Sinfully His: Craving The Devil's Son

Clara's POVDear Diary,His words burned my ear to prove it. And before I could think, things already spiraled right out of my control.I told myself to fight, to push him off this was wrong. But it was also the only thing that’s felt real since the day I said “I do.”I forgot everything in that lustful moment: my husband, my vows, my duties. The only thing on my mind was Nikolai.He smirked, his mouth inches from mine. “Then prove it.”My pulse jumped. “Nikolai this isn't—”He pressed closer, his body pinning me to the glass wall. His dark, sharp, familiar scent wrapped around me, drowning everything else out.“Don't lie to me. You've thought about it, haven't you? Him upstairs, clueless. You down here, wet and needy you used to love this.”“I haven't,” I whispered in denial but my voice shook.“Then stop trembling… it's giving you away.”And then, his mouth crashed against mine. Hard, ruthless. I pushed at his chest, weakly at first, but his hand soon gripped my wrist, and pinned it

Clara’s POV“Victor… what are you doing?”He stepped inside the room and I could see confusion clearly written on his forehead. Behind me, I heard faint movement Nikolai's shoes brushing against the rug before silence swallowed it up.By the time Victor's gaze traveled around the room, Nikolai was gone but he didn't notice the bathroom door click softly. Only I knew Nikolai had slipped out through the private balcony probably the same way he came in.“I heard voices,” Victor said slowly, eyes narrowing just a little.My brows fluttered nervously as I tried to look for a convincing lie but. “Were you on the phone?”I forced a shaky laugh. “Oh… yes. I was on the phone with Mrs. Claire—” I said smoothly, trying to hide the tremble in my voice.“The one you introduced me to?” He nodded in remembrance “Yes, she wanted to confirm the catering list for next week's gala.”“I see…” He nodded as he stepped closer, his eyes softened when he saw my flushed cheeks. “You're trembling, sweetheart.

Clara's POVThe three knocks hit the wood like a gavel. My heart was not just racing; it was trying to punch its way out of my ribs.I was paralyzed on the edge of the bed, staring at the handle. I expected Nikolai to just walk in like he owned the air I breathed, but the door stayed shut.My hand shook so hard I could barely grip the brass. When I finally pulled it open, the hallway was empty.Well, almost empty.A maid stood there, head bowed, holding a vase of roses. Not just any roses.They were a deep, earthy chestnut. My favorite.The exact ones Nikolai used to buy me when we had nothing but a cramped apartment and a dream of a life that did not involve this nightmare.The maid handed them over without a word and disappeared into the shadows of the mansion. There was no note.He did not need a note. The scent alone was a scream from the past.Are you kidding me right now? This was sick.He was not just stalking me; he was weaponizing my own nostalgia. He was taking the only good

Clara's POVThe black SUV pulled up the circular driveway, and my stomach performed a slow, agonizing flip. My parents stepped out, looking so small against the backdrop of the Draven estate.My mother looked even more slender than the last time I had seen her, her kind face was etched with that perpetual anxiety I had come to recognize as a scar from Victor’s "mercy". My father had that tired look in his eyes, his grey-streaked beard a reminder of the bankruptcy that nearly had destroyed him.I rushed toward them, desperate for a second of genuine connection. I needed to tell my mother to be careful, to watch what she said, but I couldn't even get two feet away from Victor.He was right there, his commanding presence acted like a physical barrier. He wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me into his side as he greeted them like the perfect son-in-law."Welcome, welcome," Victor said, his voice smooth and rich. "It had been too long since we had had a family under this roof."He men

POV: ClaraThe dress was a scream. That was the only way to describe the shade of red Victor had picked out for the Quinn-Novarion gala. It wasn't elegant; it was the color of an open wound. As the stylist tucked the silk around my waist, I felt less like a guest of honor and more like a target painted for a firing squad.My mother stood in the corner of the dressing room, her hands wringing a lace handkerchief. She looked like a ghost in a designer gown. When she reached out to help the stylist with the zipper, her sleeve slid back just an inch.I saw it. A fresh, purple-yellow bloom on her thin forearm. It was the shape of a thumb."Mom," I whispered, my voice cracking. "What is that?"She flinched, pulling the silk back down so fast she nearly tripped. Her eyes went wide, darting toward the closed door as if Victor could hear us through the heavy wood."It’s nothing, Clara. I just... I tripped in the guest suite," she said, her voice rising into a frantic, hysterical pitch."Don't