Crowned In Chains

Chapter 4: Crowned In Chains

The bathroom tiles were cold beneath my skin, but I didn't move. Not yet. My thighs still ached, my pride throbbed harder. The air smelled of expensive cologne, steam, and sin. I stared at nothing, at everything. At the ceiling that didn’t have answers.

I didn’t cry again. I wouldn’t give him that.

A soft knock at the door broke through the silence.

"Miss Cole," Mona’s voice carried through the wood, clipped and emotionless. "Breakfast is ready."

I swallowed, then rasped, "I'm not ready."

A pause. Then her voice, a little lower. "If I were you, I wouldn’t ignore Mr. Devlin’s summons again."

The click of her heels faded, leaving me alone again.

I pulled myself up, every muscle protesting, and stepped into the glass-walled shower. The water was warm, but it stung. My skin was marked, my neck tender where his mouth had been. I ran my fingers over the bruises on my hips and hated the way a shiver ran through me.

I dressed in silence. The closet was already stocked with new clothes. Designer everything. A dress had been laid out—cream silk, soft as breath. I didn’t want to wear it. I wore it anyway.

Lucian was already at the dining table when I entered the massive room. He didn’t look up. He cut into his food like nothing happened. Like he hadn’t bent me over a sink and broken something I didn’t know could break.

"Sit," he said.

I did.

The silence was unbearable.

He took a sip of his coffee and finally looked at me. "We leave in thirty minutes. Be ready."

"Leave for what?"

He wiped his mouth with a linen napkin. "You’ll be introduced today. Mrs. Devlin makes her debut."

My fork froze halfway to my mouth. "What?"

He stood. "Thirty minutes."

And he walked out.

Mona entered as the door shut. Her face was unreadable, but her gaze lingered on me longer than usual. She placed a small glass of something beside my plate.

"Painkiller," she said.

I stared at it.

She softened, just barely. "It helps."

I swallowed it dry.

---

The ride was silent. The car smelled like leather and control.

Lucian stared out the window, his jaw sharp, eyes distant. I couldn’t read him. I didn’t try.

When we pulled up, I realized quickly this wasn’t just any event.

A private suite towered above the city skyline, sleek and glittering. Cameramen lingered at the base. Security buzzed in earpieces. Inside, the suite pulsed with power. Wealth shimmered on every surface.

Lucian adjusted his cufflinks and looked at me. "Smile when I say. Wave when I signal. Speak only if spoken to."

"And if I don’t?"

His mouth twitched. "You won’t make that mistake."

I hated the way my stomach flipped.

Inside, the world slowed.

Top billionaires. Influencers. Political elites. Everyone was polished and watching.

"Who is she?" someone whispered. "Since when does Lucian Devlin bring dates?"

He placed a possessive hand at the small of my back as we walked to the center. A microphone was handed to him. He refused it with a look. He didn’t need a mic to command a room.

"Mrs. Serena Devlin," he said. "My wife."

Gasps, barely hidden.

I tried to smile. I waved.

Then I saw him.

Across the room. Leaning near the bar. Laughing with someone, glass in hand.

Emerald green eyes.

My world tilted.

No.

It couldn’t be.

But when he turned—those eyes locked on mine, and everything inside me screamed.

Marcus.

Marcus Diego.

I stumbled. My heel caught. The breath left my lungs. My knees buckled, and I would’ve hit the floor if Lucian hadn’t caught me.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t react.

He simply steadied me, placed a hand on my lower back again, and guided me out with the same cold grace he entered with.

The car was waiting.

Kael helped me in.

Lucian didn’t speak until we reached the mansion.

He opened the door, got out, then turned to me.

"Mona will tell you everything you need to start behaving like Mrs. Devlin."

And then he left. No explanation. No questions.

As the car disappeared, I sat there, frozen.

He saw the way I fell. The way I looked at Marcus.

And yet he said nothing.

---

Lucian walked into his private study and shut the door behind him.

Kael stood at attention.

Lucian didn’t sit. He removed his watch, his jacket, then loosened his tie. His fingers trembled for just a second.

"I want a full list of every guest who attended today," he said. "Start with the man with green eyes."

Kael nodded. "Yes, sir."

Lucian stared at the city skyline through the window.

His reflection was sharp. Unforgiving.

And for the first time in years, he felt the edge of something unfamiliar.

Not jealousy.

Not yet.

But something that burned just as hot.

—

That night, after I had changed into something soft and thrown off the heels that felt like shackles, Mona appeared again.

This time, she held no painkillers.

Just a glass of red wine and a black envelope, thicker than the last one. Inscribed with the silver D.

She handed it to me. I took it with stiff fingers.

"What’s this?"

"Your extended rulebook," she said calmly. "Fifty rules to follow as Mrs. Devlin."

My mouth went dry.

I sat down and opened the envelope.

The paper smelled like ink and money.

Each rule was written in the same precise handwriting. But these weren’t just about where to sit, what to wear. These were invasive.

> Rule 3: You must attend every business function Lucian deems necessary, with no objections.

> Rule 11: You will not initiate contact with any male guest unless permitted.

> Rule 19: Your wardrobe will be curated weekly. Any personal alterations must be pre-approved.

> Rule 31: You must always wear your ring.

> Rule 44: You will not cry in front of Lucian unless granted permission.

> Rule 50: Any breach of rules may result in severe disciplinary action. Physical, psychological, or otherwise.

I stared at the last line until it blurred.

I couldn’t breathe.

There were already 27 rules. Now fifty more? This wasn’t a contract. It was a cage. A sentence.

I was a prisoner dressed in silk.

"He can’t do this," I whispered.

Mona sat across from me, folding her hands neatly in her lap. "He already has."

"Why?"

She exhaled, slow. "Master isn’t a bad person,Mrs Serena. He hasn’t always been like this."

I looked up sharply. "What do you mean?"

Her eyes held something old and tired. "He’s just... protecting his possession."

"Possession?" I echoed.

Mona smiled faintly. "I’ve said too much."

I wanted to scream. But I was too tired.

Too full of questions that tasted like old wounds.

That night, I lay in bed wide awake, the rules spread out on the nightstand like a script to a life that wasn’t mine.

And Marcus’s eyes haunted me more than the rules ever could.

I didn’t know who the real devil was anymore.

But I knew I was already burning.

I whispered before I closed my eyes, "What the hell are you doing here, Marcus?"

And why now?