The flight landed in Las Vegas a little before nine in the morning. I walked through the terminal holding my small bag against my chest. My hijab was pinned tight under my chin, hurting my ears. I had checked it many times on the plane. But I did not want anything to look out of place.
Walking out, a driver was waiting with a card that had my last name on it. He did not smile. He took my bag and opened the door of a black car. I thanked him quietly and sat inside. The seats were leather and cold. I heard my heart pounding in my ears. If it was any louder, he might have been able to hear it.
I sat very straight and watched the city go by outside the window.
After a 15-minute ride, the driver said his first sentence. "That's the HQ on the right."
I turned my head right and lifted to see the whole view of the building. It was big. The HQ was a tall building made of glass. It looked like a spire sticking into the sky, cutting through the haze.
When I went in, the lobby was clean and quiet. I waited there with my knees bouncing under my charcoal skirt. I tried to stop them. I thought: this is the place where I can start new. Structure. Escape. Stability. Money. Everything, ignorant of what I might have to do.
The building receptionist escorted me to the 70th floor. The lift was made of glass, so clean and cold I thought it might cut me if I touched it. The lift didn't stop anywhere in the middle. I could feel my insides stressing, and my anxiety setting in.
The lift doors opened to a large hall with one reception desk. The words "C-SUITE" were written in black right above the desk. It gave me a sense of luxury I wasn't accustomed to yet.
Behind the desk was a lady, her hair pinned tight with gel, making her look sharp and intimidating. I approached her desk and she offered, with no pleasantries, "How can I help you?"
Her voice felt emotionless. I responded, "Hello, I-I am Aafreen Khan from UT. This is the copy of my interview mail."
She took the document and started typing on the computer. After a second, she looked up at me with a side-eye, as if she were registering me inside her head—analysing, judging. After another second, she looked back to the computer, printed out a document, and attached it to the folder I gave her.
"Room 704. He is expecting you."
"Tha-nk you~" I responded immediately.
Walking towards his office, I was resolving myself to be prepared for anything. I had no other opportunity in the process. If I didn't make it here, I'd go back to Mom, take a job around home for a living. This realisation made my worries worse.
The office doors were open, like they were welcoming me with a warning. As I reached them, I heard a deep voice: "Come in."
I entered the office with my folder tightly held against my chest.
The office? It was a void of luxury—obsidian table like a black mirror, Vegas sprawled beyond full-scale tinted windows like a glittering trap. And standing behind the window, basking in the sun, was the man who held my future.
Lucifer Hardpound. The name of a devil. Just thinking his name felt like a sin.
He was forty-seven. Built like a storm. Tall as a tower. His shoulders were broad in a white shirt. The sleeves were rolled up, showing arms that looked strong. His eyes were grey and sharp. Skin like sweet burnt caramel. Lucifer. Devil. Something wrong.
I swallowed it and tried to smile. I thought: be professional. Be calm.
"Good morning… sir." The words came out soft. My Texas accent made them sound gentle.
He did not respond immediately. He observed me for a while, like he was scanning and analysing every inch of me with his eyes. I saw his eyes light up and he responded, "Morning. We do not do 'sir' or 'ma'am' here. Call me Lucifer."
"Of course, Luci-fer!" I had to say his name and I bit my lip.
There was a momentary silence between us. He took the Amex he was holding and slid it to me on the table.
"It's your application form. Read it." His voice was commanding. I started skimming through the contents of the documents page by page, wishing that everything would be what I wanted. My body was shaking in fear, thinking what if I found that cursed page.
The initial pages were all my grades, my skills, the references from the university professors.
My fingers trembled as I turned the next page, the paper crisp and heavy like it carried the weight of secrets. There it was—my life laid bare in black ink. Details I had buried deep, things I'd never whispered to anyone, not even in prayer. Father's gambling debts that he left to Mom. Mother's second job cleaning offices at night. The eviction notice taped to our door last spring. Mom's medical bills and testimonies from the doctors. The way the mosque aunties looked at us now, with pity that tasted like shame. And I felt this burden right on my shoulders.
How did he know? My breath caught, sharp in my throat. The folder felt suddenly hot against my chest.
Lucifer watched me from across the obsidian slab. He leaned back against the window, the desert sun crowning him in gold, making him look less like a man and more like something that had a lot of power.
"Keep reading, Aafreen," he said, voice low, rolling my name like he was tasting it for the first time. "All the way to the last page."
I flipped another page. Then another. And there it was. Page thirty.
The Hinge page came up. Aafren_BBC_Wanted. The words were not something I would ever dream of saying. New Personal Assistant in town wannabe. Craving a boss who takes charge. Preferred type hairy men. No vanilla hires. My picture, cut close. My eyes looked too open. I felt like I could not move. The rejections made sense now.
He laughed a little. Dark. He leaned forward. His elbows did not move. "What were you thinking, Aafreen? Sending that with your application? My team scrutinised about fifty applications today alone."
I could not breathe well. The room felt small. My hijab felt too tight. My skirt felt too short. I was afraid of his laugh. He saw everything. The young girl. The broken one. The one chasing something because Papa left.
