Chapter 1: He’s called D’yavol— the devil.

Roxana

Is something wrong with my eyes? Or is what I'm seeing real?

I stare down at the paper in front of me, blinking a few times.

This can't be real. There's no way I'm getting married to Tristan Kozlov—the ruthless and dangerous first son of the Kozlov Russian mafia.

I know my stepfather is trying to play a prank on me.

A dry nervous laugh bubbles in my throat. "Are you kidding me?"

He's silent, his eyes cold as ever.

Hatred seems to seep from his every pore. I know his loathing for me runs deep, but this... this can't be happening.

My eyes fall on my older stepsister sitting a few feet away. She's more beautiful and older.

I'm just nineteen, with ugly scars on my back. A familiar shame creeps up my skin as I look at them.

What if Tristan sees them? What if he rejects me because I'm not the perfect wife he wants? A shiver runs down my spine. What if he ends up hurting me?

He kills people without a second thought. Men like him are the stuff of my nightmares, people I’ve been taught to fear and avoid. Even my stepfather fears him.

Plus, I have my own boyfriend.

My older sister, Zendaya, is flawless—no scars, no imperfections. She’s always been the good one, the one my parents brag about. What chance do I have against her?

Before I can spiral further, Marco cuts into my thoughts, “He asked for a bride from our family. And you are the only available one.”

Only one available!

Am I hearing wrong right now? What about Zendaya? Is she suddenly engaged, and I don't know?

"But, Father—"

"I'm not your father!!" He slams a hand on the table, making me flinch.

A tremor runs through my body like lightning.

My eyes fall on my folded hands, and tears sting my eyes. "I didn't mean to make you angry. But I'm not the only one available. Zendaya is older and not engaged. Plus, I heard the man is called the D'yavol—the devil."

Something drops in my stomach. The more I think about it, the crazier the idea seems.

When my stepfather speaks, his voice drips venom. "You're the one he's chosen to marry. You should be thankful I allowed you to stay in this house. I feed you, clothe you, and send you to college as a mere bastard. I should've thrown you out like trash."

My stomach roils. My heart pounds loudly in my ears.

How could he do this to me? I just started college; getting married would mean I can't continue my education. What am I supposed to tell Aaron, my boyfriend? I love him so much.

"You should be grateful to my father," She sneers, her voice full of contempt. "Someone like you is not worthy to get married to Tristan—a gardener's child."

My lips quiver and i bite them hard. My hands tremble.

My mother will never allow this. She won't let me be forced into a marriage against my will.

I stand abruptly, ignoring my trembling legs. She needs to know.

"Where are you going? Sit down, I'm not done talking to you," he says.

I obey.

“You should take the paper and read the contract. Your soon-to-be husband is coming for you tomorrow."

"This marriage is not happening.” The confidence surprises me. I never argue or defy him, but this is my life.

If I'm going to spend my life with someone, it must be a man I love wholeheartedly, not someone like him. He's called the devil; he's capable of destroying souls.

"I'm not marrying him," I repeat.

Marco laughs. I hate that sound.

My nails dig into my palm.

“You think you have a choice? It's already sealed. Your picture is sent to him, and he's coming to take you tomorrow, so get ready."

"My mother won't allow it." There's no way she'll let her daughter marry against her wishes.

Marco relaxes in his chair, wearing a cruel smirk. "Well, we’ll see."

I don't reply.

I grab the paper from the desk and stand, holding my head high and proud.

I need to be strong.

I walk out of the office, summoning every bit of confidence I have.

My footsteps echo through the large hall.

Outside, I take a deep breath. Tears threaten, but I push them back.

What is Marco trying to do? Barter me off to the devil.

I have nowhere to go but my mother’s. She’s the only one who can stop her husband.

I head to her bedroom, heat rising in my face. If they all plan to hurt me, she won't.

She needs to stop her husband’s madness—this arranged marriage.

When I knock on her door, I ask, "Mother, are you there?"

"Come in!" she calls from inside.

I push the door open and step inside.

My mother is sitting in front of a dressing mirror, applying makeup. Her hair is tied in a tight bun. "Oh, Roxana, have you been crying?"

My lips tremble. I hadn’t even realized tears had stained my cheeks. I wipe them away, holding up the paper. "Father said I'm getting married to Tristan Kozlov. That can't happen. What about my studies? My life? What about Aaron?"

My mother looks at the paper, then shrugs as if it's no big deal. "I know. That's what your father wants. These mafia men—they're uncontrollable. Whatever they decide is final. Arranged marriage isn't a bad idea. When I married your stepfather, I was just eighteen. Look at me now, enjoying life. You'll be fine."

My jaw drops. For a second, i stare at the woman in front of me, wondering if she’s truly my mother.

This is my life, and she's brushing it off like it's nothing.

"M-mother, this man is dangerous. He's from the Kozlov family. We all know how ruthless they are."

My mother throws her hands up, exasperated. "Roxana, you exaggerate. You make it sound like your father is sending you to a slaughterhouse. It's just marriage."

"I'm nineteen!" I scream, my voice echoing through the room. My hands clenched into fists.

"Zendaya's there; why can't she be the one to marry? She's twenty-two. Is it because I'm not his biological daughter? I get it, he doesn't like me, but this is pure evil."

"Watch your words. I don't want your father upset. Don't be ungrateful; he's done everything for you. Tristan himself chose you."

"He's not my father, and he's doing all this because of you, not because he likes me."

"Well, he takes care of you, so you should do what he asks."

My shoulders slump. My neck aches from crying.

"Please, Mother, don't let me marry him. I want to marry someone I love. I have my own boyfriend."

"Oh, he’s got nothing to offer. This marriage will benefit our family, boost your father's position."

I pause. "So that’s it? He's throwing me to a dangerous man for power? How little do I mean to you all?"

"Roxana, I don't have time for this. Take the paper and leave my room; I need to prepare dinner."

For a moment, I am stunned, staring at the woman I call my mother with my mouth open.

Is this what my life has become?

Someone else’s property?