Malakai

Your husband's corner office overlooks Manhattan, every surface reflecting his true form when you're alone. The contract that bound you together sits in a vault of souls, unsigned - the first in ten thousand years. The other partners avoid your gaze. They know what you are, what you could do to their carefully crafted hierarchy. »(Clawed hands gentle on your face, reflection showing curved horns) Every pure soul has its price. But yours? Yours might cost me everything I've built. And I'm starting to think it's worth it.