"It was your profile that was brought to me. As an outlier. Yours was different. Strong. Honest. And clearly that profile didn't belong there. This is why we are here."
It felt as if my prayers were not answered.
I felt the urge to defend myself at that point. For something that was clearly my mistake.
I said, "It-it was not me. My friends made a prank. They put it there without my consent. I beg you to please consider me. I am qualified. Top of my class. I have relevant references. And I need this job. I will do anything. Files. Schedules. Please." Reaching the end, my voice shivered. Speaking anything else made it look like I was squealing.
He looked at me without pity.
I made my last plea, "Please, do not—"
He cut me off immediately. "Do not what? Send you back like the others?"
"The conversation is not over yet. If you keep saying the right words, you won't have to."
He was staring right into my eyes again. He wanted something from me that even I was not aware of. He was waiting for me to say what he wanted to hear.
I said…
"I'll do anything you ask," I whispered, the words scraping out like broken glass. I said it, my desperation completely exposed in front of the man. "Anything. Just… please don't send me home. I'll make sure you won't regret having me around. I'll dedicate my time and life for you if required. I swear on my life."
My voice cracked on the last syllable. Tears welled up, hot and unstoppable.
Lucifer watched me for a long, merciless moment. Then he blinked and exhaled through his nose, almost a sigh. He opened his eyes with a soft expression.
"Calm down, Aafreen."
He walked over to me and offered me his handkerchief to wipe off my tears—the first act of compassion he showered me with.
I tried to regain my composure. And he only spoke to me when I stopped crying.
"I believe you."
The relief hit so hard I almost sobbed aloud.
"However, this profile was still attached to the application that you sent. I cannot be selfish; I have the responsibility to do the right thing for the company. Such is the position I have as the founder and chair."
I nodded, small frantic jerks. I could only listen in this situation; I didn't know what to do.
"Although," his soft expression suddenly changed into something grim. With that, my heart started beating irregularly. "I have a certain interest in you, Aafreen. An obsession, if I may. And if you and I can reach an understanding, I am willing to bend the rules of this organisation to have you by my side."
I was taken aback by the words spoken by him. I was close to getting the job. It felt like I was just outside the gate of Jannat.
I asked him, "What do I have to do, sir?"
Lucifer gave me a look of slight disappointment.
"I'm sorry, Lucif-er." I corrected myself immediately.
Lucifer changed his expression back to an emotionless one. He took out another Amex folder on the table and put it in front of me.
"I extend you the offer to be my Executive Support Staff. On the fair condition of having an intimate relationship with you." My hands froze, like my breath was taken away by him. My eyes widened and I looked at him, his face—which was still being sun-kissed. He waited for me to take the next action, waiting on my response. I had to say something, anything, to cut this awkward moment.
I tried to respond with questions, "Wha— I don't understand. For having a relation with—" But my voice was shaking with fear and anxiety.
"Read it." He commanded again. And just like that, I started reading the contents of the new Amex.
I opened the Amex carefully. There was a choker with some Arabic expression written on it, and a bunch of letters and papers below it.
It was an offer letter. The first few pages informed me about position, compensation, and benefits. The salary offered was something I never dreamed of—seven times more than what an average PA intern earns in Texas. Benefits and allowance on top of that.
I was happy reading the offer letter; it felt like an achievement after a long battle.
Then on page nine, hidden between the clause for employee discretion and declaration, the clause that shook me to the core.
Personal Services Addendum. My eyes snagged on the words. …employee agrees to make herself available, at the discretion of Lucifer Hardpound, for private duties of any nature… no fixed hours… absolute discretion required… refusal constitutes disciplinary actions to be taken against such employee… the ownership of the employee will be handed to Lucifer Hardpound…
My knees buckled. I gripped the edge of the desk to stay upright. The city glittered behind him like a cage.
He didn't move. Just watched me with those storm-grey eyes.
"You dug into my life," I whispered. My voice cracked. "You… you knew I would have no choice."
A slow smile curved his mouth—not cruel, not kind. Something darker. Hungrier.
"I don't hire desperate girls, Aafreen," he said. "You are something special."
He stood just close enough that I could smell his cologne—oud and smoke and something dangerously clean. His shadow swallowed me.
"But I'm fair," he continued, voice velvet over steel. "Sign, and you'll never have to worry again. Gift your mom the luxury of time… UT debt."
My voice shaking, I asked, "And what do I have to do?"
"Obey!" he interjected. "Obey all the commands I give you."
I don't know how it felt, what I felt. But it seemed like he was mocking me. I responded to him, "I am not that kind of woman. I'm sorry. If you are conducting the interview because of the Hinge profile, then I'm sorry." I poured my heart out when I said that. I guess this was it. I was going to be rejected.
"A question, Aafreen." I looked at him with a confused expression I wasn't aware of. "Can you afford losing?"
I tried to find Allah in my heart. I tried to find the girl who used to fast every Monday and Thursday, who cried during taraweeh, who believed modesty was her armour.
But I found Mom working triple shifts to make ends meet. The home's eviction notice. My UT fees. Debts left by Papa. Credit card bills that we couldn't pay. My friends laughing after making me miserable. Jake seeing another woman without telling me.
