3. Marked by the Devil

The master bedroom of the Vaughn estate felt more like a cold museum than a sanctuary for a married couple. The faint scent of antiseptic mingled with a heavy, expensive perfume. Maximilian lay atop a lavish, specialized bed, while Elara knelt beside him, performing her most dignity-draining task every night.

With slightly trembling hands, Elara wrung out a small, warm towel. She had to clean her husband’s body—the man who legally owned her soul, but who physically was nothing more than a helpless shell. As Elara wiped the parts of Maximilian’s body paralyzed by the helicopter crash, she could feel those aged eyes watching her without blinking.

Maximilian’s eyes weren't empty. There was a pathetic fire of desire within them—a longing trapped in a body that had betrayed him.

"You have such smooth skin, Elara," Maximilian’s voice was hoarse, breaking the silence of the night. "I often imagine... if that accident hadn't happened, I wouldn't have let you leave this room for an entire week."

Elara looked down, trying to focus her mind on the towel in her hand. "Rest, Maximilian. The doctor said you shouldn't overthink things."

"How can I rest when my wife is this beautiful?" Maximilian exerted great effort to raise his one functioning hand. His cold fingers touched Elara’s bare shoulder, then crept downward in a slow, demanding motion.

Just as the old man’s fingertips were about to touch the curve of her breast, a wave of nausea and discomfort hit Elara. A sudden flash of Xavier’s face crossed her mind, making Maximilian’s touch feel like an agonizing electric shock.

With a sudden movement that bordered on panic, Elara stood up.

"Your medicine!" Elara spoke a bit too loudly, her breath hitching. "I forgot to get your sedatives from the side table."

Maximilian withdrew his hand, looking disappointed yet powerless. "You are always avoiding me, Elara."

"I only want you to get well soon," Elara lied as she prepared the dosage. She helped Maximilian lie back down, pulling the silk blanket up to his chest as if trying to cover the reality that she was bound to this man. "Sleep now. I have to go to the office early tomorrow as you wished. I’ll prepare everything; your check-up with Dr. John is tomorrow."

Maximilian nodded and closed his eyes. Elara immediately switched off the lights, fleeing to the guest room next door with a racing heart. She didn't know which was more terrifying: her husband who wanted her, or her husband’s son who had promised to destroy her.

The Next Morning

The Vaughn Enterprises building towered over the city skyline—a monument of power now led by the man Elara considered a devil: Xavier.

Elara stepped inside feeling like a lamb led to the slaughter. She wore a tight pencil skirt and a formal white blouse—an outfit chosen by Xavier and sent to her room earlier that morning.

Xavier’s secretary immediately directed her to the top floor. As the heavy oak doors opened, Elara saw Xavier standing with his back to her, staring at the city view through the giant glass panes.

"You're two minutes late," Xavier’s low voice echoed. He turned around, his eyes scanning Elara’s appearance from head to toe. "That outfit looks even better on you than I imagined."

"What do you want, Xavier? I shouldn't be here. I should be taking care of your father," Elara hissed, trying to remain firm.

Xavier walked closer, every step intimidating. He stopped right in front of her, trapping her between his desk and his powerful frame. "I want you to do your job as a special personal assistant. My father agreed for you to help me; the old man truly worships you. He’s too foolish for believing in a materialistic woman like you."

"Enough, Xavier! Just tell me, what is my first task?" Elara asked, wanting to skip the pleasantries.

"Your first task is to organize the documents in the bottom drawer of my desk."

Elara hesitated, but she knelt down to open the drawer. At that moment, Xavier sat in his executive chair, right in front of Elara’s kneeling face.

"You know, Elara," Xavier leaned back, playing with a gold pen. "I had a dream last night. I dreamt you were cleaning my father’s body, and then you remembered what it felt like when my hands touched you. Do you miss it?"

"Stop it, Xavier!" Elara tried to stand up, but Xavier’s hand suddenly gripped her shoulder, pressing her back down into her kneeling position.

"Don't move," Xavier commanded. His voice was cold but thick with restrained passion. He leaned forward until their faces were only inches apart. "Did you think marrying that old man would set you free from me? No. At home, you’re his wife. But in this building, in this room... you are mine."

Xavier tilted Elara’s chin up, forcing her to look into his dark eyes. His other hand crept to her neck, his thumb stroking the pulse racing there.

"My father might buy you diamonds," Xavier whispered, his lips almost brushing Elara’s ear. "But he can't make you tremble like this. Tell me, Elara... did he touch you last night? Did he try to perform his duties as a husband?"

Elara closed her eyes, tears beginning to fall. "He is my husband. He has a right to my body!" she stated firmly.

He laughed cynically. "He’s a paralyzed man who bought a woman who doesn't love him!" Xavier snapped quietly, his breath coming fast. Suddenly, he pulled Elara up and pinned her against the desk, sending stacks of paper scattering to the floor.

Xavier pressed his body against hers, his hand sliding to her waist, pulling her so close that Elara could feel the wild, heavy thud of his heart. The atmosphere in the room turned white-hot, filled with a sexual tension that had been bottled up for five years.

"Let go of me, someone could walk in and misunderstand!" Elara pleaded, even as her own body began to betray her by reacting to his proximity.

"Let them in. Let them see the noble Mrs. Vaughn in the arms of her stepson," Xavier smirked wickedly. He leaned down, kissing her neck roughly, leaving a dark mark there.

Elara gasped, her hands subconsciously clutching Xavier’s shirt. Hatred and longing blurred into one, creating a suffocating storm of emotion.

Just as Xavier was about to kiss her lips, the desk phone rang loudly.

Xavier stopped, his breath heavy against the crook of Elara’s neck. He answered the phone without letting her go.

"Yes?" Xavier’s voice was raspy.

Xavier’s face suddenly turned ice-cold as he heard the voice on the other end. He looked at Elara with an unreadable expression.

"Father?" Xavier paused. "Yes, Elara is with me. What is it?"

Xavier’s eyes widened slightly, then he curled his lips into a smirk that made Elara’s skin crawl.

"You want Elara to come home now because you feel progress in your legs?" Xavier laughed lowly—a sound that was incredibly dangerous. "Of course, Father. I’ll send her home right away."

Xavier hung up the phone and looked at Elara, who was already trembling with fear.

"My father says he feels he can move his legs a little," Xavier whispered while straightening Elara’s messy collar. "He wants you to celebrate with him tonight. But before you go..."

Xavier reached into his desk drawer and pulled out an elegant black choker, one that looked like a luxury dog collar.

"Wear this. It has a tracker inside. If you try to take it off or don't answer my call when you’re with Father..." Xavier stroked the red mark on Elara’s neck, now hidden by the choker. "...your father will be sent home in a body bag."

To be continued...