Chapter 4 – The Devil’s Fiancée

Valenti Estate, Sicily – The next morning

I woke up to the sound of curtains being drawn.

Warm light spilled into the room, stinging my eyes. My head throbbed. I shifted against the sheets and stopped when I realized they weren’t mine.

The bed was bigger, the linens heavier, and the air smelled faintly of lavender.

Where was I?

I pushed myself up on my elbows. My heart started racing as I took in the strange room. The walls were painted a pale cream, and gold trim framed the doorways. A chandelier glittered above me. The furniture was ornate. This wasn’t my room from last night.

A woman in black—one of his maids—stood at the window, arranging the curtains like nothing was wrong.

“Where’s my phone?” My voice came out rough, weaker than I’d meant.

She didn’t answer.

I swung my legs off the bed. My robe was gone, replaced with a black lace dress laid neatly over the chair beside me. Next to it, a pair of heels.

The maid finally turned and placed a glass of water on the table. “Drink. He is waiting for you downstairs.”

“Where is my phone?” I said again, sharper this time.

Nothing. She simply bowed her head and left the room, shutting the door behind her.

I sat there staring at the dress. My hands curled into fists.

Last night came back to me piece by piece. His hands at my waist. His voice in my ear. My father’s voice over the phone, calm as ever, telling me to make him proud.

Fiancée.

I almost laughed. It sounded so absurd in my head.

After a few minutes, I stood. If he wanted me dressed, fine. I’d play his game. But only until I found my way out.

****

The smell of fresh coffee hit me before I even reached the bottom of the stairs.

The dining room was empty except for him, sitting at the head of a long table, a single cup of espresso in his hand. His jacket was tossed carelessly over the back of his chair, his shirt sleeves rolled neatly at his forearms. He looked perfectly at ease, like he hadn’t been the one who’d destroyed my life the night before.

“Sit.” His voice cut through the silence before I could open my mouth.

I stood there a moment longer, just to prove to myself that I could. Then I sat at the chair opposite him.

He regarded me with something close to amusement. “You embarrassed yourself last night.”

I swallowed. “You drugged me. You humiliated me. And you—”

“You’re officially mine now,” he said, cutting me off easily. “Your name is already circulating as my fiancée. It’s done.”

I gripped the edge of the table. “No. You don’t get to decide that. I never agreed to this.”

“You don’t have to.” He took a sip of his espresso. “If you don’t play your part, I’ll find someone who will. And trust me, Celeste, she’ll wear your face and smile for me while the papers call you insane.”

My stomach knotted.

“You’re pathetic,” I spat. “This is about what happened in that club, isn’t it? You can’t stand that I told you no that night. You’ve built this whole disgusting charade because your ego couldn’t take it.”

His lips curved into something dark. He set the cup down and leaned forward.

“Don’t confuse this with love, Celeste,” he murmured. “I want you because you’re mine. Nothing more.”

I wanted to scream. To throw something at him. But instead I sat back in my chair, my nails digging into my palms until they stung.

That afternoon, he summoned me again.

The courtyard was set for lunch, the ocean glittering just beyond the edge of the terrace. Several of his men sat at the table already, their voices low as they smoked cigars and sipped wine.

He was at the head of the table, of course, waiting for me.

I approached slowly, my heels clicking against the stone.

One of his men pulled my chair out. But when I started to sit, Azrael stopped me.

“No,” he said smoothly. “Here.”

He patted his lap.

I eyed him, my hands balled into fists by my side. He was crazy. Heat crept up my neck as I felt every pair of eyes turn toward me.

“I’ll sit here,” I said tightly, nodding at the empty chair beside him.

He didn’t move his hand. “Sit. Here.”

I leaned down and hissed through my teeth, low enough so no one else could hear. “You can’t make me.”

His hand came up and pressed mine against his chest. I could feel his heartbeat, steady and sure beneath my palm.

“Try me,” he whispered.

Something inside me cracked.

I sank onto his lap, my arms stiff at my sides.

He smiled like a man who’d just won a war.

A few bites of food later, he pulled something from his pocket and clasped it around my wrist—a diamond bracelet.

“Pretty,” he murmured, loud enough for the others to hear. “Just like you.”

I stared down at it, feeling my cheeks burn.

****

That night, after the last of his men left, I slipped away from the dining room.

He’d left his phone on the table, and for the first time in days, no one was watching me.

My fingers shook as I picked it up and hurried out onto the terrace.

I dialed Sasha.

“Come on,” I whispered, pressing the phone to my ear. “Pick up. Please.”

The line clicked.

“Celeste?”

“Oh my God,” I breathed, clutching the phone tighter. “Sasha—thank God. You have to help me. He’s keeping me here. I can’t—”

But she cut me off, her voice shaky.

“Celeste… your father already announced the engagement. To the press. Hours ago. Everyone thinks you chose him. There’s nothing we can do.”

My throat closed.

I turned away from the door, pressing my hand over my mouth.

“What about school? Classes? The lectures I’m missing?”

Sasha hesitated.

Then another voice cut in.

“Go on,” Azrael said softly. “Tell her the rest.”

I spun around. He was leaning against the doorway, arms folded, his face calm.

On the other end of the line, Sasha’s voice came back faint, almost whispering.

“Celeste… your father already signed the marriage license. And he… he bought a professor out. Everyone says you’ll be homeschooled now. You’re not going back.”

The phone slipped from my fingers and hit the stone floor.

Azrael walked toward me slowly, his shadow swallowing the moonlight.

When he reached me, he bent and picked up the phone, sliding it into his pocket.

His fingers brushed my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes.

“Welcome home,” he said softly.

I slapped his hand away, but it didn’t matter. The sound of Sasha’s voice still echoed in my head.

I backed into the railing, my breath shallow, my hands gripping the edge behind me.

He bent, picked up the phone, and slid it into his pocket. His fingers brushed under my chin, tilting my face up to his.

“Welcome home,” he murmured.

I slapped his hand away, stumbling back. My feet hit the edge of the railing, and my hand groped for something to hold on to. But there was nothing.

I wobbled on the heels he’d made me wear, the railing digging into my back, my arms flailing for balance.

His face didn’t change. He just stood there, watching.

And then my heel slipped.

“Help me you bastard!” I yelled because he seemed to be enjoying this.