He's Good at Being Bad

The rain was relentless, a steady rhythm of droplets pounding against the rusted tin roof of the orphanage. It had always rained on the worst days of Reina's life. She was seventeen when it poured the day she first arrived, shivering and soaked to the bone, dumped like an unwanted package at the foot of the iron gate. Now, on the eve of her eighteenth birthday, it was raining again. Harder this time. Angrier. As if the sky itself wanted to protest what was about to happen.

Reina stood by the cracked window of her shared room, arms wrapped tightly around herself, watching the headlights of a sleek black car cut through the darkness and pull up to the gates. Her heart sank. She didn't need anyone to tell her who it was.

He had come.

"You're lucky," whispered Mari, the youngest girl in the orphanage, clinging to Reina's skirt. "They said he's rich. Handsome. You'll live in a palace."

Reina looked down at the child. Innocence lived in Mari's wide brown eyes. Innocence that Reina lost years ago.

"I'm not a princess," she whispered back. "This isn't a fairy tale."

She turned away before Mari could ask more questions. There were no answers that would make sense.

Three months ago, Madame Cora-the owner of the orphanage-had summoned her to the office. The room smelled of old paper, dust, and something darker: desperation. That day, Reina had been told the truth. The government funds had stopped. Donations had dried up. The orphanage was on the brink of shutting down. Madame Cora made her an offer she hadn't seen coming.

"You can save this place," she said, lacing her gnarled fingers together. "There's a man. A powerful man. He's offering enough money to keep us open for years. In return, he wants... you."

Reina had laughed, thinking it a joke. A cruel, tasteless joke. But Madame Cora's eyes held no amusement-only tiredness, and something close to guilt.

"You can't sell me," Reina had whispered.

"I'm not," Madame Cora replied coldly. "You're eighteen in a few weeks. You'll be free to choose. And you can choose to save your sisters."

A week of sleepless nights passed before Reina gave her answer.

"I'll do it," she said. "But only if the money comes first. I want to see the receipts. I want to know they'll be safe."

Madame Cora hadn't smiled, but Reina could tell she was relieved.

And now, the car had arrived.

She changed in silence. The dress left for her was black satin-simple, elegant, far too expensive for someone like her. She didn't wear makeup. She didn't bother with jewelry. There was no point pretending she belonged in his world.

By the time she stepped into the foyer, the children had gathered behind Madame Cora, staring at her with wide eyes, some crying, some too young to understand what was happening.

The front door opened.

He stood there-tall, sharp-suited, untouched by the rain. Black coat, dark hair slicked back, eyes like winter storms. And not a flicker of softness in him.

Aiden Pierce Blakely.

The billionaire.

Her buyer.

He stepped inside, gaze cool as it swept over her.

"You're smaller than I expected," he said flatly. "But I suppose you'll do."

Reina's jaw clenched. She said nothing.

He extended a gloved hand.

"Come."

Just like that.

No introductions. No lies of affection.

She took one last look at the children, memorizing each face.

Then she walked to him, every step like sinking through water. She placed her hand in his.

And just like that, her life ended-and something else began.

The car was silent inside. Plush leather, scent of cedar and cologne, and a tinted window that separated them from the driver. It was a world away from the musty walls of the orphanage.

Reina sat stiffly, hands clasped on her lap, staring at the blackened window.

"I wasn't expecting a volunteer," Aiden said eventually. His voice was smooth, but carried weight-like iron beneath silk.

"I didn't do it for you," she replied. "I did it for them."

"You'll find that motives rarely matter in my world. Only actions."

She turned to face him then, something hardening in her spine. "What do you want from me?"

Aiden's eyes didn't blink. "You belong to me now. You will live in my house. You will follow my rules. You will keep your mouth shut and your head down."

"I'm not a dog."

"Good," he said. "Dogs are loyal. You're not."

She narrowed her eyes. "Then why me?"

"I don't need a wife," he said. "I don't want a lover. What I need is a name. An agreement. Someone no one will look at twice. Someone who won't ask questions."

"So I'm a pawn."

"Exactly."

The honesty stunned her. She had expected lies, manipulation-charming words wrapped in threats. But Aiden didn't hide what he was. He didn't pretend.

For some reason, that scared her more.

"Do you kill people?" she asked suddenly.

He looked at her. "Would it matter?"

Her breath caught.

"I want the truth," she said.

"You're not in a position to demand truth. But yes," he said calmly. "I have killed people. And I'll kill again if I must."

She didn't flinch. Maybe she should have. But part of her had always known men like him lived by different rules. And maybe, just maybe, the devil you know was safer than the one you don't.

The mansion came into view just before midnight. High gates, stone walls, and lights glowing like fireflies through tall windows. A fortress in every sense of the word.

As the car pulled in, Alina's stomach turned. She had never seen wealth like this. It was surreal. Empty. Beautiful in a cold, hollow way.

A butler met them at the door. He was expressionless, bowed low, and addressed Aiden with a curt, "Sir."

"This is Alina," Aiden said without looking at her. "She'll stay in the west wing. Lock her door. I don't want her wandering."

"Yes, sir."

"And have her things burned."

Alina turned sharply. "What?"

"You came from a cage," Aiden said. "You don't need to bring the rust with you."

She wanted to fight back. She wanted to scream. But she bit her tongue and followed the butler instead, each step echoing down marbled hallways until they reached a heavy wooden door.

Inside was a room larger than any she'd ever imagined. Canopy bed, silk sheets, a view of the city below. It should have been beautiful. It should have felt like freedom.

But it didn't.

It felt like a different kind of prison.

Before the butler left, he placed a small box on her bed.

From Aiden.

Inside it was a silver phone, a credit card, and a handwritten note.

Obey, and you'll be safe.

Break the rules, and you'll learn what real fear is.

Alina stared at the note for a long time.

Then she tore it in half.

And lay down in a bed far too soft for a girl made of scars.