His Dark Desire: The Devil’s Bride

I wasn’t supposed to be home this early.The diner had been dead all afternoon, just two truckers nursing cold coffee and a drunk who kept calling me “sweet cheeks.”My manager shrugged and told me to clock out at six. Fine by me. My feet were killing me, my head was splitting, and all I wanted was to fall face-first into the couch and let Micah rub my shoulders until I forgot how much I hated my life.I climbed the three flights of stairs to our tiny apartment, already tasting the cheap wine we kept in the fridge. I was smiling like an idiot, thinking maybe tonight I’d finally let him go further than second base.Three years of “waiting till marriage” felt less romantic and more stupid every month.The door was cracked open. But I didn’t think anything of it. I pushed it slowly. The living room was dark except for the flicker of the TV nobody was watching. And suddenly — I heard a woman’s high, breathy moan leak down the hallway, followed by the unmistakable wet slap of skin on skin

Bella’s POV The flight back to Venice dragged like a death sentence, but I didn’t sleep. I kept picturing my mother’s arms around me the second we landed. She was the only one who never obeyed Dad’s order to cut me off completely. Secret bank transfers. Burner phones at 2 a.m. just to hear my voice. I needed her now more than ever. The car rolled through the gates, and the mansion rose in front of me like a tomb. Same manicured lawns. Same marble steps. Same silence that swallowed screams. It didn’t feel like home. It felt like a cage I’d voluntarily walked back into. Rafael squeezed my hand as we stepped out. “Breathe, Bella. He’s not going to kill you.” “I gave a short laugh, dry and humourless. “That’s easy for you to say. He didn’t threaten to cut you off and erase your existence.” “You were a kid and you were in love. He was angry. He’s cooled off since then.” I didn’t answer. I just kept staring, unsure whether to run away or march forward. The door c

I lay on my bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, feeling the weight of my father’s words crush me over and over again.Ten days.Ten fucking days to become Matteo Moretti’s property.Ten days to lose my freedom, my future, my name.He kept acting like this was normal—like selling me to a man half my age, a man everyone feared, was just another business deal. As if I were nothing more than a bargaining chip with a pulse.I didn’t love Matteo.Hell, I didn’t even like him. He made my skin crawl.And yet somehow… I was supposed to smile at an altar while he claimed every inch of me.Tears slipped down my temples, disappearing into the silk of the pillows. I curled onto my side, clutching my phone.Maybe I should have stayed in Chicago.I could have figured things out. Started over. I could’ve healed, grown, rebuilt myself.I almost let myself imagine what life could’ve been— but the moment Micah’s name crossed my mind, I shut that door fast.No.Never again.I’d burn before going back to

The deeper I walked into La Volpe Rossa, the more the air changed.Perfume, cigar smoke, sex, and money all tangled together until I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.Girls in nothing but diamond-encrusted lingerie carried thousand-euro bottles on silver trays.A man in a tux had a woman bent over a roulette table, her dress around her waist, and her moans swallowed by the music.In one dark corner, two men played snooker while a third fucked a girl against the wall, slow and shameless, like it was part of the game.My pulse was everywhere—my throat, wrists, between my legs.“Lucia!”We turned, and a tall man with soft brown curls and sharp cheekbones stepped out from a group near the stairs.Lucia lit up in a way she hadn’t all night.“Riccardo!”He kissed her cheek—both sides—and then looked at me with curiosity.“And who is this beautiful creature?”“Bella,” Lucia said, looping her arm around my waist. “My best friend. Be nice.”Riccardo smirked. “Always.”He walke

Bella’s POVThe silence in the car was thick, but not uncomfortable. Just… heavy.I stared out the window at the dark canal lights streaking past, pretending the city was more interesting than the man driving.He didn’t push me to talk. Just let the quiet stretch.In an hour, we pulled up to a sleek glass tower that screamed money and power.I didn’t ask any questions. I already knew the answer would complicate things.Minutes later he was leading me into the penthouse that looked like it belonged in a magazine: floor-to-ceiling windows, dark minimalist paintings, city lights glittering below us like scattered diamonds.I sank into the couch as my bones had finally given up.He poured two glasses of red wine, and handed me one.“You look worn out,” he said, voice low.I stared into the wine, then up at him. “That’s what happens when you walk in on your boyfriend balls-deep in your best friend.”A flicker of surprise crossed his face, followed by the ghost of a laugh he didn’t let out.