly, but he didn't care. "She… she's not the right choice for this arrangement.
She's too… valuable. Too smart, too beautiful. She has prospects, a future lined up."
Vorak didn't react, didn't show any sign that he cared. His expression remained as cold and impassive as ever.
"I… I'll give you Eva," Michael said quickly, barely believing the words as they left his mouth.
"She's… well, she's of age. She'll do what's necessary."
The words hung in the air for a moment, the weight of the decision sinking into Michael's chest like a stone.
Eva. His younger daughter. Not as clever or promising as Olivia. Easier to control. She wouldn't protest too much. At least, that's what he told himself.
Vorak's eyes flickered with the briefest hint of acknowledgement, but he still said nothing. He didn't need to. The deal was done.
Michael's hand trembled as he picked up the pen, his signature scrawling across the line at the bottom of the contract.
The ink seemed to dry immediately, sealing Eva's fate with a few simple strokes.
The moment he finished signing, Vorak rose from his chair. He hadn't even bothered to sit for more than a few minutes, and now he was already preparing to leave.
The bodyguards moved in unison, retrieving the contract and rolling it up with quick, efficient motions.
"You will inform your daughter," Vorak said, his voice low but firm. There was no room for questions. No time for hesitation. "The arrangements will begin soon."
Michael swallowed, nodding, though his mouth was dry and his throat felt like sandpaper.
He had no idea how he would explain this to Eva—or how she would react. But he had no choice. He had signed the papers. The deal was binding.
Without another word, Vorak turned and left the room, his bodyguards silently behind him.
The door closed with a heavy thud, leaving Michael alone in the oppressive silence of his study.
For a long moment, he sat there, staring at the desk where the contract had been. His heart raced, his palms still damp. The realization of what he had done slowly washed over him.
He had just traded his daughter's future for his own survival.
And there was no going back.