The devil’s door

The first time Elena Devereaux wished her father dead, she was twelve years old.

She remembered every detail of that night.

The shattered wine glass.

Her mother’s trembling hands.

The expensive smile Vincent Devereaux wore in public, disappearing the moment the front door closed behind him.

To the rest of the world, Vincent was a legend.

A billionaire. A philanthropist. A respected businessman whose name appeared on hospital buildings, scholarship foundations, and charity galas. Newspapers called him the nation’s golden son. Television hosts praised his generosity. Politicians fought for invitations to his dinner table.

Only those who lived under his roof knew the truth.

Monsters didn’t always grow fangs.

Sometimes they wore tailored suits.

Sometimes they smiled for cameras.

Sometimes they called themselves “Father.”

Twelve years later, Elena no longer wished for his death.

Death was too merciful.

She wanted him to lose everything he had spent decades building.

His wealth.

His reputation.

His empire.

Only then would she bury the man who had destroyed every person he had ever claimed to love.

Rain lashed against the windshield as she slowed her car before a pair of towering black iron gates.

A single name was engraved into the stone pillar beside them.

DE LUCA ESTATE.

Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

There was still time to turn back.

If she drove away now, no one would know she had come.

No one except herself.

She closed her eyes for a brief moment.

Her mother’s tear-filled face flashed across her mind.

“Run, Elena… before he destroys you too.”

She never got the chance.

Her mother died three weeks later.

The official report called it an accident.

Elena had stopped believing in accidents a long time ago.

She pressed the accelerator.

The gates opened without a sound.

As if someone had been expecting her.

A cold shiver crawled down her spine.

The driveway stretched endlessly through perfectly trimmed hedges and ancient oak trees before revealing a mansion that looked less like a home and more like a kingdom built in darkness.

The De Luca estate wasn’t extravagant.

It was intimidating.

Every stone seemed chosen to remind visitors they were entering a place where power lived.

Rows of black luxury cars rested beneath the rain.

Men in dark suits stood at every entrance.

Not one of them looked surprised to see an unfamiliar vehicle.

Not one of them smiled.

She parked beneath the enormous staircase leading to the front doors.

The rain drenched her the second she stepped outside.

She wore a simple black dress.

No jewelry.

No designer handbag.

No trace of the billionaire’s daughter the tabloids adored.

Tonight, she wasn’t Vincent Devereaux’s daughter.

She was his enemy.

A tall guard stepped in front of the entrance before she reached the first stair.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

His voice was calm, but his hand remained close to the pistol beneath his jacket.

“I need to see Damien De Luca.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No.”

“Then leave.”

“I can’t.”

“You don’t understand.”

“I understand perfectly.”

His eyes swept over her soaked figure.

“People don’t come here without permission.”

“I’m not people.”

One of his eyebrows lifted.

“I’m Elena Devereaux.”

For the first time, the guard’s expression changed.

Only slightly.

But she noticed.

He knew exactly who she was.

Interesting.

“So you’ve heard of me,” she said quietly.

“We hear many things.”

“Then you’ve heard enough to know why I’m here.”

The guard stared at her for several long seconds before speaking into the microphone clipped to his collar.

“I have a visitor.”

A pause.

Then another.

He listened without saying a word.

Finally, he looked back at Elena.

“Wait.”

Nothing more.

Just wait.

Minutes passed.

The rain continued to pour, soaking her hair until dark strands clung to her face.

She refused to move.

If this was a test of patience, she intended to win it.

The mansion doors finally opened.

An elderly man dressed in an immaculate black suit descended the stairs with measured elegance.

Unlike the guards, he carried no weapon.

He didn’t need one.

Power radiated from him differently.

He stopped before Elena.

“Miss Devereaux.”

“You know my name.”

“Of course.”

His polite smile revealed nothing.

“My name is Aldo. I serve Mr. De Luca.”

“I’d like to see him.”

“I’m aware.”

His answer made her stomach tighten.

“You’ve been expecting me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you weren’t surprised.”

Aldo’s smile widened ever so slightly.

“Mr. De Luca is rarely surprised.”

He stepped aside.

“This way.”

Elena followed him into the mansion.

Warmth wrapped around her instantly, but it did nothing to calm the storm inside her.

The entrance hall was breathtaking.

Marble floors reflected the glow of crystal chandeliers.

Paintings worth millions lined the walls.

A grand staircase curved toward the upper floors.

Yet despite its beauty…

The mansion felt empty.

Silent.

Every footstep echoed.

Every breath sounded too loud.

It didn’t feel like a home.

It felt like the heart of an empire where every decision carried the weight of life and death.

Aldo led her through endless corridors until they stopped before two enormous walnut doors.

He turned to face her.

“Before you enter…”

She looked at him.

“…understand that once you speak to Mr. De Luca, your life may never return to what it was.”

Elena gave a faint, humorless smile.

“My life ended years ago.”

Aldo studied her for a moment.

Then he opened the doors.

“Mr. De Luca will see you now.”

The office was nothing like Elena had imagined.

No gold ornaments or expensive decorations were screaming for attention. The room was spacious, elegant, and strangely simple. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined one wall, each filled with leather-bound books. A fire crackled quietly in the fireplace, casting dancing shadows across the polished wooden floor.

Behind a large mahogany desk sat a man dressed in a black suit.

He didn’t look up immediately.

Instead, he finished signing the document before him, placed his fountain pen on the desk, and calmly closed the file.

Only then did he raise his eyes.

For a brief second…

Neither of them spoke.

Elena had expected someone older.

