Devil's Bidding

Arabella.  

It was all over the news. Montage had fallen. 

The daughter of Montage—the family’s princess—had fallen from grace to grass.

It was dreadful news. Everyone who heard it said so.

But I sat there, completely detached from my surroundings. The noise fading into the background.  

Was this really happening?

My head was empty. My mind, blank.

"Ara!"

She screamed my name through the thick smoke. Bringing me back to the present. 

"Come, Ara, we need to leave this place!"

Home?

I was leaving my home?

There was smoke.

I was going to lose everything—even this house?

I clutched the curtains in my hands.

Father would say, When a terrifying lion dies and begins to rot, the ants and other creatures that once feared it come to feast. 

That was my father. That was our fate.

My entire world had crumbled.

And I hadn’t even had the time to cry.

Everything had been taken. Why did I still have to run?

I turned slowly, meeting the eyes of the last two servants left—watching me with quiet desperation.

This house used to be full—lively, bustling, overflowing with people.

Now, just two remained. And sorrow filled the silence between us.

My father was dead.

And with him, it felt like my life had ended too.

“We need to run now,Ara. We don’t have time!” Mona cried, snapping me out of my trance once more. 

"Ara, we have to go before they come!" she shouted again. Shoving me hard.  

I stared at her tears filled eyes blankly. 

“Ara." She sniffed. 

"Your father owed a lot—so much debt.

Even after everything is taken, there’s still more… in your name. Owed to several factions Ara.”

She trembled. Her voice cracked.

“If the underworld society gets their hands on you—on us...” she whispered.

The things they would do. 

“I’d wish for death.”

The things they would do to me…

The horrifying world my father had always kept me far from—now it was coming for me.

And they wouldn’t show mercy. They’d tear me limb from limb if they found me.

I turned to Mona.

“Let’s go.”

We ran through the smoke-filled house, the air thick and suffocating.

Tears blurred my vision as memories flashed around me.

This had been my home. My safety cage.

Mona’s grip on my arm was firm—grounding me, pushing me forward.

How did this happen?

I glanced around as furniture toppled and shattered to the ground.

They said the new owner—who had taken the house as repayment for my father’s debts—wanted it destroyed.

So they’d demanded it be set on fire.

Everything inside… gone.

All our assets seized.

As if they wanted to erase every trace of us.

Of me.

My father had enemies. Plenty of creditors.

But this one—this one was out for complete ruin.

Burning down everything I knew as home.

Finally, we burst out of the house into the open night air.

I sucked in a breath. 

A car waited outside.

I paused, turning to look at the compound one last time.

The familiar walls. The withered garden. The place I’d once felt untouchable.

My old driver stood beside the vehicle.

He had taken me everywhere as a child. Loyal. Quiet. Always on time.

Now, he bowed slowly—more solemnly than ever before.

“This may be the last ride I give you… to safety,” he muttered.

I looked at the car.

It was small. Unfamiliar. A far cry from what I was used to.

What happened to everything?

Gone. In the blink of an eye.

I had gone from being the princess of the Rashford family

To a fugitive, running under cover of night.

Dad was gone.

I didn’t want to die.

I would live. I had to.

I looked around one last time, taking everything in—burning it into memory.

Then I nodded and stepped into the car.

As the engine started, I stared out at the compound I had grown up in.

My home.

It wasn’t mine anymore.

Mona sat beside me, her gaze fixed calmly on the flames.

They engulfed the house, wrapping around it like a cruel, consuming monster.

Even the expensive curtains—handpicked with such care—were reduced to ashes.

Was this really happening?

Was I dreaming? Or trapped in a nightmare I couldn’t wake from?

Mona reached over and took my hand.

My cousin who had become my sister. 

“We’ll get through this. Somehow,” she whispered, giving my hand a gentle squeeze.

The radio crackled to life.

> “In shocking news, the entire Montage-Rashford empire has collapsed.”

The voice was crisp

> “Following the death of its pioneer, Ricardo Montage, just a few nights ago, disturbing links to the underworld society have emerged—along with a series of illegal business operations. Creditors are stepping forward, claiming what’s left, including personal assets. This is a tragic fall from grace...”

I sat in silence.

I was the story now. The scandal.

Oliver, our driver, switched the channel.

> “The question on everyone’s lips now is—where is she?”

He flipped it again.

> “A tragic thing... from grace to absolute zero.”

With a grunt, he turned the radio off.

Everyone had something to say. Everyone had an opinion.

But I wasn’t even at zero.

Zero would’ve been a relief.

What I had left... was a mountain of debt. 

I was below rock bottom.

I let out a bitter laugh.

This can’t be happening.

It was getting harder to breathe.

The pressure in my chest tightened, familiar now—but worse.

I’d felt it that day at the funeral... watching their caskets lowered, knowing I was alone.

Every day since then, it lingered. But tonight, it felt suffocating.

“Mona…” I whispered.

She was asleep already, head resting against the window.

I leaned forward, voice weak.

“Oliver… the windows. Please... roll them down a bit.

It feels stuffy in here.”

“Oliver?” I called, panting heavily.

My chest rose and fell in shallow bursts.

When I looked up, I caught his eyes in the rearview mirror.

They were already watching me.

“Oliver?” I asked again, a tremor in my voice.

“I’m sorry, miss,” he said, bowing his head slightly.

And I froze.

I’m sorry.

Those words again. I’d heard them every day for the past week—

apologies layered with condolences, each one delivering more devastating news.

Another loss. Another betrayal. Another nail in the coffin of what used to be my life.

But this…

This apology felt different.

There was guilt in his eyes. A shadow of shame.

“Oliver!” I screamed, struggling with the door handle.

My breath came in ragged gasps. The air felt thinner with every passing second.

I pounded against the window, panic clawing at my throat.

Was I going to die too?

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I had to.”

And then the car picked up speed.

The world outside blurred.

I had to…

His voice echoed in my ears like a final verdict.

Maybe this was it.

Maybe I was meant to join them.

*****

*****

---

The man stepped out from the hallway, peeling off his gloves with calm precision.

“The Montage girl—it's confirmed,” he said coldly. “She’s a virgin. Untouched.”

“Very good,” the other man replied, rubbing his hands together, a glint of greed lighting up his eyes.

“No surprise there. She was the precious jewel of that family. Doted on. Kept away from everything.”

“I got nothing from the ashes of their empire,” the first man muttered, eyes narrowed. “But selling her to the Gentleman’s Society… that should bring me something back. Maybe even more.”

He smirked. “No, not maybe. I’ll have her auctioned tonight.”

“You think she’ll fetch a high price?” the second man asked.

“Oh, I know she will,” he answered without hesitation. “You have any idea how many men are dying to get their hands on her? She’s the spawn of that wretched man. They want her… for revenge. For pleasure. Payback.” The man spat ruefully.  

A quiet voice broke the moment. “Will she be okay?” Oliver asked, still standing silently at the side.

She had done nothing wrong.  

His voice trembled, guilt lacing every word. He couldn’t shake the image of her eyes—confused, afraid, betrayed.

The man sneered at him. “She’s not your concern anymore.”

With a flick of his wrist, he tossed a thick bundle of cash in Oliver’s direction. The bills hit the ground with a soft thud.

“Get out.”