Chapter Two

Drake

I sat behind the sleek mahogany desk, high up in my corner office, the kind with floor-to-ceiling windows that boasted a panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline. It was a view that screamed power, wealth, and control. From up here, I could see the city stretch out beneath me, a sea of glittering lights, chaotic streets, and people who had no idea who I really was or what lurked behind my cold, polished exterior.

But even the view couldn't save me from the tedium of this moment.

I looked across my desk at Cynthia, a mid-level marketing exec whose face was contorted in desperation. Her voice wobbled as she tried to explain her way out of another failed campaign, but I had long since tuned her out. Her excuses were pathetic, and more importantly…Irrelevant. The decision had already been made.

"I've been with the company for ten years, Mr. Youngblood," she said, her voice cracking. "I just need another chance. Please."

I sighed dramatically, steepling my fingers and giving her my coldest stare. "Loyalty is commendable, Cynthia, but it's not enough. We don't reward mediocrity here."

Her face fell, and I could see the fear in her eyes. She was starting to understand what was coming.

"I'm sorry, but your services are no longer required. Consider this your last day," I said, my tone flat and dismissive.

The moment the words left my mouth, her face crumpled like a house of cards. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she let out a small sob, covering her mouth with her hand as if that could somehow hold back the flood of emotions.

"Please, I need this job. I can fix it. I can do better…just give me one more chance."

The pleading was always the worst part. Humans, with their fragile emotions, never seemed to understand that there was no room for second chances in the world I inhabited. I had no patience for weakness, finding it frankly disgusting.

"Enough," I snapped, my voice slicing through her like a whip. "You have five minutes to collect your things. Security will escort you out."

Her shoulders slumped in defeat, and she shuffled toward the door, still sniffling, as if her tears could change anything. She opened the door and nearly ran into someone—someone I'd hoped to avoid today. And every day, for that matter.

Delilah Montgomery stood in the doorway, her dark, glossy hair framing her face like an oil-slick halo, her blood-red lips curled into a smile that sent an immediate chill through me. Her crimson nails, long and perfectly manicured, clicked against the doorframe as she leaned in, clearly enjoying the show.

Cynthia took one look at Delilah and scurried out of the office, offering a mumbled apology as she fled like a mouse from a cat. And well she should if she knew what was good for her.

I groaned internally. The CEO's wife was not what I needed right now.

"What the hell do you want now, Delilah?" I asked, my voice dripping with irritation. I leaned back in my chair, trying to mask the unease she always brought out in me.

She sauntered into my office like she owned it—like she owned me. Which she technically did. After all, she was the one who had turned me into what I was, the one who had given me power and wealth beyond my wildest dreams, in exchange for a part of my soul. I'd made a deal with the devil; one I'd regret until the end of time.

"Oh, Drake," she purred, running her long nails across the edge of my desk as she approached. "Is that any way to greet the woman who made you what you are?"

I clenched my jaw, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. "I'd be fine without you, Delilah. Now get to the point. I'm busy."

Her smile widened, revealing a hint of the sharp teeth that had ruined my life in more ways than one. "Busy firing incompetent employees, I see. Such a cold touch. I'm proud."

I huffed, barely holding onto my patience. "What do you want?"

Delilah perched herself on the edge of my desk, crossing one spidery leg over the other. "I've got a new assignment for you, darling."

I raised an eyebrow. "An assignment? I don't take assignments from you anymore. I practically run Montgomery Enterprises in this city."

"Oh, but you do," she replied, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "And this one is different. I'm sending you to Sweetberry Hollow."

I blinked, certain I had misheard her. "Sweetberry what?"

She shrugged, clearly amused by my confusion. "Sweetberry Hollow. It's a quaint little town in the middle of nowhere, population: cute, sweet, and probably home to a pie-baking contest or two."

I stared at her, trying to make sense of this absurd conversation. "Why the hell would you send me there? I run an empire here, Delilah. Find someone else to deal with...whatever nonsense this is."

Her smile never faltered, but her eyes darkened, becoming even more predatory. "I have my reasons, Drake. And this isn't a request. You're going to Sweetberry Hollow to oversee one of the Sugar Rush branches. It's failing miserably, and we need someone to whip it back into shape."

"Sugar Rush?" I said with open disdain. "A candy store? You're sending me to manage a candy store in the middle of nowhere?"

"Precisely."

I rubbed my temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache forming. "Why not send one of the junior executives? This isn't my level of responsibility."

"Oh, darling, you're perfect for the job," she cooed. "I just know you'll thrive in that charming little town."

I could hear the sarcasm dripping from her words, and it took everything in me not to snap. "Cut the crap, Delilah. Why me?"

Her smile faltered just slightly, but only for a second. "Like I said, I have my reasons. Don't question me. You don't want to make me get my husband involved."

I hated the way she said that, the way she always spoke as if she held all the cards. And maybe she did. The price of eternal life had been more than just blood; it had been my freedom, my autonomy. The deal I'd made with her years ago was binding, and I was trapped in it, whether I liked it or not. I'd never met her husband, but one Montgomery was more than enough.

