All Chapters of Encore with the Devil: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

106 Chapters

Chapter 1 – You’re in the Breach of Our Marriage Contract

If regret had a font, it would be the one wrapped around my wrist.*Sing for the world, little star. Forget me.*The thin black letters curve over my pulse like a dare. Stage makeup can cover dark circles, acne, and even hickeys. It can’t cover ink. It can’t cover the fact that I tattooed my first heartbreak onto my skin and then built a career screaming about it.“Mic check, Luna. Thirty seconds,” a voice buzzes in my ear.I drop my arm, hide the tattoo under the cuff of my glittering jacket, and step into the light.Sicily erupts.“LUNA! LUNA! LUNA!”Fifty thousand people chant my name as the opening notes of "Bleed for Me" thunder through the stadium. The LED wall behind me explodes with fire and smoke effects. I stalk to center stage in thigh‑high boots and a bodysuit made of more sequins than fabric, hair loose, eyeliner sharp enough to pierce skin.On stage, I’m God.I lift the mic and let the noise wash over me, a tidal wave of need.“You still with me, Sicily?” I shout.They a

Chapter 2 – Ultimatum

The papers are still on the vanity when my legs give out.I stumble back onto the stool, marriage certificate limp in my hands, the black letters of my name, and his burning like they’ve been branded into my retinas.Wife.The word looks wrong next to my face in the mirror. Wrong next to smeared lipstick and stage sweat and the girl who swore she would never belong to anyone again.My chest tightens. The room feels too small.I shove my feet back into my boots, not even bothering with the zippers and barreling for the door.The hallway outside is a strip of harsh fluorescent light and scuffed concrete. The roar of the crowd is still a dull thunder through the walls, but in here, it sounds like it’s happening in another universe.“Luna!”Mia’s voice hits me from the side.She sprints toward me from the catering room, tablet clutched to her chest, headset half off, messy bun threatening to fall apart. She skids to a stop when she sees my face.“Whoa.” Her eyes go wide. “You look like yo

Chapter 3 – Mrs. Moretti

If my life had a soundtrack, this part would be silence.No crowd noise. No drums. Just the soft hum of the air‑conditioner and my own pulse pounding in my ears as I stare at the hotel TV, where some late‑night talking head is laughing about my latest “heartless siren” meme, blissfully unaware that his punchline has just become a legal wife.I clicked the TV off.The silence roars.On the bed in front of me, the marriage certificate and the contract lie side by side on the white duvet like two open graves.Mia sits cross‑legged at the foot of the bed in my old hoodie and leggings, hair in a lopsided bun, bare face paler than I’ve seen it in years. Rafael prowls from window to minibar and back like a caged animal, phone clenched in his hand, muttering to himself as he scrolls.“This is bad,” Mia says for the tenth time. “Like… not even your usual bad. This is ‘lifetime documentary with ominous music’ bad.”“No kidding.” My laugh scrapes my throat on the way out. “They didn’t even bothe

Chapter 4 – The Flight

If hell had a waiting room, it would smell like leather, jet fuel, and his cologne.I’m still on the top step when he says it.“Welcome home, wife.”The word slices down my spine. My hand tightens on the doorframe until my knuckles ache.Mrs. Moretti.Right now, it feels like a name someone else should be wearing. Someone softer. Someone stupider.Mia brushes past me into the cabin, eyes darting everywhere, taking in the cream leather, the dark wood, the flight attendant hovering by the galley with a polite non‑expression. Luca follows, scanning the interior like he’s plotting an evacuation route.I force my feet to move.Each step into the cabin feels like it sinks ankle‑deep into wet cement.“Ms. Vega.” The flight attendant gives me a polite smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Can I take your bag?”“I’ve got it,” I say.Dante watches me as I walk past him, gaze dragging over my jeans, my hoodie, my scuffed boots. The last time he saw me on a plane I was wearing cutoff shorts and his

