All Chapters of The Devil In A Suit: Chapter 121 - Chapter 130

Third POVSmoke stung Elder Samuel’s eyes as he dragged himself across the scorched floor of the crumbling council chamber. The heat from the fire blistered his skin, his once-pristine robes soaked in blood and soot. His right leg was bent unnaturally—he couldn’t feel his foot anymore, only the sickening grind of bone scraping bone every time he tried to move.He coughed harshly, blood splattering from his lips as flames licked closer behind him. The once-grand hallway was collapsing. The screams of the other Elders had faded into silence. Edgar and George were dead. He had seen it. Cassiel had made sure of it.He bit down on a groan, clutching the side of a broken pillar to drag his body toward the shattered exit. Debris rained from above. The air was thick with smoke and the stench of burning flesh. He pulled himself inch by inch, pain searing through every nerve.“Samuel,” he muttered to himself, as if saying his own name could keep him conscious. “You must get ou

Third POVCassiel’s car rolled silently up the long driveway, the night air thick with an unnatural stillness that immediately set his teeth on edge. The mansion loomed before him, shadows pooling like ink in every corner. He stepped out, the weight of unease pressing heavy in his chest.The front door stood slightly open, swinging slowly on its hinges as if inviting him into a trap. Without hesitation, Cassiel pushed it wide, the sharp creak echoing through the empty halls.“Julian?” His voice was low, but hard enough to crack glass.Silence answered him.His boots clattered on the marble floor, the emptiness swallowing the sound whole. No servants, no footsteps—nothing but the echo of his own breath. He moved room to room, each more desolate than the last. A spilled glass of wine, a chair tipped over, meals left cold on the table.Then he found them.Three guards sprawled in the lounge, bodies twitching but conscious, eyes wide and empty.Cassiel kn

Third POVEnzo’s heavy boots thudded against the cold stone floor as he dragged the half-conscious woman through the dim corridor of Cassiel’s estate. Her body was limp, bruised, and weak, but her identity was unmistakable—the pale, familiar face stained with dirt and blood belonged to Iris.Enzo’s own face was streaked with fresh blood, a raw wound on his temple oozing slowly. He grimaced but kept moving, his grip firm on Iris’s arm despite her feeble resistance. The weight of the moment pressed down on him like a stone.He reached the grand door of Cassiel’s study and with a sharp knock, called out. The door swung open almost immediately, and Cassiel’s cold eyes fixed on the battered woman being brought in.“Boss,” Enzo said, his voice rough but urgent. “I caught her on her way out of the state—trying to escape by boat.”Cassiel stepped forward, his gaze sharp and unreadable as he looked down at Iris. The tension in the room thickened, the silence heavy with un

Third POVThe room was silent except for the soft hum of a hanging bulb flickering overhead. The floor was cement. Cold. Damp. The walls carried marks of violence — chains bolted to the corners, a table scattered with cruel-looking tools. At the center of it all sat Renata, her wrists bound to a metal chair. Her legs tied, body slumped, throat dry. Her eyes blinked rapidly as they adjusted to the dim light.A figure stepped out of the shadows.“You…” she croaked, disbelief coating her voice.Cassiel.He was in his usual black suit. Polished shoes. Clean shave. The same composure he wore when dealing death like a handshake.Renata tried to steady her breathing. “What is this? What have I done this time to deserve being kidnapped again?”Cassiel stepped forward. No smile. No warmth.“You’re asking the wrong question.”She tensed.“You should be asking,” he continued, “why you decided to cross me again despite the warning I gave you.”“I didn

Third POVThe antique clock on the wall of Cassiel’s study ticked quietly in the background. Shadows stretched across the room as the last hints of daylight filtered through half-drawn curtains. Cassiel sat behind his desk, sleeves rolled up, a glass of untouched scotch resting near his hand. He was staring at nothing in particular—just the silence.A knock broke the stillness.“Come in,” Cassiel said without looking up.The door opened slowly, and in walked Enzo. His left arm was tightly bandaged and slung across his chest. His shirt was loose, boots caked with dried mud, but his steps were steady.Cassiel looked up and studied him from head to toe. “You’re not supposed to be walking around.”Enzo gave him a flat look and rolled his eyes. “You think a bullet wound’s the worst thing I’ve survived?”Cassiel didn’t argue. He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “You took a bullet.”“I’ve taken worse,” Enzo replied, closing the door behind him. “A