All Chapters of HIS TO DESTROY: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

15 Chapters

The girl who hunts kings

“I'm sorry, sir—”She had practised the tremble in her voice, just enough breath to make it sound nervous but not foolish, like a girl too green to be dangerous, the kind men like Lucien Torres never looked at twice unless they were undressing them with their eyes.And that was exactly what she needed. She stepped through the rising mist of the private spa, her tray trembling just so, crystal glasses balanced like promises on polished silver.The scent in the room was teakwood and something darker—cardamom maybe, or smoke—coating the marble with a kind of heat that didn't come from the steam alone. Lucien didn't answer. He hadn’t even looked up yet.He was half-submerged in the steaming bath, one arm flung lazily over the edge of the stone rim, black ink curling up his forearm, a scorpion caught mid-sting. His chest rose and fell slowly beneath the rippling surface, dark hair slicked back, lashes wet.His silence was deliberate. Designed to make people sweat. Valentina—no, not here, C

Last Updated : 2025-10-28

Becoming the devil's mistress

He had her name; he had her scent in his sheets.But when Lucien Torres woke the next morning, the girl was gone.Not a note. Not a whisper.Just steam still clinging to the walls, a red silk strap floating in the bath, and a phantom ache he didn’t know how to name.Lucien wasn’t used to ghosts. He was used to obedience, to women who lingered in his bed until he dismissed them, to bodies that bent when he gripped their throats, to worship disguised as desire.But this—this girl—Catalina—she’d left like she was the one who owned the room. Like she had gotten what she came for. It made his jaw tick. And it made him want her again.“Find her,” he said simply.Mateo raised a brow across the breakfast table, pausing with his coffee halfway to his mouth.“You know her name?”“I know her mouth,” Lucien muttered, then looked up.“I want her brought to me before lunch.”No questions. No explanations.Mateo made the call.---Catalina wasn’t hiding. She had already returned to her staff quarter

Last Updated : 2025-10-28

The child they buried

Catalina needed air.Not freedom—just space, something soft and wide that didn’t smell like Lucien’s cologne or bourbon or the iron weight of his body pressing into hers night after night, filling her, claiming her, gripping her soul with fingers she didn’t know how to loosen.Her limbs still ached from the things he’d done the night before, not violently, no—he didn’t bruise unless he meant to—but thoroughly, like he was trying to carve his name into her bones.So she asked for a walk. It wasn’t unusual.Lucien liked women with lungs. It meant they wouldn’t pass out too quickly when he kissed them too long.The guards didn’t ask questions. One of them followed three steps behind, another two ahead, as she wandered off the paved courtyard path and into the outer lawn, where the grass didn’t grow as even and the roses looked like they bit back.She wore white—light linen pants, sleeveless blouse, unbrushed curls falling like smoke around her collarbone.A cigarette dangled between her

Last Updated : 2025-10-28

House of secrets and games

The light was softer this time when she woke, filtered through silk curtains the color of dusted rose, and for a moment, Catalina didn’t know where she was.Her head felt heavy, her limbs warm and slow, like she’d been wrapped in cotton and set gently on fire.Then she blinked—and saw the woman. Not the midwife.This was someone else.Taller.Elegantly built.She wore a pale gray robe with her dark hair swept into a knot and a gold chain at her throat that marked her as someone important.She didn’t move when Catalina stirred, only tilted her head slightly, watching with eyes that had already calculated everything.“You’re awake,” the woman said softly.Catalina sat up slowly, her chest tight, a dull ache in her hips.“Who…?”“Don’t worry. I didn’t take you to a hospital,” she said, stepping forward and setting a glass of water on the nightstand.“If I had, they would’ve run bloodwork. Asked questions. And word would’ve gotten back to Lucien.” Her voice dropped slightly. “I don’t thin

Last Updated : 2025-10-28

Whispers in white

The morning sun poured over the marble terrace like honey, thick and slow and golden.Catalina sat at the edge of a long breakfast table trimmed with silverware no one actually touched, her spoon clinking lightly against the side of her glass as she stirred fresh papaya juice, even though she hated papaya.The table was quiet, surrounded by open air and the hum of distant fountains. One guard leaned by a column, unreadable behind black sunglasses, and another paced the garden path below, slow and bored.She was alone.Lucien had left the room before sunrise, something about a meeting in the east wing, something he hadn’t cared to explain. He rarely did.He left her behind now like furniture—pretty, placed, and not to be moved. But Catalina didn’t mind. She preferred the mornings.They let her think without needing to perform. Then she saw her. A figure in white. Crossing the far edge of the compound near the rear chapel—flowing veil, black habit, sun glinting off her crucifix chain. A