"Fine," I spat, glaring up at her. "I'll go. But this had better be quick."

"Oh, it will be," she said, her wicked smile returning. "Enjoy Sweetberry Hollow, Drake. It'll be...life-changing."

With that, she turned and sauntered out of my office, her heels clicking on the floor, leaving me simmering in frustration.

A week later, I found myself standing in front of a quaint, furnished apartment in Sweetberry Hollow, wondering what I had done to deserve this fresh hell. The air was crisp and cool, the kind of autumn weather that normal people probably found refreshing. To me, it was just another reminder that I was far from home—my nice, dark, cold home full of no names.

The apartment itself looked like it had been ripped straight out of a country lifestyle magazine. Flower boxes sat under the windows, overflowing with autumn blooms, and there was a porch swing that looked like it belonged in a Hallmark movie. The entire building reeked of charm and comfort, two things I absolutely despised.

"This place is a nightmare," I muttered under my breath, surveying the surroundings. There wasn't even private access or a concierge. I was used to luxury, privacy, not this small-town, ridiculous nonsense.

I climbed the stairs to the front door with my suitcase, the wood creaking under the weight, and fumbled for the keys. When I finally stepped inside, I was greeted by the scent of cinnamon and fresh linen—no doubt part of the "welcoming" aesthetic that made my skin crawl. The furniture was all rustic chic, with plaid throws and cushioned armchairs, and there was a basket of complimentary apples sitting on the dining room table. Apples.

"Great," I muttered. "I'm in farm country."

The worst part? I had to drive myself everywhere now. Me. I hadn't driven a car in fifty years, not since the days when cars were mostly deathtraps and human life had been slightly more amusing. Navigating the streets of Sweetberry Hollow in a modern vehicle was not only tedious but a constant reminder that I was in exile, banished to a place where nothing ever happened.

The sun was low on the horizon and after I'd settled my things inside the apartment, I drove toward the town square, narrowly avoiding hitting a mailbox—again. My driving was rusty, to say the least. By the time I reached the stop sign at the corner, I was ready to explode. And of course, the guy in the car next to me leaned on his horn, yelling at me through his open window.

"Move it, buddy!" he shouted.

Without thinking, I snarled back at him, my voice low and menacing. "Keep yelling Jack, and I'll drink your blood."

The guy blinked, then gave me a sarcastic smirk. "Get a life, pal."

I gritted my teeth, resisting the urge to roll down the window and really make him regret his existence. A life? I thought bitterly. I'm dead, you idiot.

After what felt like an eternity of navigating the sleepy streets of Sweetberry Hollow, I finally arrived at my destination: Sugar Rush. The candy shop was nestled in the heart of the town square, and I could already tell from the outside that the place was a disaster. The paint was peeling, the sign was cartoonish, and the window display was laughable. Halloween decorations had been thrown together with about as much enthusiasm as a funeral.

I stepped out of the car and walked up to the shop, my fine leather shoes crunching on the gravel path. The dim lights inside flickered weakly, and the whole place had a stale, forgotten smell. I pushed open the door, and a sad little bell jingled, announcing my presence to absolutely no one. The shop was deserted. Were they closed this early? In New York, retail businesses—especially food chains—remained open until close to midnight, if not 24/7.

Inside, things were even worse. The shelves were sparsely stocked with generic candy, none of which looked remotely appealing. The few Halloween decorations scattered around were half-hearted at best—plastic pumpkins, a cobweb that looked like it had been slapped onto the corner of the counter as an afterthought, and a skeleton that was missing its arm.

I let out a low sigh. This place was a disaster. How did Montgomery Enterprises ever think investing here was a good idea? Sweetberry Hollow was the epitome of a small town—quiet, boring, and devoid of the hustle and energy I thrived on. It was no Boston, no Philly, and certainly no New York.

As I walked through the establishment, taking in the sorry state of things, my eyes fell on a flyer pinned to the wall. It was advertising a Halloween party at some old Victorian mansion on the outskirts of town. Costumes required, it said. Catered by Sugar Rush .

Ah, the former manager—I couldn't recall the fool's name—must have set this up before he skipped town with his tail between his legs. A wicked idea started to form in my mind. What better way to scope out this town and its people than by blending in? I could attend the party in costume, slip in unnoticed, and observe the members of my staff without them knowing I was their new boss sent to clean up their mess. It would be the perfect way to assess my underlings, gauge the town, and figure out what, exactly, I was dealing with.

I pulled the flyer off the wall, folding it and slipping it into my jacket pocket. I was going to this party, and I was going in style. After all, if I had to suffer through this miserable assignment, I might as well have a little fun along the way.

As I turned to leave the shop, the bell above the door jingled again, and I stepped out into the cool night air. The street was quiet, the only sound being the distant rustle of leaves in the wind. Sweetberry Hollow might be a charming little town during the day, but at night, there was a strange stillness to it. I couldn't help but wonder what secrets this place was hiding —and whether Delilah had sent me here for more than just a failing candy shop.

But I would find out soon enough. And when I did, Sweetberry Hollow would never be the same.