Chapter 6

ELARA POV

The silence thickens until the air feels heavy enough to choke on. We just… stare at each other. His gaze drags over me, trailing heat in its wake as every second stretches tighter and crueler.

Icy blue eyes flicker with something that drops in my stomach, and spread like a hot, tingling sensation.

My breath seizes, every nerve tightening in anticipation as I await his answer. Though, deep down, I already know the answer. Why will he ever do my bidding? He’s the devil, he doesn’t follow rules and no one ever tells him what to do—

“Fine.”

His sharp, low growl startles me, and my lips part, shocked.

“Thirty days,” he continues, “You get your little countdown.”

His hand brushes my jaw, tilting my face up until his breath ghosts over my lips.

“But when the clock runs out…you’re mine. In every way that matters.”

I shiver, hating that the sound of mine feels like a promise carved into my skin.

The bed springs back up at the absence of his heavy weight, and I watch his broad shoulders flex with coiled authority under his black shirt as he exits the room, shutting the door behind him.

My eyes stay at the entrance for a beat, pulse still stuttering, and skin still burning from where he touched me.

I was half-expecting him to step back in and laugh in my face. Tell me I’m an idiot for thinking he’d ever agree to my stupid, desperate bargain.

But he doesn’t come back.

The quiet hums heavy in my chest, fluttering with something caught between relief and pain.

The devil accepted my request.

It feels unreal. I said it on impulse to stop the disaster that was unfolding but I didn’t expect him to agree at all.

The door clicks open again, and I jolt upright, my heart slamming against my ribs.

But the figure isn’t him, it’s Diana. I let out a shaky breath of relief, though it soon sours quickly into guilt, settling in my chest like a heavy stone

Memory of what I did to her floods my mind.

Her face is drawn in a frown. “The master requests your presence at dinner.”

I almost scoff, knowing who she’s referring to as “the master.” I would have laughed at her face, but I don’t want to anger her further.

“Do I have to join him?” I can’t help the hint of annoyance in my voice. Even though it isn’t directed at Diana, she frowns harder.

“It’s an order.”

I sigh. “Right. Of course it is.” She turns to leave, and my hand reaches out to the empty air between us. “Wait.”

She pauses, then tilts her head toward me, her gaze sharp.

“I’m sorry,” I say, biting my lip. “For the plate.”

“It’s fine.” Her words don’t match her hardened expression, but I don’t push further.

When she’s gone, I slump back on the bed. Can she really blame me? I was desperate to leave this place. I still am. Christ, I have thirty days now to come up with a better escape plan.

Moments later, I climb out of the bed and push through the door. It takes me a while to find the dining room in this labyrinth of a mansion that leaves me awed.

When I finally stumble upon it, my jaw drops all over again. The place is grand, just like every other corner of this house. I never imagined luxury like this could exist in New York, or anywhere on earth.

The floor is a dark marble, the chandelier that hangs above looks like a small car, and the table at the center is long enough to host an army.

And at the head of it all sits my captor. He’s leaning back, legs spread wide, owning the space like the chair was never built to hold him. Then again, maybe it wasn’t. It looks far too small for a man like him.

He looks up the moment I step in, his icy blue eyes assessing me in a way that roots my feet in place.

“A little enthusiasm wouldn’t kill you,” he says, voice lazy but dangerous. “We’re getting to know each other.”

I roll my eyes and force my legs to move under the weight of his gaze as I head for the opposite end of the table.

“Your seat is here.”

His voice rumbles his throat, that scratchy tone prickling the back of my neck.

“I sit where I want.”

“I don’t repeat myself.”

“I don’t obey criminals,” I shoot back, looking over my shoulder to meet darkened blues.

His lips pull into something between a smirk and a frown. “Careful, Uccellina. I punish naughty girls for disobedience.”

The way he says it is low, almost tender, making the hair on my arms stand. I would very much like to be defiant and give him the middle finger. But I know men like him and they don’t bluff.

With a reluctant sigh, I spin on my heels and make my way toward him, his icy blue eyes tracking every step I take. I force myself to look unfazed as if his stare isn’t burning through me.

As I sink into the seat beside him, I catch a fleeting smirk on his lips before it is covered under a cold mask.

“Good girl.”

I glare at him, then at the table, eyes zeroing on a table knife.

“Don’t,” he says with an obvious tone as if he already knows what I’m about to do.

Though, I’ll never stab a person even if it’s the devil, but I can’t say the idea doesn’t sound enticing. 

“What now?” I grumble, looking away.

“Patience. I know you are starving.”

“I’m not hungry.” Right on cue, my stomach growls loud enough for him to hear.

My cheeks burn with humiliation, and I dare not look at him, not wanting to die of this utter embarrassment.

Just then, the food comes in, carried in by a girl that looks not more than my age, and I couldn’t be more grateful. I quickly dig in, trying to act nonchalant under his heated gaze boring a hole into the side of my face

God, will he at least stop looking at me like he’s about pounce on me at any moment? Sitting this close to him definitely terrifies me. Makes me squirm without even a touch. 

“So,” he murmurs, irritation lacing his tone, as if he’s annoyed at himself for even asking. “How does this arrangement work? Do we hold hands? Whisper sweet nothings? Watch the sunrise together?”

I nearly choke on a piece of bread. “What?”

“Thirty days?” His voice is dead serious. “Your idea.”

I only said that just to stall until my escape, but I can’t tell him that. “We just…you know, talk.” Christ, do I have to really get to know until I can find my way out of here?

“Talk?” His gaze drifts over my face like a caress and a threat all at once. “About what? Dinner etiquette—or how easily you’d fall apart with my fingers between your thighs?”