Sold To The Devil

Chapter One: Sold To The Devil

The invitation wasn’t meant for me. It was addressed to the woman who quit two hours before the event a pale-pink envelope slipped behind the register of The Vesper Room, thick with the smell of expensive perfume and danger. I shouldn’t have opened it. I definitely shouldn’t have put on her mask.

But the rent was overdue. And I was tired of telling myself no.

"You’re late," said a woman in all black, a Bluetooth in her ear, clipboard in hand, like the devil’s personal assistant. She didn’t even glance at my ID. The mask was enough.

The elevator hummed as it ascended, smooth and soundless. My heart wasn’t. Every floor we passed felt like a step deeper into something I couldn’t name. By the time the doors opened on the penthouse level, I could taste my heartbeat in the back of my throat.

It wasn’t a party. It was a performance.

Men and women in black-tie couture and gold-thread masks wandered the candlelit room, their laughter low, lips glossy with wine and whispered promises. No music, just the soft clink of crystal and the hush of anticipation. Every eye followed movement like prey measured, deliberate, expectant.

I was no longer in The Vesper Room.

I was in a world that had teeth.

"Lot 17," someone murmured.

I turned. A spotlight blinked on above me.

"Wait what?" I started to step back, but a hand touched my shoulder.

"Just stand still," the assistant whispered, almost kindly. "And smile."

I was on a raised glass platform now. I hadn’t even realized I’d been led to it.

"Lot 17," said a voice over a speaker, rich and amused. "A surprise addition. Untrained. Untouched."

Laughter. Louder this time.

My skin crawled.

"Let’s open the bidding at ten thousand."

Ten thousand? For what?

"Twelve," said a man near the front.

"Fifteen," a woman in white murmured.

"Twenty."

The numbers climbed, and with each one, my blood dropped lower in my body. This wasn’t drinks service. This was an auction. For me.

I was the product.

"Fifty thousand," came a voice. Cold. Controlled. Final.

Silence swallowed the room.

I looked toward the voice and I saw him.

He wasn't wearing a mask. He didn’t need one.

Tall. Suit pressed with ruthless precision. Dark hair slicked back, a day's stubble like he couldn’t be bothered. A glass of something red in one hand. And eyes that pinned me in place like a knife through silk.

He didn’t blink. He didn’t smirk. He didn’t move.

"Sold," the announcer said, far too pleased with himself.

A bell chimed. The spotlight snapped off.

I stumbled down, breath catching.

The silence after the gavel dropped was deafening.

I didn’t breathe. No one moved. The spotlight above me held steady like the sun refusing to set.

"Sold," the auctioneer repeated, almost reverent. "Lot 17 belongs to Mr. Devlin."

A shift in the air, one that didn’t come from the guests. It came from him.

Lucien Devlin stepped forward without a mask. His presence rippled through the room, commanding every glance, even from those too powerful to be easily impressed. Dressed in black on black, no tie, his collar open just enough to hint at the kind of body that made men jealous and women ruin their marriages. He didn’t look at me the way the others had. There was no leering, no hunger.

Just a calm, calculated possession. As if he hadn’t bought me. As if he’d always owned me.

He didn’t offer a hand. Didn’t speak.

He just turned and walked away.

A man in a tailored suit with a white earpiece touched my arm. "Follow him."

He looked at me like I was cute. "You wore the mask. That was your yes."

I should have left right then. I should’ve screamed or run or laughed and called this all a misunderstanding. But my body moved. My legs betrayed me. And the mask? Still on.

‎His car was black. Sleek. The driver opened the door without a word. I didn’t ask where we were going. I should have. But I was shaking. And he hadn’t stopped watching me.

‎

‎Once inside, I tried to find my voice. "Who are you?"

‎

‎He didn’t look away from the city lights passing by. "Someone who doesn’t believe in accidents."

‎

‎"I’m not whatever you think this is. I didn’t know. I was just"

‎"Desperate?"

‎That shut me up.

‎

‎He finally looked at me. "You could’ve said no. You didn’t."

‎

‎"I didn’t know I was being sold."

‎"You knew you were walking into something dangerous. You chose to stay."

‎

‎There was something razor-sharp behind his voice. Not cruelty. Not a threat. Just... clarity. Like he was holding up a mirror.

‎"Are you going to hurt me?"

He didn't reply

‎His home wasn’t a home. It was an estate carved out of stone and shadow. Floor-to-ceiling glass, open space, dark wood, cold marble. Not a family photo in sight. Just silence and scent cedarwood, whiskey, and heat.

The hallway was quieter than the ballroom. Padded floors. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors. My reflection stared back at me shaking hands, bare shoulders, eyes wide behind cheap lace. I looked like a ghost trying to be a goddess.

He walked ahead, not checking to see if I followed.

Until we reached a door at the end of the corridor. Dark wood. No handle.

He placed his palm flat against the panel. A click. Then it opened.

Inside, the world changed.

Warm light. Velvet walls. A faint scent of sandalwood and sin. The room wasn’t a bedroom, not really. It was a stage. A throne sat in the center, black leather and gold studs. Chains hung like jewelry from the walls. The air shimmered with unspoken rules.

Lucien turned, finally facing me.

"Take off the mask."

His voice wasn’t deep in the traditional sense. It was quiet, controlled, and yet something about it felt like it had been honed to command obedience.

I hesitated.

He stepped forward.

"If I have to take it off you, the rules change."

My breath hitched. My fingers reached up and slid the mask off.

His eyes didn’t widen. He didn’t flinch. But something shifted. The corners of his mouth moved just enough that I couldn’t tell if it was a smirk or something darker.

