Semua Bab Sold to the Devil : Bab 91 - Bab 100

The mid-morning sun spilled lazily across the estate, casting elongated shadows through the tall windows of Dante’s study. The room smelled faintly of cedarwood and old books, and the faint hum of the estate's distant activity filtered in like background music.Dante stood near the open balcony doors, his sleeves rolled up, eyes fixed on the garden path that twisted through the grounds. The faint laughter of staff in the distance was lost on him. His thoughts were elsewhere.Behind him, the door creaked open. Luka stepped in quietly, closing it behind him.“You’re up early,” Luka said, walking over to pour himself a glass of water from the crystal decanter. “Didn’t think you’d sleep at all last night.”Dante grunted, not turning. “Didn’t.”Luka watched him in silence for a moment, then leaned against the edge of the desk.“I wanted to update you,” Luka began. “Emilia had visitors this morning.”That got Dante’s attention. He turned, brow furrowing. “Who?”“Her parents,” Luka said. “Va

The damp air of the underground station clung to every breath. Once bustling with commuters, this stretch of the metro had long since been decommissioned—forgotten by the city above. Now, its silence was sacred.The witches had claimed it years ago.Inside the dimly lit platform, flames flickered atop tall black candles, casting elongated shadows on peeling tiles. The scent of ash, herbs, and iron drifted in the air, thick enough to choke.They moved slowly, deliberately. Cloaked in dark robes, six figures stood around a ritual circle inscribed with silver dust and symbols that pulsed faintly in the dark. One of them, younger, barely in her twenties, stood inside the circle—eyes closed, hands trembling. Sweat rolled down her neck.“She’s resisting,” murmured one of the witches, a tall woman with sharp cheekbones and a voice like cracked glass.“She won’t resist for long,” replied another. “Her spirit is frayed. It’s only a matter of time.”They were drawing power from the girl—using h

The soft clinking of cutlery and the muted hum of polite conversation filled the grand dining room. Sunlight spilled through the tall windows, bathing the long mahogany table in a golden glow. Emilia sat near the end, her fingers curling around the handle of her teacup as she tried to shake off the remnants of her nightmare. It lingered in her mind like smoke—twisting, suffocating, refusing to be forgotten.She hadn’t told Dante about the dream in full. Not yet. Not the wolf. Not the voice.And definitely not the warning.Across from her, Dante sat at the head of the table, composed as ever, a glass of water in hand as he listened to Celeste recount some minor incident involving the estate’s staff. Seraphina was draped in silk, perfectly poised, her every gesture deliberate. Marcello sat with a smirk dancing at the corner of his lips, clearly amused by something Emilia had missed.She felt out of place at the table, like a guest in someone else’s home—even though this was her room now

The afternoon sun cast a warm haze over the weathered street where Emilia’s family lived, glinting off old car hoods and telephone wires. The house, modest and aging, sat behind a crooked fence and an overgrown hedge, its porch sagging slightly under the weight of the years. Inside, the smell of something fried and a cheap air freshener clung to the walls.Vanessa was lounging on the worn couch in her satin robe, one leg tucked under the other, watching reruns of a soap opera with the volume too loud. Alissa sat cross-legged on the floor, idly painting her nails while pretending not to be annoyed at the noise, the chipped coffee table between them cluttered with old magazines and an untouched bowl of fruit.The buzz of an approaching engine didn’t catch their attention at first. It wasn’t until the smooth purr of tires came to a stop directly outside their gate—and the heavy car door thunked shut—that Vanessa looked up.“Who’s that?” she muttered, craning her neck toward the window. “

The study in the west wing of the Calhoun estate was dim, lit only by the filtered glow of an antique lamp on the far desk. Heavy curtains blocked out most of the early evening sun, leaving the space cloaked in amber shadows. The walls were lined with shelves—some stacked with books, others with old weapons and framed photographs of men long dead but never forgotten.Dante stood with his back to the room, gazing out between a small gap in the curtains. He hadn’t moved in several minutes. Behind him, the scent of cigar smoke lingered faintly, though no one was smoking now.Luka leaned against the corner of the desk, arms folded, his usual relaxed posture betrayed by the tension in his jaw. Mara stood nearby, hands clasped in front of her, her black boots silent against the carpet.“She had a dream,” Dante said, his voice low but clear.Neither Mara nor Luka spoke.Dante’s fingers twitched at his sides. “She didn’t tell me what it was about. Just… looked at me differently the next morni