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The Sweetest Betrayal

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EPISODE - 3 Proposal of a Psychopath

Aira stood outside the restaurant, arms folded, lab coat fluttering lightly in the night wind.

Her brain was firing a hundred calculations per second—but none were equations. They were all questions. Like:

“Why would the most wanted face in the world ask me to marry him?”

“How does he know about my unpublished research?”

And most importantly:

“Why does part of me actually want to say yes?”

She hated that thought. She filed it away under "Temporary Brain Glitches."

Then the devil himself appeared, stepping out after her like he had all the time in the world.

“Still thinking about my offer?” Aceon asked, shoving his hands into the pockets of his custom black coat.

“I’m still thinking about calling security,” Aira muttered.

He smirked. “You're smart. Too smart to pretend you didn’t consider it.”

“Consider what?” she snapped. “Let me get this straight: You want to sponsor my entire lab, give me access to equipment even the government restricts, and in exchange, I marry you?”

“That’s right.”

“...Are you mentally ill?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “But I’m also incredibly rich, legally single, and interested.”

“You’re insane.”

Aceon leaned in slightly, the space between them charged.

“You build weapons that can fit in a thumbnail and fly through a ventilation shaft. You operate on neural systems while your patients are still conscious. You forget to eat for three days because your code loop hit a bug.”

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing with something darker now.

“Darling, if I’m insane... then what are you?”

Aira didn’t answer.

Because the truth was… she did crave freedom. Not fame. Not luxury. But autonomy. Unrestricted research. No funding delays. No red tape. No bureaucrats questioning her ethics every time she wanted to test something.

She could use Aceon.

And she hated how much she didn’t hate the idea.

But marry him?

She turned sharply and began to walk away. “You’re ridiculous.”

Aceon called after her, voice calm.

“I’ll give you access to my private black lab in Zurich. No oversight. No limits.”

She stopped mid-step.

“I’ll fund your project for five years. Full independence. No ownership claims.”

Aira slowly turned, glaring. “You’d really tie yourself to me just to watch me solder microchips all day?”

“I’d tie myself to you because no one else has ever been able to make me feel anything,” he said quietly. “And watching you lose yourself in your work? That’s the closest thing I’ve seen to perfection.”

She stared at him, stunned.

No sarcasm. No smirk. No performance.

Just truth.

Twisted, unhinged, but truth.

She should have walked away.

But instead, she whispered, “You're seriously offering me a marriage contract in exchange for funding and freedom?”

“Yes,” he replied. “Three years. Private arrangement. No press. Just signatures and results.”

She crossed her arms. “No emotional obligations?”

“None.”

“No public appearances?”

“I’m an actor. You’re a ghost. Perfect match.”

She hesitated. Then said dryly, “I want a clause: I get to walk away if you try to murder anyone in front of me.”

He smiled, just a little too wide. “You drive a hard bargain.”

Five Years Ago — The First Time Aceon Killed

> A 17-year-old Aceon stood drenched in blood in a Paris alleyway. His hands were trembling—not from fear, but from relief. The man on the ground had deserved it.

The cold in his chest that had haunted him since childhood... was gone.

For the first time, he felt alive.

That night, he realized something horrifying.

He wasn't afraid of the dark.

He was the dark.

Back in the present:

Aceon pulled out a sleek black folder from inside his coat and handed it to Aira.

A full contract. Signed by his legal team. With her name already printed.

Aira blinked. “You had this prepared?”

“I had hope,” he said with a shrug.

She flipped through the pages. The terms were absurdly generous.

“I want a private weapons vault, secured access, and absolute control over my blueprints.”