A Deal with the Devil

Willa’s POV

Killian Thorne was handsome in a way that didn’t just turn heads—it made your heart stop in a violent, panicked stutter. I’d spent my life surrounded by the elite, men who preened and polished themselves until they were nothing but gleaming surfaces, but Killian was different. He was a force of nature dressed in a tailored suit. His beauty was a jagged thing that knocked the breath right out of my lungs. He had thick, dark hair that looked like he’d been running his fingers through it in a fit of frustration, a messy contrast to the terrifyingly calm way he stood there, watching me like I was a puzzle he’d already solved.

The lighting in the VIP lounge was dim, cast in shades of amber and deep shadow, making it impossible to pin down the exact color of his eyes. They looked like twin abysses, dark and bottomless, staring into me as if he were peeling back my skin to see the rot underneath. He had a jawline sharp enough to draw blood, a nose that was slightly crooked—a hint of past violence that only made him more attractive—和 a heavy five-o’clock shadow that screamed of raw masculinity.

I was focusing on the wrong things. I knew I was. But with the tequila still burning in my veins and the trauma of the last hour screaming in my head, I couldn’t help it. This man had just said my full name. He didn't just know me; he spoke it with a familiarity that made my skin crawl and my pulse spike. I’d heard the legends about him, the whispered warnings of the monster who ran the Thorne empire, but we had never met. I was a stranger to him. Or I should have been.

I pressed my back harder against the cold wall, the hard surface the only thing keeping me upright. My breath was coming in shallow, ragged hitches.

“Do I know you?” I managed to choke out. My voice sounded small in the expansive, quiet room.

Killian didn't move an inch, but he tilted his head slowly, like a predator tracking the slight movement of its prey. A cool, thin smile played on his lips as he leaned in. He didn't touch me, but his presence was so heavy it felt like a physical weight pressing against my chest.

“Not yet,” he murmured.

“H-how do you know my name?” I tried to project a strength I didn’t possess. I wanted to sound defiant, but the words came out with a telltale slur, a reminder of the many drinks I’d downed to forget Sloane’s face between my sister’s legs.

“I make it a point to know what interests me, Willa.”

My stomach flipped, and for a horrifying second, it wasn't from the alcohol. It was an answering call to the danger radiating off him. Why wasn't I running? Why didn't I feel the bone-deep disgust I should have felt after walking in on him with that woman? Instead, a sick feeling took root in my gut—the suspicion that Killian had wanted me to see that. He’d wanted me to see him at his most primal, his most unapologetic.

“What do you want from me?” I asked, a violent tremor racking my body. It wasn't just fear; it was the cold of the room and the sudden, sharp realization of how vulnerable I was.

Killian didn't answer immediately. His eyes narrowed, tracing the lines of my face before dropping down to my chest. I saw his smirk widen. My nipples were hard, straining against the thin fabric of my top, but I knew he wasn't just looking at my body. He was looking at the mockery printed on my shirt.

*The Bride.*

The word felt like a brand. A joke that everyone was in on except for me.

“My eyes are up here, pervert,” I snapped, the anger finally bubbling over. It was easier to be angry than to be terrified.

Killian didn't flinch. He didn't look ashamed. Instead, he snapped his gaze back to mine, his expression hardening. “I’ve already seen your eyes, Willa.” His voice dropped an octave, becoming a low, dark growl that sent a surge of heat straight to my core. “They’re guarded. They’re overflowing with hurt and betrayal. I wanted to see the rest of you.”

I opened my mouth to retort, but no sound came out. I was a bird caught in a snare, and he was the one holding the wire. He took another step forward, and I tried to merge with the wall, my heels clicking uselessly against the floor.

“I’ve heard about you,” I whispered, my voice shaking so hard it was barely audible. “The things people say... you’re a monster.”

“From Sloane Mercer, I presume? Your… fiancé?”

The mention of his name was like a slap. My heart sank into a dark, hollow pit before igniting with a fresh burst of rage.

“Ex-fiancé,” I spat, the words tasting like poison. “And how the hell do you know that much about him? Why do you even care?”

Killian finally stepped back, giving me an inch of breathing room. I let out a long, shaky sigh of relief, but it was short-lived. He reached up and began to unbutton his suit jacket with slow, deliberate movements. I couldn't look away. I watched the way his muscles flexed beneath the fine material of his black button-down shirt. He’d already undone the top three buttons, revealing a glimpse of tanned skin and the hard line of his collarbone. My eyes were drawn to it like a magnet, my brain screaming at me to look away while my body refused to obey.

He shrugged the jacket off and tossed it at me. It hit my arms, heavy and warm.

“I know everything about my employees,” he said casually, as if admitting he stalked the people who worked for him was the most natural thing in the world.

He stood there, waiting. I could feel his expectation, the silent command for me to put the jacket on. I wanted to. God, I was freezing, and the scent of him was already rising from the fabric—a mix of expensive sandalwood, bourbon, and a raw, masculine musk that made my head swim. But I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of being obedient.

“What do you want from me?” I repeated, clutching the jacket to my chest instead of wearing it.

“Right now?” He arched a dark brow, his gaze mocking. “I want you to put on that jacket, Willa. You’re shaking like a leaf.”

“Yeah, because you’re scaring me,” I lied. The truth was worse—he was electrifying me.

“Put on the jacket, and then we can continue this lovely conversation.” His voice was a command. It was low, deep, and utterly final. “Now.”

