Semua Bab THE DEVIL'S CLAIM : Bab 1 - Bab 8

LILIANA'S POVI used to think weddings were supposed to feel like magic. Like every step down the aisle was a promise, every vow a fairytale.But standing in the center of the ballroom, staring at the man who was supposed to be my happily-ever-after, all I felt was cold.The chandeliers dripped gold. The violinists played some romantic shit that was supposed to make me cry. And my fiancé, Ethan Crawford, looked like he’d been carved out of perfection, tall, golden-haired, that sharp jawline that used to make me melt when I was younger and dumber.Now all I could think was: Why does he look at me like I’m a fucking disappointment even on our wedding day?His eyes flicked over me, critical as always, and I swear I saw the corner of his mouth twitch. Not in admiration. In disapproval.Your hair should’ve been styled differently, Lily.Your makeup isn’t sharp enough. You’re too plain.Why can’t you carry yourself like Elena?My sister. His favorite comparison.My grip on the bouquet tight

LILIANA'S POVWhen I wake up, the first thing I notice is that I’m not dead.The second thing I notice is that I wish I were.My eyes snap open, heart pounding. For a second, I don’t recognize the ceiling above me was vaulted, carved wood, lit by a golden chandelier. The sheets beneath me are silk, smooth and cool, nothing like the hotel sheets at the bridal suite I should’ve been in last night.And then it all comes back.The gunshots. The blood. Ethan screaming. Dante Moretti’s hand gripping my arm.The chloroform.I jolt upright, breath ragged. My dress is torn at the seams, one strap hanging by a thread, my veil gone. My bouquet… gone. My fucking wedding, gone.Instead, I’m in a gilded cage.The room is bigger than my entire apartment in the city—velvet drapes, marble floors, mirrors with golden frames. Everything screams wealth, power, danger. And the door is locked. Of course it is.I stumble out of bed, my legs weak. My bare feet sink into the plush carpet as I rush to the door

LILIANA'S POV I lie there long after the door slams, the echo still vibrating in my bones.The sheets smell like him. Expensive cologne and smoke, faint leather and gunpowder, as if even the fabric knows it belongs to a man like Dante Moretti. I hate it. I hate that the scent clings to me now, burrowed into my skin like a bruise I can’t scrub away.My wrists ache where he pinned them, red marks blooming like flowers on pale flesh. His weight still lingers on me, phantom heat, the press of his knee between my thighs. I hate that my body remembered it even when I’m trying to forget.“Fuck,” I whisper to the ceiling, voice trembling.I want to scream. I want to rip the silk sheets apart, claw at the walls until my fingers bleed. But I can’t, not here, not in his cage where he’d only laugh at me. He’d like it too much.He already does.I curl onto my side, pulling my knees to my chest. My dress is torn, ruined, the last remnant of a wedding that never was. A wedding that was nothing but

Liliana’s POVThe first thing I feel when I wake up is rage.Not fear, not despair but rage.It scorches through my chest like acid when my eyes flick open to the silk canopy above Dante’s bed. The dress from yesterday still clings to me, ripped lace and smeared makeup crusted into the fabric. I reek of smoke, sweat, and humiliation. My stomach twists, both from hunger and disgust.For a second, I almost think it’s all been a nightmare. The raid, the gunshots, Ethan bleeding, being dragged into Dante’s car like I was a sack of grain instead of a bride. But then I move, and the ache in my wrists from his grip, the raw skin on my arms from fighting, the way my throat feels bruised from screaming and yeah, none of it was a dream.I’m still here. Still his prisoner.The bastard’s words echo in my head. Tomorrow, I’ll start your lessons.I roll onto my side, pressing my knees to my chest. A scream builds in my throat but dies before it can leave. Screaming won’t do shit. It’ll only make hi