All Chapters of Sold to the Devil : Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

The sound of the keys was the only noise in the room.Dante sat at the center of it all—his room dark but not cold, heavy velvet curtains drawn over the windows, shadows pooling in the corners. The only light came from the screen of his laptop, its soft glow casting pale blue over his sharp features.His fingers moved across the keyboard, but the words on the screen were scattered. Reports. Numbers. A message from one of his men in the north. He typed, deleted, typed again. But his mind wasn’t on the work.His mind was on her. EmiliaThat damn boy’s arms around her. That expression on her face. That smile—soft and unguarded—directed at someone else.He didn’t even realize how tightly he’d clenched his jaw until his teeth began to ache.There was a knock.Dante paused, his gaze slowly shifting to the door.Another knock, then the handle turned without permission.Seraphina. She entered wearing a satin robe too fine for comfort, her heels clicking softly against the hardwood floor. She

The soft rustle of trees swaying in the night wind drifted through the slightly opened window. Emilia sat on the edge of her bed, the sheets untouched, her arms wrapped around her knees. Moonlight spilled across the floor in silver slashes, faint and still, casting long shadows along the walls of Dante’s estate.She couldn’t sleep. Her mind was too full.The drawing room confrontation from earlier kept replaying in her head, like a broken record she couldn’t turn off. Dante’s voice—stern, controlled, and low—echoed in her thoughts. The way his eyes pinned her down with both rage and disappointment. And the worst part? He was right.Emilia exhaled, pulling her knees tighter to her chest. “Why did I stay?” she whispered into the darkness.Alissa’s tearful face haunted her. James’s soft smile, the way he looked at her like she hadn’t changed at all—those were real. That warmth had filled her chest like a forgotten memory. A piece of home she hadn’t realized she missed. And yet, when Dant

The air in Dante’s study was quiet save for the ticking of the antique clock and the occasional rustle of papers on his desk. He sat there, focused, typing commands into his laptop with deliberate precision when a sharp knock echoed against the heavy oak door.Without lifting his eyes, he called out, “Come in.”Mara stepped in, dressed in her usual crisp uniform, her posture tight and face drawn with something more than concern. Dante glanced up and immediately noted the edge in her gaze.“Yes?” he said, leaning back slightly.“I need to speak to you about something… peculiar,” Mara began, shutting the door behind her.Dante arched an eyebrow. “Peculiar?”She nodded. “It’s about Emilia.”The moment her name passed Mara’s lips, Dante’s fingers stilled on the keyboard. His expression gave nothing away, but the atmosphere in the room shifted, charged with interest.“I’m listening,” he said.Mara hesitated before stepping forward. “There was an incident this morning… in the salon.”He str

Emilia lay on her back, staring at the ceiling of her room. The soft fabric of the sheets bunched slightly beneath her fingertips, but she barely noticed. Her thoughts had taken on a life of their own, drifting in and out like the gentle sway of curtains on a windy day.It had been almost a half a day since the vase incident, and yet the images still played in her mind—over and over again. The blood. The screams. The horrified expressions. And her—standing completely still, unsure of how anything had happened.She swallowed, trying to force the tightness in her throat down.Was she okay? she wondered. The maid—Clara, was it? Emilia hadn’t seen her since. She hadn’t been allowed near the infirmary, either. No one told her anything.And the worst part? The whispers.She heard them when she walked past the hallway. When she entered the laundry room. When she stood in line for meals."She’s cursed.""A witch, I swear.""Did you see the cracks on the wall that day? That wasn’t normal.""I

The first light of morning slipped through the high windows, casting golden streaks across the polished floors of the Calhoun estate. Emilia rose quietly, the soft rustle of bedsheets and the faint chirp of birds her only company. There was no fanfare, no candles or songs.It was her birthday.Her twentieth.She slipped on her usual clothes and stepped out into the hallway, ready to begin her chores. The air felt heavier today, as if the house itself was holding its breath. Emilia moved through the kitchen and laundry room, scrubbing and sorting, washing and folding, the same routine that had become her new normal.But there was something different in the way the other maids looked at her today—no longer merely cruel or indifferent. Now they were cautious, keeping their distance as if she carried something dangerous. Whispers followed her in the corridors, and averted eyes met hers in every room.Witch.She broke the vase with her mind.She’s not normal.She tried to block out the whi