"You’re not who they sent."

I swallowed. "No."

"You stole the invitation."

"Borrowed."

He stepped closer. "You didn’t expect to be bought."

"No."

His hand lifted, slow and deliberate. Two fingers under my chin, tilting my face up.

"And yet, here you are."

My heart was a drumline in my chest. I was sure he could hear it.

"Who are you, really?"

"Serena," I said. My voice cracked halfway through. "Serena Vale."

He nodded, then walked past me to a cabinet built into the wall. Opened it. Pulled out a file.

"You’re not listed. No photo. No file. No training."

I stepped back. "Then let me go."

He turned around with a look that could set fire to stone. "Let you go?"

He stalked toward me.

"You crashed my auction, wore a mask that didn’t belong to you, and let yourself be sold like a toy. And now you want out?"

I didn’t answer. There was nothing to say.

He stopped inches from me. His breath was warm. His eyes locked on mine.

"You intrigue me. That rarely happens."

His hand slid into my hair, slow but firm.

"Which means you’re not leaving tonight."

My knees buckled. Not because I was afraid because I wasn’t sure what scared me more. Him? Or how much I didn’t want to leave.

"You belong to me for twenty-four hours. That’s the contract."

"But I didn’t"

"Doesn’t matter."

His fingers traced my jaw, down my neck, stopping at my collarbone.

"Tell me to stop. Say the word and I’ll walk out and you’ll never see me again."

I opened my mouth. But nothing came out.

He waited.

And I didn’t say no.

His lips brushed my ear. "Good girl."

A moan caught in my throat before it could escape. My skin lit up like it was starving for touch. He hadn’t even kissed me.

He led me to the throne. Sat down. Spread his legs.

"Kneel."

I dropped before I could think.

His hand curled in my hair again, not cruel, just enough pressure to remind me who was in control.

He tilted my chin. "This isn’t about sex. Not yet. This is about obedience."

His thumb dragged across my lower lip.

"You want to survive the next twenty-four hours, you listen. You learn. You obey. Understood?"

I nodded.

"Say it."

"Yes, sir."

He smiled then. Dark, pleased, like a wolf who’s finally caught the rabbit that ran too close to the woods.

"Good. Then let’s begin."

He taught me how to kneel correctly.

Where to place my hands. How to keep my spine straight. The difference between submission and weakness.

The room had cameras, but no audience. This was private. Intimate. Not a show, but a transformation.

He stripped me of my defenses, not my clothes. Not yet. He asked questions. Pushed buttons.

"When’s the last time you let someone take care of you?"

"Never."

"Why?"

"Because people hurt me."

"And yet, here you are."

He kept saying that. As if I didn’t belong anywhere but under his gaze, in his world.

Hours passed like seconds. Each command a test. Each moment a line I crossed without thinking. He didn’t lay a hand on me with cruelty. He didn’t humiliate. He dominated.

And I let him.

Worse I needed it.

He fed me, wine and fruit and silence. Told me when to speak, when to stay still. He never touched more than my face or hair. And it was still the most erotic thing I’d ever experienced.

Until he stood.

"Bed. Now."

He pointed to the low, velvet-draped platform in the corner.

My breath caught.

"Yes, sir."

And I walked across the room, knowing the moment I lay down, I would never be the same again.

“Undress he said”.

Like a meek sheep led to the slaughter I obeyed amazed at my reaction.

Undressing in front of him, exposing her breasts to him. He stared at me bare chest. ogling, my round breasts pointing at him, longing for his touch, his kiss. I stood in front of him, estark naked, I wasn't shy, I didn't even know why.

He smirked at me, staring hungrily like he wanted to devour me without mercy.

The touch of his fingers burnt my skin, causing unknown goosebumps. I closed my eyes as his fingers moved slowly across my face, tracing my lips then continued down to my neck.

I was surprised at how fast my body reacted to his touch, like it was meant to dance to the rhythm of his fingers, my body grew hot under his touch with my muscles slowly relaxed, the finger movement stopped, opening my eyes I found him staring at me with admiration.

I had always known that I was beautiful,but never felt more desirable than at this moment. The way he ogled at me made my body flush.

He slightly push me to the bed,our eyes fixed at each other, I gaze as he takes off his shirt, tossing it on the sofa.

He kissed the path down my chest and stomach, I could feel the heat of his lips, making my body ache for his.

My nerve endings tingled with pleasure as I writhe on the bed.

His hands slipped into my thighs and I cry out a half sob of pleasure as he touched me.

I could feel his touch, alll I knew was the heat that moved through me, the need, the want and desire burning in me like a blaze.

And I was speechless…nearly mindless.

He slid his hands over one hip and another on the other hip over my smooth skin, spreading my legs as he slid down between my thighs.

I twitched.

My back ached, as his lips sensually played with my sensitive skin. His gorgeous face between my already spread legs, lips kinked to the side in a knowing smile.

He started sucking in between my folds, I was loving it engrossed in the fact that a stranger was giving me the best orgasm I had ever had, and he was too.

My eyes filled with admiration from his deep sparkling eyes to his strong jaw and chiseled biceps.

I grasped at the blanket beneath me, as his thrusts intensified, a desperate attempt to anchor myself as another wave of esctasy breaks.

His hands intertwined with mine, holding me steady. Don't…. Stop… I moaned softly under my breath.

By the time dawn crept through the blackout windows, I was bruised but not broken. My throat was raw from moans I hadn’t meant to make. My skin glowed like it had been licked by fire.