Chapter 3: A Devil in Disguise

POV: Siena Blake

I didn’t know what I was doing, not really—not in the way that made sense to anyone with a shred of self-preservation. My entire life had gone up in flames in the span of a single morning, and instead of retreating into the shadows to lick my wounds and gather what was left of my pride, I found myself walking straight into the lion’s den.

I should’ve gone home. I should’ve collapsed under the crushing weight of humiliation and heartbreak, should’ve pulled the covers over my head and let the shame drown me in silence. I should’ve sat with the grief and let the betrayal simmer until it cooled into logic, into reason. But instead, I was moving with purpose, my heels clacking sharply against the pavement, my eyes fixed on the glittering tower ahead like it held the answers to everything that had gone wrong.

There was no logic in what I was doing. Maybe it was desperation. Maybe it was the aching, gnawing knowledge that my father—my sweet, stubborn, brilliant father—was sitting alone in a jail cell, branded a criminal for a crime he didn’t commit. Maybe it was the rage burning beneath my skin, the fury that had festered from the moment I heard Kendra laugh through that suite door, or maybe it was the echo of Zane’s cruelty still ringing in my ears. Or perhaps—most dangerously—it was the memory of a man with a face carved from stone and eyes that had seen the worst of the world and somehow survived it.

Lucian Voss.

He wasn’t just a stranger I had woken up beside. He was no ordinary man caught in the chaos of my ruined engagement. He was something else entirely—colder, sharper, and far more dangerous than anything I had ever encountered. He was a man who didn’t just walk into rooms; he claimed them. And in the twisted wreckage of my life, I saw him not as a mistake… but as a weapon.

If I couldn’t fight my enemies alone, maybe I could borrow their devil.

The hotel loomed in front of me, sleek and glittering, its glass facade reflecting the evening sun like a polished mask. It looked beautiful from the outside—refined, prestigious, even welcoming—but I knew better now. Behind the marble floors and gold trim, it was nothing but a gilded cage filled with secrets, betrayal, and lies.

I walked through the grand lobby, ignoring the subtle stares and hushed murmurs that followed me. My dress was wrinkled and clung to my body in all the wrong ways, my hair was pulled back into a messy twist that screamed exhaustion, and the heels I had shoved back on were scuffed and worn. I didn’t look like I belonged here—and I didn’t care. I wasn’t here to impress anyone. I was here for one thing only.

Lucian Voss.

The elevator ride to the top floor was swift and silent, a tense countdown to whatever foolish thing I was about to do. When the doors opened, I stepped out onto the private level, where two men in sleek black suits stood guarding the massive double doors of the penthouse. They looked like they had been carved from obsidian—expressionless, broad-shouldered, and entirely uninterested in whatever drama I was bringing to their boss’s doorstep.

I forced myself to approach, even as my stomach twisted and my legs threatened to buckle. I straightened my spine and lifted my chin, trying to mask the fact that every step I took felt like walking into enemy fire.

One of the guards moved to block me instantly, his voice clipped and professional. “Ma’am, this is a private floor. You can’t be here.”

“I need to see Mr. Voss,” I said, pushing the words out with as much calm as I could manage, even though my throat felt raw and tight.

He gave me a flat, unimpressed look. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No,” I admitted, swallowing hard. “But I was with him last night.”

The guards exchanged a glance, one of them raising an eyebrow while the other let out a quiet scoff. I saw the flicker of judgment in their eyes, and it made my skin crawl. I hated that look—that assumption that I was just another woman trying to cling to the memory of a night that probably meant nothing to him.

“Mr. Voss doesn’t entertain uninvited guests,” one of them said with a smirk. “Especially not… repeats.”

Heat flooded my cheeks—equal parts embarrassment and fury.

“I’m not here for that,” I snapped, forcing the tremble from my voice. “Just tell him the woman from last night is here. Please.”

There was a long pause before one of them finally relented, disappearing behind the doors without another word. I stood there in silence, my heart thudding wildly against my ribs, the seconds stretching into what felt like hours. My hands were clenched into fists at my sides to keep them from shaking.

When the guard returned, he opened the door with a faintly amused smirk. “You’ve got five minutes.”

I stepped into the penthouse and the doors shut behind me with a heavy, echoing thud that sounded far too much like a trap closing.

The room was even dimmer than I remembered. The curtains were drawn tightly, letting only slivers of muted light slip through, and the soft glow of amber lamps reflected off polished wood and dark leather. Everything smelled expensive—aged scotch, smoked wood, and something faintly spicy I couldn’t place. The quiet buzz of wealth and power vibrated in the air like static.

Lucian Voss stood near the minibar, his back half-turned toward me, swirling a glass of dark liquor in his hand as if this were just another calm evening in his carefully curated world. He looked entirely at ease, completely unbothered by my presence, like he had expected this all along and already decided it wasn’t worth his time.

