4

Azalea

I could hear the thundering footsteps behind me as they pursued me through the dimly lit corridors.

My lungs burned with each desperate breath, terror propelling me forward. I needed to escape.

The images of what they might do to me if they dragged me back flashed through my mind.

A spark of hope ignited in my chest.. Just a little more. Maybe I could save my skin. Just... just a bit further.

My hope shattered into a thousand pieces as someone grabbed my hair with brutal force, yanking me backward. Pain exploded across my scalp as a scream tore from my throat.

“Got you, bitch,” one of the guards spat, his fingers twisting deeper into my hair, sending jolts of agony down my spine.

“Let go of me!” I screamed, thrashing wildly against his grip, fighting with the desperate strength of someone with everything to lose.

“Ha.” Another guard approached, his face contorted with sick pleasure as he delivered a vicious slap that snapped my head sideways.

The sting of the slap spread like fire across my cheek, and involuntary tears welled in my eyes.

Before I could recover, a third guard drove his fist into my stomach. The pain hit instantly, overwhelming, making me crumple to my knees. A guttural scream escaped me, raw and unhinged. It hurt. God, it hurt like hell.

There were five of them now, surrounding me. Their faces blurred through the veil of tears as they overpowered me easily. My strength was nothing against them.

“I guess you don’t know who you hurt, bitch,” another guard snarled, his tone dripping with contempt. “How dare you hurt our young master?”

I curled into a tight ball on the cold floor, arms wrapped around my throbbing abdomen, as tears streamed unchecked down my face.

In that moment of blinding pain, my thoughts flew to my sister, Amira, fighting for her life in a hospital bed across town.

The image of her pale face, tubes snaking from her fragile body, sent a tremor of fear through me.

“Enough. Let’s take that bitch back. Only the young master has the right to decide her fate.”

I fought back, thrashing against their hold, scratching, clawing, desperate to be free.

“Please. I don’t want to die. I have a sister who is still waiting for me.”

The thought of Amira waking up to find I’d never return crushed me more.

“You should have thought of this before you messed with our young master.” The guard’s grip on my hair tightened viciously as he dragged me through the bar.

Everyone we passed averted their eyes, creating a path for us. Not a single person stepped forward. Not one voice raised in protest.

“Please, save me,” I pleaded to the faceless crowd, my voice hoarse and desperate.

“Shut up,” the guard growled, giving my hair another painful yank. “No one here dares to save you in exchange for their lives and loved ones.”

Was this truly the end? Should I just surrender and let them decide my fate when I’m the real owner of my life?

Then, like a twisted fairy tale, my eyes locked with a stranger’s across the room. His gaze was icy, devoid of warmth, his eyes cold and unforgiving, resembling chips of ice in a winter storm.

Everything about him screamed danger. His aura radiated evil, raw and undeniable. Yet... maybe... just maybe, he could be my salvation.

“Sir, please save me,” I screamed, abandoning all pride. “I don’t want to die. Not yet. Not now.”

I half expected him to ignore me, like the rest, to turn away from the mess of blood and suffering. But instead, he started walking toward us.

His men in impeccable black suits surrounded him, exuding an aura of power and precision. The crowd parted for him as if pushed by an invisible force. He stopped when he reached us, his presence commanding attention without a single word.

“Wait,” he commanded, his tone authoritative and cold. The guards froze in their tracks. “You ask me to save you?” His question held no compassion, only cold curiosity.

“Who the hell are you?” one of the guards demanded, foolishly challenging him.

The gunshot rang out, loud and final, splitting the air. The guard crumpled to the floor, a clean hole in his forehead. His eyes were wide with shock as he died. Blood pooled around his head.

Chaos erupted. People scrambled to escape. The guard holding my hair released me as if I’d burst into flames.

I hit the ground hard but forced myself upright, my legs shaking. I hissed in pain as my scalp burned, still raw from the brutal grip.

“You don’t get to speak while I’m still talking,” the stranger hissed to the dead man before turning his attention to me, casual as if he hadn’t just murdered someone in cold blood. “You asked me to save you.”

The guards had released me. I could run. Did I still need this dangerous man’s help when I was already free?

“Yes, sir. But you’ve done enough. Please… just leave,” I replied, forcing a grateful smile while stepping backward. Every instinct screamed at me to flee.

“Not so fast, piccola bambola (little doll),” he said. “My prey.”

My body trembled violently at his words, betraying me. His eyes studied me, his gaze sending shivers down my spine.

His presence was magnetic—powerful, dangerous. Crossing or refusing him was not an option I could afford.

My eyes roamed him now that I could see him more clearly. Perfection. He was the epitome of it. His face looked like it belonged on a Greek statue, his chiseled features almost sculpted by an artist’s hand.

His piercing eyes held a commanding intensity, compelling me to look at him, even though fear laced every thought.

Words failed to capture how devastatingly beautiful he was. He was stunningly beautiful in a dangerously captivating manner.

He wore a tailored black suit, the fabric hugging his broad shoulders and lean physique, radiating authority and elegance.

His hair was immaculately styled, not a strand out of place despite the violence he’d just committed. And his eyes—his eyes demanded attention, piercing right through me.

Without warning, he grabbed me by the waist, his other hand gripping my chin, forcing me to look up into his cold eyes.

“Mi hai supplicato di salvarti, e io l’ho fatto. (You begged me to save you, and I did),” he stated, as if completing a simple transaction.

Before I could form a response, he turned, maintaining his iron grip on me. “You can go,” he addressed the remaining guards with dismissive coldness. “Tell your young master she is my prey now.”

The guards shifted uncomfortably, exchanging nervous glances.

“I guess you don’t understand human words.”

“Sir, your name,” one of them asked.

“My name...” he trailed off, almost thoughtful. “You don’t get to know my name.”

The second gunshot was as unexpected as the first. Another guard dropped to the floor, dead before he hit the ground. The remaining guards flinched and scrambled away, tripping over themselves in their haste to escape.

Devil. The word echoed in my mind as I trembled, trapped in his grip. I had prayed for salvation, and it had come in the form of the devil himself.

Rescued from one hell only to be claimed by another.

“Now, let’s go. Shall we?”

“Where?” I snapped, my voice trembling. I couldn’t leave with him. I couldn’t let him take me.

“To my hell,” he responded simply. The words struck me silent. Hell? Wasn’t I already living in one? My life had been nothing but suffering since my parents died, leaving me to care for my sister alone.

“One more word from you, and you’ll turn into a corpse.”

I clamped my mouth shut, swallowing hard, the threat killing every word forming on my tongue. We had almost reached the exit when a voice called out behind us.

“Are you the one who killed my people?” The voice was familiar—it belonged to the young master I had kicked, the monster who had tried to force himself on me.

The stranger turned slowly, his arm still firmly around my waist. The young master’s face showed immediate shock and recognition, with the blood draining from his features.

“Adriano Rion Giordani,” he blurted out. “Sir.”

That name—”Rion”—tugged at my memory, stirring something familiar. But the fear clouding my mind prevented me from placing where I’d heard it before.

“I guess you know who I am,” Adriano scoffed, satisfaction evident in his tone. “So, are you still asking me why I killed your people?”

With a deep and respectful bow, the young master lowered his head until his eyes fixed on the floor. “I dare not, sir.”

“Good,” Adriano said, turning away dismissively. His grip on me tightened possessively as he spoke his next words. “Let’s go, little doll.”

As he led me out into the night, one thought settled deep within me: I had escaped one predator only to become the prey of something far more dangerous. The Devil.