All Chapters of THE DEVIL'S POSSESSION: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

Selene’s pov“Having a nice time admiring the stars?”The deep, husky voice sliced through the night’s tranquility, sending an electric shiver down my spine. I spun around, heart racing, only to find Ronan standing just a few steps away from me. He was shirtless.The silver moonlight bathed his skin in a soft glow, highlighting not just his sculpted muscles but also the intricate tattoos that danced across his chest and arms—each inked detail told a story, dark and alluring. His dark slacks hung low on his hips, accentuating the powerful lines of his physique, while his signature jacket and polo were discarded somewhere unseen, forgotten in the warmth of the night.Yet, it wasn’t his chiseled body that held my gaze; it was the angry wound on his side—still raw and red, the skin slightly swollen and conspicuously unbandaged.“When did you get back?” I asked, my voice dropping to a whisper, laced with worry.A low chuckle escaped him, reverberating in the quiet air. “A few minutes ago,

Selene's PovThe question hung in the air like a blade waiting to fall, heavy with implications. My cheeks flushed crimson as I turned my gaze away, fixating instead on a small imperfection in the polished marble floor beneath my feet. The roughness of my throat felt like sandpaper, scratchy and uncomfortable. “He was busy,” I murmured, the words bitter and reluctant on my tongue, as if they carried the weight of my own denial.“Oh, don’t try to make excuses for him.” Ronan's voice transformed, dropping to a dangerous growl that rippled with barely concealed anger. The tension was palpable, a taut string ready to snap. “He’s an asshole, Selene.”I bit into my lower lip so hard I could taste the metallic tang of copper, my fists clenching at my sides. The sting of his words pierced deeper than I dared to acknowledge. Truth was a bitter pill I struggled to swallow. What could I possibly say? That Damien preferred his grand ambitions over our fragile connecti

Selene's Pov "Gosh, Selene, get those stupid thoughts out of your mind," I muttered under my breath, pressing my palms against my flushed cheeks as I stared at my reflection in the bedroom mirror. The words felt hollow, doing nothing to quiet the storm of emotions swirling inside me. My heart was still racing from whatever had just happened upstairs, and I couldn't seem to shake the image of Ronan's intense gaze from my memory. Taking a deep breath, I smoothed down my dress one final time and forced myself to walk out of the room. Each step down the hallway felt weighted, as if I were walking toward something inevitable yet terrifying. The house seemed quieter than usual, the only sound being the soft click of my heels against the polished hardwood floors. When I reached the sitting room, I found Ronan already positioned on one of the leather couches, his broad frame relaxed yet somehow still commanding attention. He sat with one arm

Selene's pov The sleek red sport car glided through the neon-lit streets before coming to a halt in front of what appeared to be an ordinary nightclub. But the pulsing bass that reverberated through the concrete walls and the carefully positioned security guards told a different story. The parking lot was filled with expensive vehicles—Maseratis, Lamborghinis, and custom motorcycles that gleamed under the streetlights like predatory beasts waiting to pounce. "One more thing, damsel," Ronan's voice cut through the heavy bass that seeped into our sanctuary of leather and cologne. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel in a rhythm that didn't match the music—a nervous habit I'd begun to recognize. I turned to face him, studying the sharp angles of his face illuminated by the club's neon sign. The red light cast shadows that made his features appear more dangerous, more mysterious than usual. "What is it?"

Damien's POVMy fist clenched so tightly that my knuckles turned white, the sharp bite of my nails digging crescents into my palms as I stared—no, glared—at the scene unfolding before me. Selene. My Selene. Pressed against Ronan Blackwood like she belonged there, like she had every right to let his hands roam the small of her back while his lips claimed hers with a possessiveness that should have been mine alone.The crystal champagne flute in my other hand trembled, the amber liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim. I wanted to hurl it across the opulent ballroom, watch it shatter against the marble floor in a thousand glittering pieces—just like my composure was threatening to do. But I couldn't move. My feet felt leaden, rooted to the Persian carpet beneath them as if the very ground had conspired to trap me in this torturous moment.When she had first walked through those towering double doors, her silhouette framed by the golden light spilli