Lahat ng Kabanata ng The Devil You Know : Kabanata 61 - Kabanata 70

ELIJAH The sound of my own crying was the only thing I could hear in the back room of the tattoo parlor. It was quiet, painful—like my soul was trying to cry out for something it knew it could never have. The tears didn’t stop. They just kept coming, one after another, flowing down my face like a steady stream, carrying with them the weight of everything I had just lost. I didn’t even know when it had all started. I hadn’t planned on falling in love with Andrade. I hadn’t even wanted to. I had just wanted to get through my life, to be someone, to escape from my past, but then... then there he was. And I couldn't stop it. Now, I've lost him. The image of him walking away from me earlier that morning, his words, his coldness, the way he looked at me like I was a stranger—kept replaying in my mind. His silence echoed through my head like they were branded into my soul. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. All I could feel was this aching emptiness in my chest, like a part

ELIJAH My pulse thundering in my ears like it was trying to burst out of my skull. My hands shook so bad I could barely keep it steady, but I had to, I needed proof. Proof that Mila was screwing Cristian and the child isn't mine. The betrayal burned in my chest, but fear glued my feet to the floor. What if they spot me? What if this all blows up in my face? Through the lens, I watched Cristian pin Mila down on the bed, her legs splayed wide as he drove his thick cock into her with brutal force. Each slam made her body jolt, her tits bouncing wildly while she clawed at his back, urging him on. “Harder, Cris…fuck me harder,” she gasped, her voice raw and desperate. He obliged, gripping her thighs and spreading her even wider, pounding deeper until the bedframe rattled against the wall. My stomach twisted into knots, a sick mix of rage and something darker stirring in my gut. I couldn't look away; the phone captured every detail. He flipped her onto her stomach, yank

ELIJAH I woke up with a jolt, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest. The room was dim, lit only by a single bulb hanging from the ceiling, casting long shadows across the concrete walls. My head throbbed, and as I tried to move, cold metal bit into my wrists and ankles. Panic surged through me. I was chained to a bed, my arms stretched above my head, secured to the headboard with heavy iron cuffs. My legs were pulled up and back, ankles locked to the same posts, forcing my knees toward my chest. I was completely naked, my skin prickling in the cool air, my cock and balls dangling exposed, my ass spread wide open like some kind of offering. Fuck! I tugged at the chains, but they didn't budge, rattling mockingly. My eyes darted around the room. It was small, windowless, like a basement or a cell. Against one wall stood a sturdy wooden table loaded with horrors ~ knives with serrated edges, whips with knotted leather tails, clamps that looked like they could crush

ANDRADE It’s been days since the wedding. Days of silence, reports, and dead ends. Days since Elijah vanished. The mansion feels like a mausoleum. Everyone walks on eggshells, pretending things are fine, pretending the Valerio family isn’t quietly unraveling behind closed doors. Marisol puts on her smile. Camila plays the grieving fiancée. My men whisper about what might’ve happened. And I sit here, in this goddamn office, waiting for news that never comes. I can’t even think straight anymore. Every lead turns to dust. Every call ends with the same words, no trace. The city feels colder without him. My hands rest on the desk, fingers tapping against the surface as I stare at the latest report — meaningless lines of text that tell me nothing. The clock ticks too loudly. I want to smash it. There's only one person in this city that can hide from me. Renata. She's responsible. I'm sure of that now. A knock. Gemma steps in, her voice cautious. “Sir… there’s a

ELIJAH I woke up slowly, my head pounding like someone had taken a hammer to it. Fuck. The room was the same dim hellhole—concrete walls, flickering bulb overhead, the stink of sweat and dried cum hanging in the air. My arms were numb, wrists raw from the metal cuffs biting into them, chained tight to the headboard. Every inch of me ached, especially down there—burning, sore, like I'd been torn open. I couldn't move, just lay there, folded and helpless, naked skin sticky with old fluids. The memories hit me hard as soon as my eyes focused. Last night—or whenever the fuck it was—Cristian had come in, all smirks and threats. He'd injected me again with that shit that made my body go limp while sharpening every goddamn nerve. I'd begged him to stop, cried like a bitch, but he didn't care. Stripped down, climbed on the bed, and buried his face in my ass. His tongue had lapped at my hole, pushing inside, slurping like he was starving. Then he'd sucked my coc