When his gaze slid toward me, it was slow and indifferent, like I was nothing more than a minor disruption.

And in that moment, I realized something that made my stomach drop.

He didn’t recognize me.

“You,” he said, his voice low and smooth, edged with boredom. “You’re the woman causing such a fuss outside my suite?”

I blinked, stunned. “You don’t remember me?”

He took a small sip of his drink, his eyes cool and unreadable. “Should I?”

The words hit harder than I expected. It shouldn’t have hurt—I didn’t even know him—but somehow, it did.

“I’m the woman you slept with last night,” I said quietly, each word thick with humiliation. “The one you left in bed without a single word.”

His gaze sharpened slightly, a flicker of amusement crossing his features. “Hm,” he murmured, still entirely unfazed. “You must be mistaken.”

“I’m not.”

A beat of silence passed between us, heavy and tense.

Then, slowly, a cruel little smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “So let me guess. We had a magical night together, and now you’ve come to cash in your fairy tale ending?”

“It wasn’t magical,” I snapped, the words laced with acid. “I was drunk. I don’t even remember most of it. But I woke up next to you. And now my life is falling apart.”

He raised one eyebrow with mild curiosity.

“My father was arrested,” I said, stepping closer, willing him to hear the urgency in my voice. “He’s being framed by powerful people—Vincent DeLuca is behind it. I know you have connections. Influence. Power. I’m asking you to use it.”

He said nothing.

“Please,” I added, softer now. “I’m not asking for miracles. I just need you to look into it. Someone like you can find out things the police won’t. Maybe you can help.”

Lucian moved to the sofa, lowering himself with the grace of a man who had never been denied anything in his life. He looked at me with a quiet detachment, as if weighing my value like a piece on a chessboard.

“And why,” he asked, voice slow and almost lazy, “would I do that?”

I took another step forward. “Because I’m asking you. Because I have no one left. Because whether you remember it or not, you were there when this nightmare started.”

He laughed—a dark, hollow sound devoid of any real humor.

“You think one night in my bed entitles you to favors?” he asked, his eyes gleaming with cold amusement. “Do you even know who I am?”

“Yes,” I shot back, frustration tightening my chest. “Lucian Voss. CEO of Voss Global. The untouchable billionaire who thinks he’s above consequences.”

He smiled, a sharp glint in his eyes. “Flattery won’t help you.”

“I’m not flattering you,” I said. “I’m begging.”

He rose slowly, circling me like a predator enjoying the scent of weakness. “You came here thinking what? That I’d suddenly grow a conscience? That I’d play the hero because we happened to fuck once?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you meant it.” His voice was razor-sharp now. “You thought you could cry your way into my wallet. Tell me—did you cry this hard while you were grinding on me in bed?”

His words were poison. Cruel and deliberate.

I stared at him, my throat tight with rage. “You’re a monster.”

He tilted his head. “Maybe. But at least I don’t pretend to be anything else.”

Tears stung my eyes. “You don’t even care.”

“No,” he said without blinking. “I don’t care about you, or your father, or your sob story. And since this conversation adds nothing of value to my day, it’s over.”

He turned, walked to the desk, and calmly pulled out a sleek silver checkbook. With one flick of his pen, he wrote something down, tore the check, and tossed it onto the floor at my feet.

“Here,” he said. “Payment. For your… services.”

I stared at the check.

Ten thousand dollars.

My fingers trembled as I picked it up. Then, slowly, I crumpled it in my fist.

Lucian raised an eyebrow.

“You think you can buy me?” I whispered.

“I think I already did.”

I walked toward him, standing inches from his chest. “You arrogant son of a bitch.”

He shrugged. “Most women would’ve taken the money with a smile.”

“I’m not most women.”

“Clearly.”

Something inside me cracked wide open.

I tore the check in half. Then again. And again. Shreds of paper fluttered from my hands like ash as I threw them in his face.

He didn’t flinch.

“You’re disgusting,” I hissed. “I thought maybe—just maybe—you had a soul buried under all that money and power. I was wrong.”

“Clearly,” he repeated, amused.

“You’re not just heartless. You’re soulless. You think your wealth makes you God?”

He smiled faintly. “No. My wealth just lets me stop pretending the world isn’t cruel.”

I slapped him.

The sound cracked through the room like lightning.

He didn’t move. But his jaw twitched.

I stepped back, breathing hard.

“Go to hell,” I spat.

“Already there,” he said softly. “I’ll save you a seat.”

I turned and stormed toward the door, blood pounding in my ears.

“Oh, and sweetheart?” he called.

I paused.

“If you’re going to sell your body—make sure you charge more than your pride.”

I walked out without a word, my head held high, even as my soul bled inside me.

Lucian Voss was a devil.

And now, he was on my list.