CHAPTER 1 – Terms and Conditions Apply
In my defence, I was not thinking clearly. There was a very naked man involved.
This had to be a dream. My subconscious was ambitious - but not usually this generous.
It wasn’t the last meeting. It was realising the seventeen before it hadn’t been necessary - and had happened anyway.
My brain was fried, so I decided to match the temperature.
The bar was already closed - apparently the universe thought I’d had enough - so I went to the beach. I started walking, feeling the warm water curl around my feet.
After a full day of cold water, a dip in the warm tide felt exactly like what I needed. The moment I felt my head drifting into the clouds instead of my feet on the ground, I started to wade out.
The universe, being the absolute prick that it is, gave me a reason to start cursing while I still had one foot in the surf. My toe caught on something hard and sharp. I looked down and saw something small and rectangular with a faint glow around it - buried beneath the surface, as if the sea had tried to return it and thought better of the effort.
It trembled at my feet.
That should have been my first clue.
Curiosity never gave a damn about the cat, so I picked it up, rubbing away the grit and sand.
The smoke came next. Slow at first. Then deliberate. Then entirely too committed.
For a second, the world seemed to hold its breath.
When it cleared, there was a man standing where the tide had been, as if he’d always belonged there.
And God, what a man! I mean - Oh, man! What a god.
He wasn’t simply naked - he was unapologetically assembled, like someone had signed off on every detail. The kind of body that looked less grown and more designed. All strength and intention. Shoulders like architecture. A line of muscle down his torso that suggested very poor decision-making on my part.
His eyes were blue. Not soft blue. Steel blue. The kind that doesn’t ask permission before looking.
‘Thank you,’ he said, as if I had opened a door and not possibly altered my life.
I swallowed.
‘What were you doing in that box?’ It was a daft question, I know - but my brain had clocked off and was busy gawping at the scene in front of me. Producing anything intelligent - or even vaguely coherent - simply wasn’t on the agenda.
‘I was trapped. I was betrayed.’
Of course he was.
‘And as gratitude,’ he continued, ‘I will grant you a wish. Anything but love. Or death.’
Love and death off the table. Efficient.
I should have asked for something poetic.
Instead, I asked for a six pack.
I thought and thought - which was no small feat with that perfectly chiselled specimen of humanity standing in front of me. Concentration? Non-existent. My brain was buffering like dodgy Wi-Fi.
Then, suddenly, a cinematic montage of my life flashes through my mind - dramatic, unnecessary, the whole lot - and I know exactly what to ask for.
‘I want a six-pack,’ I announce, out loud. With confidence. Questionable, but confidence nonetheless.
He looks at me, the faintest hint of a devilish smile tugging at his mouth, and starts walking towards me. I swear I felt a theatrical breeze lift my hair. Honestly, if there’d been a wind machine, I wouldn’t have been surprised.
‘You’re a beautiful, sensual woman,’ he says smoothly. ‘It will be no sacrifice to satisfy you.’
‘Stop. I don’t think you understood what I asked for.’
‘Of course I did,’ he replies, running his hands over his chest and down those offensively sculpted abs. ‘You were hardly subtle.’
‘Yes, well. You are a rather spectacular view,’ I concede. ‘But I wasn’t referring to yours. I meant my own.’
‘Are you truly prepared to squander a wish of such magnitude on a mere vanity of the flesh? Especially when, to my eye, your form requires no such correction?’ he asked, looking personally insulted.
’Oh, no. No! No! This isn’t about my abs. Allow me to educate you: a six-pack, in this context, is a curated collection of six life-long requirements. I lift a finger.
ITEM ONE: Health. I want to be perpetually fine - no aches, no pains, and none of those lovely ‘charms’ that come with ageing. I want a long, vibrant life, and when I finally decide to check out as a very posh old lady, I want it to be peaceful, quiet, and strictly during my beauty sleep.’
I lift a second finger.
‘ITEM TWO: Beauty. A soft, effortless kind of radiance - perpetual femininity. I’m talking long, sweeping lashes and hair that looks like it belongs in a shampoo commercial. I want a lean, feminine silhouette, and I want to look exactly twenty per cent younger than I actually am. When I hit forty, I want the world to see thirty-two. Oh! And one more thing: I want to be able to eat whatever I damn well please while remaining impeccably fit. No gym, no kale, just results.’