I could not refute. All I could do was stare at him. I gave him a small nod, accepting my fate and loss.
"You can decline the offer, Aafreen, but you'll have to decide now." "Wear this choker declaring your acceptance."
I was shivering. I picked up the choker and wore it. It looked beautiful. But they were just some shackles around my neck.
I licked my lips. Tasted salt and surrender.
"I'll stay," I breathed.
His smile was slow, savage, beautiful.
"Then say it properly."
My voice didn't waver this time. "I'm yours, Lucifer."
He picked me up and safely landed me on the obsidian-like table.
He cupped my face—gentle, almost reverent—and wiped the last tear with his thumb.
Then he kissed me.
His mouth took mine like it had always belonged to him. His tongue pushed inside. I made a small sound.
My hands flew to his chest—supposed to push, to reclaim the space between us, but they fisted his shirt instead, knuckles white as I pulled him closer, hijab slipping loose in the tangle.
Tears slipped free, hot tracks carving paths down my cheeks, because this felt better than anything I ever had—better than Jake's grunts, better than Zara's false cheers, better than the hollow high of a dean's list no one celebrated—and that terrified me more than the kiss itself, more than the choker's weight now burning cold against my pulse.
He felt the tremor wracking my frame, the tears soaking his collar. Lucifer broke the kiss slowly, deliberately, thumb brushing the wet streak on my cheek like he was testing temperature, grey eyes darkening as they traced the gloss of his own mouth on my swollen lips.
"I guess it was too much for you to begin with," he murmured, no mockery in the velvet rumble, just cool assessment, like auditing a balance sheet that didn't add up yet. "Work starts at 7 tomorrow. I'm looking forward to seeing you, Aafreen." He pulled away, lifting me down from the table—for which he didn't ask my consent to start with. He said, "You are dismissed," and went towards the window to enjoy the morning sun again.
I turned blindly, fixed my hijab with trembling fingers that fumbled the pins twice, wiped mascara streaks with the heel of my hand—smearing more than cleaning—and walked out on legs that didn't feel like mine, the choker's click against my collarbone a constant, cool reminder with every step. Before I left the office, I turned around, looking at Lucifer, hoping that he'd turn back.
When I was about to give up, he turned back and our eyes met. Just like fate.
"Is there something else you'd like to say, Aafreen?" he asked.
I thought of a sentence that I had wanted to tell him for some time now. "I'll do better." I turned around again and left the office.
While coming out, I was hoping that I had made a good impression. I was wondering what he must be thinking after I had the last say. I was thinking about Lucifer. It made me more curious. More than hating this man, I was looking forward to seeing him again. Why would he be interested in an obese girl who is classified as ugly? It made me feel special. I didn't understand what it was.
However, at the same time, I was also worried about the kind of life I'll be leading. I had already kissed a man I met for the first time. I had committed haram when I was with Jake. But I'm still with him. It was what today's girls call cheating. I should be feeling bad by now. Feel guilty. Just like any other betrayal, how people inflicted pain on me. I thought I'd feel the same pain.
But it didn't. I had a moment of happiness that I never felt in a long time. I wanted to cherish it. I wanted to repeat it.
Haram!! I thought.
I didn't want to keep doing things that make me feel good. Allah will never forgive me for this. I had already broken some of the teachings, but I wanted to make it right. My thoughts changed. One year. I need to stay and survive this for a year. Then I…
In the lobby, the receptionist smiled like nothing had happened, like my world hadn't just tilted on its axis, and held out a sleek black ID badge, lanyard dangling like a chain disguised as opportunity.
"Welcome aboard, Miss Khan. Executive Support Staff."
A man and a woman in crisp suits appeared at my elbow, tablet in hand, the woman's voice efficient as a scalpel. "Your driver is ready. Please follow him downstairs. He'll take you to your home. Mr. Hardpound expects you at 7:00 a.m. sharp. Please reach out to me for completing handoff procedures."
I was puzzled for a second. I let my curiosity take over and asked the question. "Apologies, but I do not have accommodation or a vehicle yet. So I do not completely follow you."
The lady fixed her glasses with a small smile as she continued. "According to the directions given by Mr. Hardpound, you have been assigned a company vehicle. And since you were asked to arrive for business in haste, he also arranged your apartment on South Las Vegas Boulevard."
I replied, trying to hide my excitement, "Is that so? I'll thank him for his generosity and I gladly accept it."
It was not a lot to process, but the words coming out of her mouth made me happier—so much that it was clear I couldn't control it.
The lady continued to praise, "He has a lot of expectations of you. I hope you like it here."
I did not respond to the pleasantry, as it was taught to me in uni to not be overly accommodating. But I gave her a smile that felt like a response enough.
I followed the suited man to the basement, where he guided me to a black Escalade. He opened the door for me again, and this time I didn't feel tense.
The car slowly climbed out of the basement and the Vegas sun shone on me this time.
Nineteen years.
Youngest in the programme.
Just signed an offer with a Fortune 500 private company.
To a man whose name means devil.