Last Updated : 2025-10-28

The devil knows your name

The moment Sister Camila was taken, the air shifted. Not just in the garden, but inside Catalina’s chest, like something had been knocked loose, and every breath afterward came fractured and wrong. She stood there for too long, trying to replay the nun’s last look—the warning in her eyes, the weight in her voice—when she felt the air tighten again. Footsteps. Measured. Clean. She turned before the shadow fell across the path, and there he was. Don Esteban Torres. Lucien’s father. Now walking alone. No guards. No fanfare. Just silence and precision and silk shoes that didn’t dare collect dust. He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at her. Smiled slightly. Like he was looking at a chess piece that had wandered off the board. Then he said it. Not loud. Not threatening. Just a whisper dressed in a suit.“Valentina.” She didn’t try to make a move. Her blood stopped flowing. Her bones turned to ice. He smiled again—small, polite, unbothered. Then walked past her like he hadn’t just

Last Updated : 2025-10-29

Queen of smoke and knives

News travels faster than blood dries. In less than twenty-four hours, the world outside the estate began whispering condolences that didn’t match the silence inside the house. Politicians sent white lilies. Business partners offered carefully worded sympathies, wrapped in veiled questions. Even the Vatican sent a blessing. But no one believed a man like Don Esteban Torres died quietly. And Lucien wasn’t mourning. Not the way people expected. He didn’t hold a memorial. He didn’t wear black. He didn’t even make a public statement. Instead, he worked. Hours on end. Eyes sunken, voice clipped, phone glued to his hand, dealing with calls from other syndicates, from legal fronts, from deep-state clients too powerful to threaten and too dirty to trust. The seat was his now, but the crown burned hot. The empire didn’t grieve—it fractured. Factions began whispering in dark corners. People who had bowed for decades began straightening their spines.Territories once held in check by Esteban’

Last Updated : 2025-10-29

The ghost and the polaroid

The car exploded just outside the border checkpoint at Santa Marta. A black sedan with false plates, one guard inside, and enough accelerant beneath the backseat to make it look like an assassination.There were body parts left behind. All of which were burned beyond recognition. A bracelet melted into the seat. A strand of dark hair lay near the shattered window. And tucked into the dashboard, a cracked phone with Catalina Marín’s signal last pinged. It took less than an hour for the news to reach Lucien. She was dead, or so they claimed, but he didn’t believe any of it. Not for a second. The guards assigned to her that morning were inevitably dragged to the back courtyard. Two of them were shot on sight. One begged for his life, but Lucien didn’t blink when he gave the order. With Lucien, when it comes to Catalina, rage does not leave room for mercy.Catalina was gone. But she wasn’t dead. Not to him. No corpse, no confirmation, no closure. Just silence. And Lucien knew silence

Last Updated : 2025-10-29

Shadows in Izvoru

The compound was a fortress in the Romanian woods—stark walls, cold steel gates, emptiness that dripped like venom. Catalina moved under dusk, wearing a dark paramedic uniform patched with fake insignia. She approached the perimeter disguised as part of a containment unit sweep. This was Bright Light, a real CIA black site known in rare declassified accounts to have been located in Bucharest—a place prisoners were moved to by private aircraft and rail, with only a handful of US officials aware of the site’s exact coordinates. It was an unacknowledged prison, a whispered rumor until leaked cables placed it beneath Romanian vaults and steel cameras; she’d studied the details in intercepted logs Isa had pulled from encrypted forums. She told herself she was ready. Prepared. The night before, Isa handed her a handwritten note: “Turn after the third fence, between lights three and four. The hole’s weak. The bunker entrance is seven degrees clockwise from guard post C. You walk in slow

Last Updated : 2025-10-29

The warning in veil and smoke

The morning broke slow and heavy, weighed down by thick clouds and a hush over the Torres estate that felt unnatural. Catalina sat on the edge of her bed, hand pressed lightly against her stomach as dull aches whispered warnings. Her body was shifting, sending messages she wasn’t ready to interpret yet. Her mind, however, was somewhere else—looping through blurred images of Gabriel’s last smile, the strange hollowness of the house, and the silence of the woman who had once been her silent helper. A knock came at the main entrance just after breakfast. It was sharp but not aggressive, and the guards hesitated before opening. Sister Camilla entered wrapped in her dark veil, hands folded neatly before her, rosary beads clicking with every step. She looked like a vision pulled straight from a darker century. Lucien met her at the bottom of the staircase. “Sister,” he said, his tone cautious but polite. “You weren’t expected.” “I wasn’t invited either,” she replied. “But I had a dr

Last Updated : 2025-10-29

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