Someone louder.

Someone who looked like the monster the newspapers whispered about.

Instead, Damien De Luca looked… composed.

His dark hair was neatly combed back, his sharp jaw clean-shaven, and his expression unreadable. His face was undeniably handsome, but something was unsettling about the calmness in his eyes.

They were the eyes of a man who had seen blood and no longer feared it.

The silence stretched between them.

“You’ve been staring at me for twelve seconds,” Damien finally said.

His voice was low and smooth.

“I expected longer.”

Heat rushed to Elena’s cheeks.

“I was trying to decide whether the rumors exaggerated.”

“And?”

“They didn’t.”

One corner of his lips lifted.

“Good.”

He gestured toward the chair opposite him.

“Sit.”

She remained standing.

“I’d rather stand.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

The room suddenly felt colder.

After a moment’s hesitation, Elena sat down.

Damien folded his hands on the desk.

“So…”

“The daughter of Vincent Devereaux walks into my home uninvited.”

“I assume this isn’t a social visit.”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so.”

His gaze never left hers.

“You’ve spent the last six months trying to find me.”

Elena froze.

Her heartbeat skipped.

“I know because every person you questioned reported back to me.”

Her mouth went dry.

“You’ve been watching me?”

“I watch everyone who interests me.”

“And I interest you?”

“You do now.”

His answer carried no emotion.

Just fact.

He leaned back in his chair.

“Tell me why you’re here.”

Elena inhaled deeply.

She had rehearsed this conversation a hundred times.

Yet now that she was sitting before the most feared man in the country…

Every carefully prepared sentence disappeared.

She reached into her handbag.

Damien’s eyes followed the movement.

His guards outside would probably storm the room if she pulled out a weapon.

Instead…

She placed a small velvet box on the desk.

Damien glanced at it but didn’t touch it.

“Open it,” she said.

“You brought it.”

“You should be the one to open it.”

A flicker of curiosity crossed his face.

He lifted the lid.

Inside rested an antique diamond engagement ring.

The firelight reflected brilliantly against the stone.

Damien stared at it for several seconds.

Then he looked back at Elena.

“You came here…”

“…to propose?”

“Yes.”

Silence.

Not awkward.

Not uncomfortable.

Simply silent.

The kind of silence that made people reveal more than they intended.

Finally, Damien spoke.

“This is certainly the most unusual business proposal I’ve received this year.”

“It’s not business.”

“No?”

“No.”

“What is it?”

Elena straightened her shoulders.

“It’s revenge.”

For the first time since she’d entered the room…

She saw genuine interest in his eyes.

He slowly closed the ring box.

“Go on.”

“My father cannot be destroyed by ordinary people.”

“I know.”

“He owns judges.”

“I know.”

“He owns politicians.”

“I know.”

“He owns newspapers.”

“I know.”

Every answer came without hesitation.

It was as though Damien had spent years studying Vincent Devereaux.

She swallowed.

“I want to take everything from him.”

His expression remained unreadable.

“Wealth.”

“Power.”

“Influence.”

“His name.”

“I want him to watch his empire collapse before he dies.”

Damien remained silent.

She leaned forward.

“I can’t do it alone.”

“So you came to me.”

“Yes.”

“And why would I help you?”

“Because everyone says there’s only one man my father has never been able to control.”

She held his gaze.

“They call him the Devil.”

The faintest smile appeared on Damien’s face.

“I’ve never liked that nickname.”

“But you never denied it.”

“No.”

He stood and walked toward the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the rain-soaked estate.

His hands rested casually in his pockets.

“You know what people also say about me?”

“They say you never lose.”

“They also say I never forgive.”

His reflection stared back at her through the glass.

“And they’re both true.”

He turned around.

“So tell me something, Miss Devereaux.”

“Why marriage?”

“Why not simply ask for my help?”

Elena didn’t hesitate.

“Because alliances break.”

“Contracts expire.”

“Money changes loyalties.”

“But marriage…”

She paused.

“…ties our lives together.”

“If I’m asking you to start a war with the most powerful man in this country, I need to prove I’m willing to risk everything too.”

Damien watched her in complete silence.

His expression gave nothing away.

After what felt like forever, he walked back to the desk.

He picked up the ring box once more.

Then, very carefully, he closed it.

“You’ve made an interesting offer.”

Elena’s heart pounded.

“But before I answer…”

His voice dropped almost to a whisper.

“I have one question.”

She nodded.

“What makes you believe I don’t already have my own reasons for wanting Vincent Devereaux destroyed?”

Her breath caught.

Before she could respond, Damien stepped closer.

Much closer.

Close enough for her to notice the faint scar near his temple.

Close enough to realize he wasn’t smiling anymore.

“I’ve known who you are for a very long time, Elena.”

Her blood ran cold.

“You’ve… known me?”

“I knew the day you started looking for me.”

He held her stunned gaze.

“And I knew this day would come.”

He gently placed the engagement ring back into her hand.

“I just didn’t expect you to arrive carrying a proposal.”

Elena could barely find her voice.

“Then…”

“You knew I would come?”

Damien’s eyes darkened.

“No.”

“I knew your father would eventually leave you with no other choice.”

He walked back behind his desk.

“I’ll give you my answer tomorrow.”

“Until then…”

He pressed a button on his desk.

The office doors opened instantly.

“You’ll be staying here.”

Elena’s eyes widened.

“I didn’t agree to that.”

Damien’s gaze locked onto hers.

“You came asking the Devil for a favor.”

His lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile.

“You don’t get to make the rules anymore.”