He raised an eyebrow, his gaze lingering a fraction too long on my features. ‘You are bartering with the fundamental laws of nature for the sake of gluttony and vanity? You certainly don’t lack nerve, darling.’
I lift a third finger, enjoying the way he was beginning to twitch with exasperation.
’ITEM THREE: Appearance. I want to be impeccably turned out, regardless of the destination. Makeup, hair, wardrobe, shoes - the works. Think of it as a magical closet and suitcase: whenever I open them, they contain exactly what the occasion demands. No more ‘I have nothing to wear’ meltdowns; just pure, effortless perfection, down to the last accessory.’
He let out a dry, short laugh, more scoff than laugh. ‘So, you wish to outsource the very art of dressing? You’re not asking for a wish, my dear; you’re asking for a cosmic valet. I’ve seen empires fall for less than the cost of what you’re suggesting for your—what did you call it? - accessories.’
‘I prefer to think of it as efficiency,’ I replied, unfazed. ‘Why settle for a miracle when you can have a wardrobe that actually fits?’
I lift a fourth finger, holding his gaze with the kind of unblinking focus usually reserved for a high-stakes poker game.
‘ITEM FOUR: Wealth. I want a magical purse. One that is perpetually stocked with exactly the amount of currency I require, whether I am purchasing a single stick of gum or a sprawling estate in the hills. No cards, no credit checks, and certainly no tedious questions. Just… there.’
He let out a long, weary sigh, the sound of a man who had survived centuries of imprisonment only to be confronted by the ultimate capitalist.
‘You have the audacity to turn a cosmic debt into an infinite line of credit?’ he asked, his voice smooth but laced with disbelief. ‘You don’t want a miracle, my dear; you want to bankrupt the very fabric of the universe. Is there no limit to your greed?’
’I prefer the term ‘financial security’,’ I countered, flashing him a smile that was entirely unapologetic. ‘And honestly, after being trapped in that box for so long, you should appreciate the value of an easy exit. Besides, a woman with my new wardrobe and perpetually youthful glow can hardly be expected to check price tags.’
He shook his head, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips despite himself. ’I’ve met conquerors who asked for less. Very well. What is the fifth requirement of this... ‘six-pack’ of yours?’
I lift a fifth finger, maintaining steady eye contact. He looks torn between sheer fascination and a desperate urge to crawl back into his box.
‘ITEM FIVE: The Home. I want a sanctuary that manages itself. A house that is magically, perpetually pristine. No dust, no clutter, and meals that appear as if by divine intervention. If I host a dinner party, I expect every detail to be flawless—the wine chilled, the atmosphere perfect - without me having to spare a single thought. I intend to be the star, not the help.’
He leaned in, his shadow stretching long over the sand. ‘So you want a phantom staff to cater to your every whim? You aren’t merely asking for a roof over your head, darling; you’re attempting to outsource the very act of living.’
I simply winked and lifted my final finger.
’ITEM SIX: The Career. And I use that word specifically. I don’t want ‘work’; I want a career that provides professional fulfillment without becoming my entire personality. It should grant me status and success, but leave me with enough time to actually enjoy the other five items on this list. I want to be brilliant, influential, and - most importantly—never, ever busy.’
He fell silent for a long moment, the only sound the rhythmic pull of the tide against the shore. His steel-blue eyes searched mine, looking for a hint of hesitation that wasn’t there.
‘You have asked for an empire of convenience,’ he said softly. ‘Are you certain?’
‘I am.’
He stepped close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his skin. Not imagined heat. Real, thrumming, ancient warmth.
‘You do not ask for power,’ he observed, his voice a low vibration that seemed to bypass my ears and go straight to my chest.
‘I don’t need magic for that,’ I replied, keeping my voice steady.
His mouth curved—neither kind nor cruel, but with the weary wisdom of someone who had seen a thousand civilizations rise and fall.
‘Very well.’
The air thickened, smelling of ozone and salt.
His hand lifted—
And the world split, clean and final.
