All Chapters of Sold to the Devil : Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

The night had become a blur of smoke, fire, and chaos. Emilia still felt the sting of the witch’s spell on her skin, the echo of fear beating beneath her ribcage like a drum. She sat in the dirt, her breathing shallow, unable to move—not because she was injured, but because everything felt too heavy to carry.The sudden rustle of leaves and low growls snapped her attention upward.From the shadows of the forest, a blur of silver and russet emerged. Wolves—large, fast, terrifyingly beautiful. Among them, a woman in dark clothing led the charge, her eyes sharp and calculating.Mara.Behind her came Luka and three others, each radiating fierce energy. They moved without hesitation, scattering the remaining witches like leaves in a storm. Mara leapt forward, her body twisting mid-air into her wolf form—a sleek obsidian-furred creature with glowing violet eyes.“W-what?” Emilia whispered, still frozen. She hadn’t seen Dante call anyone. How—?The fight was swift. The witches, caught off gu

The small room was dim, lit only by the flickering flame of a single lantern swinging lazily from the ceiling. Shadows danced along cracked walls lined with peeling wallpaper and stained whiskey bottles. Silas sat slouched in an old leather armchair, the smoke from his half-burnt cigarette curling around his head like a ghost.He took a long sip from the bottle resting on the rickety table before him. His prosthetic leg clanked lightly against the wooden floor as he rocked forward and back, humming a tune with no melody.The night air was thick and still. Too still.He was halfway into pouring himself another glass when the lantern above him shuddered.Then—without warning—the shadows near the door stretched, elongated unnaturally. A chill crept into the room, and the flames flickered lower as if bowing to something unseen.Silas didn’t flinch.Instead, he smirked.“Finally,” he drawled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Took you long enough.”A cloaked figure emerged from

The morning breeze wafted through the half-open window of the west wing, ruffling the curtains gently as Dante stood near the tall glass panes, arms crossed, his jaw tight. From this vantage point, he could see the courtyard—see her.Emilia stood beside Thalia, the witch trainer, listening intently, her brow furrowed as she asked a question. Even from here, Dante could see the faint movements of her hands as she gestured, trying to make sense of whatever Thalia was telling her. The morning light haloed her hair like soft fire, and something tightened in his chest.He hadn’t returned to their room last night.Couldn’t.Not because he didn’t want to.But because the storm inside him had refused to settle. He’d been too furious—with Silas, with himself, with the witches who dared touch her. And beneath all that rage, there had been fear. Raw, choking fear. He hadn’t trusted himself not to let it show. Not to frighten her.He had spent the night walking the halls like a restless shadow.H

Seraphina’s room looked like a warzone.Shards of broken perfume bottles glinted on the marble floor. Her designer heels were scattered across the rug like forgotten chess pieces. Her vanity mirror lay cracked down the middle, reflecting her distorted image back at her. She stood in the center of it all, chest heaving, fingers trembling with rage.“He chose her,” she hissed under her breath. “That filthy little stray…”The door burst open, and in walked Celeste, dressed in an elegant cream pantsuit, perfectly composed as always. Her heels clicked against the marble as she surveyed the destruction without a flicker of surprise.“I take it this isn’t about the tailor being late,” she said dryly, brushing glass off the nearby armchair before sitting.Seraphina turned, her eyes wild. “He chose that girl, Celeste. The slave girl. Do you know what that makes me look like?”Celeste tilted her head. “A jealous ex with a temper problem?”Seraphina threw a vase against the wall. “This is not a

The morning sun filtered through the cloudy sky as Emilia moved across the courtyard, her breathing heavy and uneven. Thalia’s sharp voice rang behind her like a whip.“Again!”Emilia groaned inwardly, trying to shift her stance and summon the same energy as before. Her arms trembled from exhaustion, sweat dripping down her temple. Across from her, Mochi—still in her graceful human form—moved with ease, barely winded. Her movements were fluid, precise, almost artful.Emilia tried to mimic the steps again. She stumbled.Thalia sighed. “You’re letting your emotions control you. Focus, Emilia.”“I am focusing,” Emilia muttered, though she knew it wasn’t true. Her body was tired. Her mind was scattered. She had trained with Thalia every day this week and still felt as clueless as the first day.Thalia stepped forward. “Power without control is dangerous. You’re not allowed to give up just because it’s hard.”Emilia gritted her teeth, nodding, but her eyes betrayed her frustration.Just th