Married to the Devil

Natasha’s POV The music was too loud. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. The pounding bass pulsing through the nightclub drowned my thoughts. On the other hand, the flashing lights and the bodies pressed against each other on the dance floor made everything unbearable. I lifted my glass and took another sip of the whiskey I didn’t even like. At least it made me feel something. Everyone looked expensive, except me. I’d thrown on a red slip dress—the one that ended mid-thigh with a bare, revealing back. It clung to my curves like a second skin—careless and unplanned, paired with silver heels. My hair was pulled into a loose, messy bun, strands falling around my face. “Natasha, take it easy,” my friend Ananya shouted over the music, leaning closer so I could hear. She had practically dragged me out here to clear my head. I almost laughed at the words. Take it easy? Nothing has been easy since my boyfriend, Lucas, died. It had been two months since I

Natasha’s POV “Hell fucking no! You can’t be serious,” I said. “You really expect me to marry Tristan Castillo? The same Tristan who was rumored to have killed his own parents?” I laughed after I said that, because the whole thing sounded like a bad joke. My father didn’t react immediately. He just looked at me across the table, waiting for me to calm down. “Besides, why would he want me? Tristan Castillo could marry anyone he wants. So why me?” I asked the only question that mattered. My father sighed and leaned back into his chair, looking older than I’d ever seen him. “Because men like Tristan Castillo don’t just do things for no reason,” he said. “If he wants something, he has already thought it through.” I rubbed my palm against my face. “That didn’t answer my question.” “I don’t know, Natasha. He asked for you specifically,” he said, already frustrated. That made me frown. “Me? What could he possibly want from me?” “You tell me, Natasha. What does he want from you?

Tristan’s POV By the time I stepped into the house, the urgency from the call had already faded. My sister, Patricia, was waiting at the foyer. “She’s been asking for you,” she said. “Her blood pressure spiked earlier, and we tried to calm her down, but she just wouldn’t budge.” I didn’t respond. I walked past her, taking the stairs two at a time. I stood right in front of Abuela's door, taking a deep breath before I pushed it open. She sat upright, looking less fragile than I had imagined. The moment her eyes landed on me, her expression changed. “Tristan, there you are,” she muttered, as if she hadn’t just caused a scene. “Come on in.” I exhaled softly, stepping closer. “Patricia said something was wrong.” “Yes. You weren’t home,” she replied. “You scared everyone.” “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” She said, tapping the space next to her, gesturing for me to sit. “But I am fine.” I said as I reached for the glass of water beside her. I sat beside her an

Tristan’s POVI stared at my phone before dialing the number.It rang repeatedly, then straight to voicemail.I dialed again. It rang once. Twice.“Hello?” Her voice came through, sleepy.A faint smile touched my lips.“Natasha.”“Who is—“There was a pause on the other end. “Tristan.” she said. I could hear the irritation creeping into her voice. “How the hell did you get this number?”Of course that would be the first thing she asked. “I told you,” I replied smoothly, leaning back in my chair. “I have my ways.”I could almost picture the annoyance on her face. “Yeah, sure, Castillo. What is it that you want this early?” she asked.“We need to meet.”“For what exactly?”“To talk,” I replied matter-of-factly. “About your father’s company.”Silence followed. “You should be having that conversation with him. Not me.” she said finally. My gaze darkened slightly.“That would be the logical approach if this were just business.”“And it isn’t?”“You know it’s not,” I said.She let out

Natasha’s POV. I had not planned to go jogging this morning. But sleep had come in fragments. My mind was restless and unsettled. By the time the sun began to rise, I threw on a sports bra and tight shorts, with a pair of sneakers. The air outside was cool. I adjusted the earbuds in my ears, letting the music fill the silence as I began to jog. I’d say Ananya does have an amazing playlist. She had sent me her Indian playlist when I was grieving Lucas. I never really listened to them because it was hard to understand what they were saying and I didn’t really like them—I never wanted to upset Ananya or her culture. My pace was steady, my breathing controlled. Each step grounded me, pulling me away from the thoughts I didn’t want to revisit. After a while, I slowed down, coming to a stop by the side of the road. I bent slightly, stretching my legs, rolling my shoulders before straightening again. My gaze lifted briefly, scanning my surroundings without much thought. Everyth