I shot him a glare, but my resolve was crumbling. I shoved my arms into the sleeves, the silk lining sliding against my skin. The jacket was huge on me, swallowing my frame, but the warmth was instantaneous. It felt like being wrapped in his arms, a thought that made my breath hitch.

“Happy?” I spat, looking him in the eye.

The expression I saw there made me gasp. I stumbled back, my shoulders hitting the wall again. Killian Thorne was looking at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered—and like I was a meal he was about to devour. His eyes had gone almost entirely black, the pupils blown wide with a raw, predatory hunger.

“There’s nothing to be scared of, Willa. I’m not your enemy.” He smirked, but there was no kindness in it.

“You sure about that?” I whispered, my knees feeling like they were made of water. “Why am I here then? Why are you looking at me like… like you want to ruin me?”

He took a step forward, shoving his hands into his pockets, his posture relaxed while mine was coiled tight. “If I wanted to hurt you, Willa, I would have done it the moment you stepped into this room. I don't play with my food unless I intend to eat it.”

The words should have sent me running for the hills. Instead, they caused a sudden, pulsing heat to pool between my thighs. I pressed my legs together, trying to hide the reaction. I had to be drugged. There was no other explanation. Either the bartender had slipped something into my tequila, or the very air Killian breathed was an aphrodisiac.

Killian turned his back on me, walking over to a mahogany table where a bottle of expensive bourbon sat. He poured himself a glass, the amber liquid splashing against the crystal.

This was my chance. I looked at the door, my heart hammering against my ribs. I could run. I could get out of this velvet-lined trap and never look back. I reached for the handle, my fingers brushing the cool metal.

“You walk out that door,” Killian’s voice rang out, stopping me cold, “and you lose the only real chance you have at destroying the man who broke you.”

I froze. I didn't turn around, but I gripped the handle until my knuckles turned white. “Ex-fiancé,” I corrected him again.

Killian made a low, humming sound of amusement. “And what about your sister, Jade? Is she your ex-sister now, too?”

The mention of her name was the final blow. I whipped around, my face pale and my eyes burning with unshed tears. He was standing by the table, the glass raised to his lips. He took a slow sip, watching me over the rim with terrifying intensity.

“How do you…” My voice cracked, and I had to swallow hard to find it again. “How do you know about Jade? Have you been following me? Are you some kind of sick stalker?”

“I told you, Willa. I know everything about my employees. Sloane Mercer is an ambitious man, but he’s careless. He leaves trails. And I make it my business to know exactly who is walking through my halls.”

I scoffed, the alcohol giving me a sudden burst of courage. I marched away from the door, heading straight for him. “What is this? Some kind of twisted game? You’re staring at me like I’m a trophy you’re planning to win. You sent your bodyguard to hunt me down. You call me by my name like you own me. What do you care about Sloane? What do you care about my life?”

I was seething now, my hands clenched at my sides. “And what do you mean by ‘getting back’ at him? I don’t need a savior, especially not one like you.”

“You looked like you were drowning, Willa,” he cut me off, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. “And I find I have a distinct distaste for watching people drown when they have so much fire left in them.”

“You’re insane,” I whispered, shaking my head. “Completely, utterly out of your mind.”

I swallowed hard, the image of the girl from earlier flashing in my mind. “That’s a lot of concern coming from a guy who was getting a blowjob on a leather chair five minutes ago.”

I was standing right in front of him now, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body.

“That was… a lapse in timing,” he said, his voice perfectly steady. He didn't look even remotely embarrassed. “You weren't supposed to see that.”

“Bullshit.” The word slurred slightly as I looked up at him. “You wanted me to see it. You wanted to show me exactly what kind of man you are.” I found myself looking at his mouth—the full lower lip, the way it had looked when he was…

I shook the thought away, but the damage was done. My heart was racing for all the wrong reasons. “I have to get out of here,” I muttered, more to myself than to him.

I started to turn, but the room decided to tilt. The floor felt like it was shifting beneath my feet, and my knees buckled. I reached out blindly, desperate to find something to hold onto before I hit the ground.

My hands landed flat against a hard, burning surface.

It wasn't a table. It wasn't a chair.

It was Killian’s bare chest.

The moment my palms made contact with his skin, the atmosphere in the room changed. It was like a fuse had been lit. His entire body went rigid beneath my touch, the muscles of his chest turning to granite. I could feel the thrum of his heartbeat—steady, powerful, and fast.

The glass in his hand stopped halfway to his mouth. For a heartbeat, neither of us moved.

Slowly, Killian’s eyes dropped to where my hands were pressed against him. Then, he looked up, meeting my gaze. The calm, predatory mask he’d been wearing didn't just slip—it shattered. What I saw in his eyes was something raw, something completely unhinged. It was a hunger so deep it was terrifying.

His jaw clenched so hard I thought bone might break. His breath hitched in a sharp, jagged sound, and I felt my own lungs seize in response. The air between us was thick with a sudden, violent tension.

I realized what I was doing and tried to jerk my hands back, my face heating up with a mix of shame and desire.

But I couldn't move.

Killian moved with the speed of a striking snake. He reached out and caught my wrist, his grip firm but not painful. Instead of pushing me away, he forced my palm back down, flattening it against the center of his chest, right over his heart.

He leaned down, his face inches from mine, his eyes searching mine with a desperation that made my head spin. When he spoke, his voice was no longer smooth. It was hoarse, a tortured sound that seemed to come from a very dark place.

“You were right, Willa,” he rasped, the words vibrating through his chest and into my hand. “I do want to ruin you.”