Bound To The Devil's Heir

Serena point of View:

I always imagined death would be quiet.

A white light, maybe. A gentle whisper. Not this.

Not zip ties burning into my wrists.Not the stench of blood masked by cheap perfume. Not the sound of heels clicking over marble, dragging out my panic one footstep at a time.

my heart is beating so loud I swear it echoes off the walls of this place. wherever this Godforsaken place is.

they grabbed me after my exhibition, two blocks from campus. one second I was texting Leah to say I'd made it back safe, the next there was a needle in my neck and darkness swallowing me whole.

Now I'm awake.

Now I'm here.

And I'm not alone.

There are other girls.

Six of us. All dressed like dolls in silk slips, bare feet, bruises and fear in our eyes. we sit side by side on a Velvet bench, a row of sacrifices waiting for the wolves.

one tries to speak. she's silenced with the back of a hand, another sobs quietly. A third blonde younger than me. Stares ahead like her soul already left her body.

and me?

I'm calculating.

Breathing. counting the guards. memorizing the exits. survival is a language my body remembers, even if I wish it didn't.

then the lights dim.

A woman in a red dress steps onto the platform ahead of us, her lips stretched into a polished lie of a smile.

"Gentlemen," she purrs, voice curling through the air like smoke. " Tonight's collection is exquisite."

Applause. Low, eager, hungry.

The curtains pull back.

and I see them, rows of masked men, watching us from plush seats like we're art pieces instead of people. A silent auction. no names. No rules.

just money and ownership.

my stomach flips.

Not from fear. That's already numb.

From rage.

I wasn't supposed to end up like this.

I clawed my way out of hell once already, left my father's secrets buried, changed my name, buried myself in paint and canvas and normalcy.

But it wasn't enough, was it?

The past doesn't forget. It hunts.

and tonight, it's caught me.

the first girl is led away.

sold.

then the next.

and then, it's me.

"Lot Thirty- three," The woman says, hand on my shoulder like she owns me. "untouched. Artistic, Exotic lineage."

she gestures to my skin like it's rare silk. I want to break her wrist.

I'm shoved forward, onto the platform, under the light. I sqiunt at the crowd, trying to find a face- any face. But they're masked. silent.

until someone raises a card.

then another.

and another.

The numbers climb.

$30,000.

$50,000

$85,000

I don't understand why the bidding is so high until I hear it- someone whispering in the shadows.

"she's the one. she looks just like her"

who?

But I don't have time to wonder.

Because the Final bid comes in like a hammer.

$250,000.

silence falls.

The woman nods once, eyes shining.

"Sold," she says. " To Number seventeen"

The crowd parts. A man steps forward.

Tall. impeccably dressed. masked like the others, but even beneath it, there's something different about him. Power doesn't cling to him- it erupts from him, cold and merciless.

he doesn't look at me as they lead me to him. Doesn't speak. just turns and walks away, expecting me to follow.

and like a fool, I do.

The car is black. Quiet. smells like leather and something expensive I can't name.

he sits besides me. I can feel his gazs even though he hasn't removed the mask.

we drive in silence for what feels like hours until city lights vanish and forest surround us.

Then, finally, we arrive.

An estate. No a fortress.

Black steel gates open without a sound. security cameras turn to track our movement. Every inch of the place scrams Money and danger.

inside, I'm ushered into a massive room- fireplace lit, dark floors gleaming, and a giant oil painting of a woman with cold eyes above the mantel. she looks like me.

I turn to him.

"why did you buy me?" I ask.

He tilts his head. Then, finally, he removes the mask.

and I forgot how to breathe.

He's beautiful the way a knife is beautiful - sharp, deadly, gleaming.

Jet black hair. silver eyes like the moonlight over ice. A scar just beneath his lower lip that somehow makes him look more dangerous, not less.

"because I needed someone who could lie like it was the Truth," he says, voice deep and deliberate.

"And you, Serena vale are perfect for the role"

my heart stops.

He knows my name.

I didn't tell anyone my real name..Not even at school. I changed everything - burned everyfile, deleted every trace.

"who are you?" I whisper.

He steps closer, closing the space between us.

"My name is Damien Alaric," he says. "And you, Darling, is going to be my fiancee."