All Chapters of The Devil's Game: Chapter 121 - Chapter 130

A hairpin might work, she thought, fingers going to her braid. She untangled a clip, twisted it into shape, and began fiddling with the lock. Her movements were precise—muscle memory from when she'd once been desperate enough to learn how to escape.The lock clicked halfway—"I could’ve just given you the key."Her head snapped up.Lucian stood in the shadow of a pillar, arms crossed. The late sun painted him in gold and crimson, casting harsh lines across his jaw. His voice was calm, but she could sense the tension lurking beneath it.Ayra rose slowly, brushing her skirt smooth. "I didn’t know you were back."He stepped closer, eyeing the half-jammed lock, then her makeshift pick. "Apparently, you didn’t know I locked that for a reason."Her brows furrowed. "Is it dangerous?"He glanced toward the greenhouse. "Not in the way you’re thinking."She followed his gaze. The gardenias had begun to shift gently in the breeze, catching the light. Their whiteness seemed almost ethereal. Ayra s

It was a dusty afternoon, and a gentle breeze stirred through the greenhouse vents as she knelt beside the far bed, digging her fingers into warm earth. Something about the repetitive motion calmed her.Far across the estate, Lucian stood before the tall windows of his study, the same sunlight casting long slashes of gold across the room. Papers lay untouched on his desk. A whiskey glass sat half-full, forgotten beside a folder stamped with confidential seals.But Lucian wasn’t looking at any of it.He was staring at the garden path.His expression was unreadable. Not the cold sharp mask he wore in meetings. Not the subtle smirk he used to disarm rivals. This was something heavier.Ayra.He watched her through the glass, watching how her hair glinted in the sun, how she bent low to inspect a flower’s stem, how she brushed dirt from her fingers and pushed her sleeves back. She was free there in a way he didn’t quite understand. And he hated that he noticed. Hated that he found himself r

The dinner had sunk into a lull—the sharp clinking of glasses giving way to the low murmur of calculated conversation. Candlelight flickered from iron sconces fixed to the ancient stone walls, casting long shadows that danced like spirits summoned from the cathedral’s forgotten days. High above, ribbed vaults arched like the spine of some slumbering beast, and stained-glass windows filtered moonlight into strange, holy colors—crimson, gold, violet. The place still smelled faintly of incense and old dust, as though it remembered the prayers of a century ago and resented their silence now.Ayra stood near one of the darkened alcoves, her fingers resting on the stem of a half-finished glass of wine she had no intention of drinking. Her heels ached. Her dress, sleek and black, clung like a second skin. Her throat felt raw from smiling too much at people she didn’t trust.And then—“Darling, would you spare a moment for an old woman?”Ayra turned to find herself looking into the face of La

In the end, the storm came not from the sky, but from within.Ayra awoke suddenly, heart pounding, with no dream to blame. Moonlight streamed through the curtains of her new bedroom, soft and ghostlike, casting long shadows on the polished floor. The silence was oppressive—thick with the weight of something unspoken.Unable to sleep, she slid out of bed and slipped a shawl over her shoulders. The air was cold. The hallway was colder.She wandered barefoot through the quiet villa, moving past the art-filled halls and down the staircase until she found herself near Lucian’s study. The doors were mostly closed, but a sliver of light cut through the gap.Voices filtered out.She recognized one instantly.Lucian.The other was Nico—gruff, calculated, precise in tone.“We can now confirm that Miss Lisbeth vanished without a trace, and someone's actively erasing her tracks,” Nico was saying. “Same as Pedro. Same signature, same intel leakage. If we wait longer, they’ll erase all tracks. The s

The corridor was quiet—far too quiet. The kind of stillness that made her footfalls feel loud even on the soft Persian rug. Shadows stretched long along the stone walls of the estate, the sconces dimmed for the night, their golden flickers dancing like candlelight caught in a dream.Ayra adjusted the robe around her shoulders. Elias had finally drifted to sleep after his latest nightmare—something about the rain and a collapsed tunnel, which he couldn’t or wouldn’t explain. She’d sat with him until his breathing softened, his lashes fluttering against pale cheeks. Suddenly she realized that she was really slipping into being a mum rather easily. Now, she walked the hall alone, drawn by something she couldn’t quite name.It was well past midnight. The kind of hour when the world felt thinner, like the veil between past and present could tear with a whisper.She turned the corner near the main sitting room—and stopped.Music.It drifted from the cracked door ahead, gentle and unexpected