All Chapters of Tainted Desires; Demons. Darkness. Damnation : Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

The heavy double doors of the Salvatore mansion creaked open at dawn, revealing a woman wrapped in black silk and haughty disdain—Delilah Salvatore. Her heels clicked ominously against the marble as she strode into the dining hall like she still owned the place.‎‎The long table was occupied. Kane’s usual position at the head sat empty.‎She scanned the room, eyes narrowing.‎“Where is he?” she asked, voice cold and cutting. “Don’t tell me that monster is curled up in bed with some slut.”‎The room went quiet.‎Forks paused. Mouths stilled. Eyes dropped.‎Except Kareen’s.‎“Don’t you dare,” Kareen said, rising slowly. “Don’t you dare curse my boy—or the woman of his.”‎Delilah’s head snapped toward her. “Love?” she spat. “He doesn’t know how to love! And you—" she rose with venom, storming toward Kareen, "you’ve always been a weak excuse for a mafia woman!”‎She raised her hand—smack.‎The slap echoed like thunder.‎Kareen didn’t blink.‎But the table exploded.‎Chairs scraped. Vincen

‎Castelle stepped into the room, her eyes wide, her movements slow—as if the weight of what she’d just heard had knocked the air from her lungs. She wasn’t looking at anyone in particular when she whispered, voice trembling:‎“Why... why hurt the one I love?”‎The silence that followed was thick and heavy. Her gaze dropped, and then she collapsed to her knees, shoulders shaking as tears spilled freely down her cheeks. Her sobs weren’t loud, but raw and aching—like something breaking deep within her.‎“She thinks I’ll walk away,” Castelle choked, almost to herself. “Because of the things she said about him…”‎Around her, eyes softened—some with pity, others with stunned disbelief. No one had expected her to stay. No one had expected her to love him—at all.‎They were shocked by the strength of her grief. The fierce loyalty in her heartbreak. And yet, beneath that admiration was sorrow—because they knew. They felt it.‎Whatever progress Kane had made—every fragile piece of healing, ever

‎The mood in the office was sharp, charged.‎Kane sat at the head of the dark marble table, his shirt rolled up at the sleeves, revealing veins taut with tension and tattoos winding like smoke. Matteo leaned against the corner with arms crossed, Lucien sat across from Leo, who clacked away on his laptop.‎Vincent Salvatore, tall and still regal despite his years, sipped espresso with a grim expression.‎"Armir’s convoy moves in twenty minutes," Leo reported, spinning his screen to show the live drone feed. “Route's been confirmed. Three vans. Women and children crammed in, guarded by ten armed men.”‎Lucien growled. “He’s breaking the Beltforte Code. Again.”‎“Not just breaking it,” Kane muttered, voice low and lethal. “He’s pissing on it.”‎Vincent narrowed his eyes. “We’ve kept the city clean of that filth for decades. If we let this slide—”‎“We won’t.” Kane stood, chair scraping back with finality. “We intercept. Kill the guards. Extract the victims. No harm comes to any of them.

‎Meanwhile, Kane’s eyes were pure fire. “Gear up,” he told Matteo, Lucien, and four elite guards. “No one walks out unless my woman does.”‎At the compound, chaos stirred.‎The captives were tied again, weaker now. A new man strolled in, eyes hungry. He walked past Mason and Lyra—until he paused at Lyra.‎“Well, well,” he sneered, licking his lips.‎Castelle’s voice rang out. “You so much as touch her, I swear Kane Salvatore will rip you open from the inside.”‎The man chuckled, turning toward her. “You again, masochist?” He leaned down and grabbed her by the jaw. “I think you enjoy the pain.”‎“I enjoy watching animals like you burn,” she spat.‎He grabbed her throat, tightening until her voice cut off. “Still got a mouth, huh?”‎He backhanded her hard.‎Her head snapped sideways, cracking against the wall. Blood trickled from her temple.‎“CASTELLE!” Lyra screamed.‎She slumped.‎But her eyes never left him.‎And far, far away, the Devil was already on his way.‎---‎The convoy of m

The hospital wing was quiet.‎Too quiet.‎Kane moved with slow, lethal steps toward Castelle’s room, his black shirt stained with her dried blood, jaw clenched, eyes shadowed with rage and exhaustion.‎He reached for the door.‎Kareen stepped in front of it.‎“No.”‎Kane’s entire frame stiffened. “Move.”‎“She needs to rest, Kane. She's in a coma—emotions won't help her now.”‎“I said, move.”‎Kareen held her ground, even as her hands trembled slightly. “She doesn’t need chaos when she wakes up. Not yet. Not from you.”‎A deadly silence settled between them.‎Kane’s lips twitched in fury, his shoulders heaving. He looked like a storm wrapped in flesh, barely held back.‎Vincent stepped forward, hand on Kane’s arm. “Son. Take a Walk please.”‎Kane’s nostrils flared, but he obeyed. With one long breath, he straightened and took a step back, his eyes locked on Castelle’s unconscious form through the glass.‎Then his voice dropped—low, dangerous, like the strike of a blade.‎“You never ke