Chapter 5 – His World

By the time the jet’s stairs hit the tarmac, my spine feels like it’s been welded into a straight line.Dante descends first, of course. Luca follows. Then, with Mia at my elbow, I step out into air that tastes different—salt and stone and something older than my Spotify top ten.The sky is just turning that bruised indigo between night and dawn. A private terminal stretches around us, all glass and steel and quiet efficiency. No paparazzi, no fans, just a few workers in reflective vests who seem more interested in avoiding eye contact with Dante than anything else.A line of black SUVs waits beyond the security fence.“Ms. Vega.” A man in a dark suit steps forward, nods. “Welcome to Sicily.”He doesn’t look at my face for more than a second. His gaze slides past me to Dante, and that’s where it stays.“Car,” Dante says.The man opens the back door of the lead SUV without a word.I bristle. “You know, in some cultures, they say hello to the wife, too.”Dante’s mouth curves slightly. “

Chapter 6 – The Past He Kept

I don’t sleep.I try.I lie back down, stare at the ceiling, tell myself I’m exhausted enough to pass out.My brain has other plans.Every time I close my eyes, I see fabric—the soft, worn cotton of that band tee; the scuffed leather of the jacket I thought had been left on a New Jersey sidewalk; the frayed hem of the shorts he used to drag me back to bed by, laughing.He kept them.Not tossed in a box. Not crumpled in some forgotten corner.Hung up.Preserved.Curated.At some point, I stop pretending I might drift off and sit up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. The floor is cool under my bare feet. Soft light from the bedside lamp paints everything in warm gold.My gaze drifts back to the open wardrobe.The jacket hangs there, dark and familiar. Before I can talk myself out of it, I cross the room and lift it off the hanger.The leather creaks quietly. It smells like dust and cedar, with the faintest ghost of old cigarettes and spilled beer—Brooklyn in winter, cramped clu

Chapter 7 – Wife Rules

I wake up with someone else’s heartbeat under my ear.For a split second, before consciousness catches up, it’s seven years ago. Cheap sheets. Brooklyn traffic. Dante’s arm heavy around my waist, his hand splayed over my stomach like he’s afraid I’ll float away.Then the mattress shifts under me, firmer. The air smells like salt and expensive detergent, not city grime. The sound outside isn’t honking or sirens—it’s the sea, far below.And the chest under my cheek is a lot more defined than it used to .My eyes snap open.I’m in his bed.My brain explodes in a thousand alarms at once.I jerk back so fast that I almost roll off the edge. His arm tightens automatically, hauling me steady before I can fall.“Relax,” he says, voice gravel‑rough with sleep.Relax.I shove at him hard. His arm drops away; I scramble off the mattress, nearly tripping on the sheet tangled around my ankle.“What the hell,” I hiss, heart racing. “What the actual—”He props himself up on one elbow, blinking at me

Chapter 8 – Punishments & Lines

The guard doesn’t move while I scramble to shove the receiver back into its cradle.He stands in the bathroom doorway like a wall in a suit. Brown eyes, no expression, hands clasped neatly in front of him.“How much did you hear?” I ask, throat tight.“Enough,” he says. “Mr. Moretti is in his office.”“Of course he is,” I mutter. “Scheduling my execution?”The man doesn’t answer. He just waits.“Fine,” I say. “Tell your king I’m on my way.”He steps aside as I brush past, his gaze flicking to the still‑running tap, then back to me. Not judging. Just…recording.Mia pops out of the bedroom as I enter, and the phone is still in her hand.“Was that—?”“Doom,” I say. “That was doom.”Her eyes widen. “He knows?”“He always knows,” I say. “Apparently there’s a bat signal somewhere that lights up every time I try to think for myself.”“You want me to come with you?” she asks.Part of me wants to say yes. The other part doesn’t want her within ten feet of Dante ever.“I’ll be fine,” I lie. “If

Chapter 9 – Rumors & Real Danger

I’ve been called a lot of things online.Heartless siren. Home‑wrecking muse. Autotune witch. “Privately owned star” is a new one.Mia paces my suite like a tiny, furious storm, phone in hand, bare feet thudding softly on the rug.“They’re everywhere,” she says. “Not just gossip sites. Industry blogs. Forums. Even some music journalists are ‘asking questions.’”“I told them not to rock the billionaire boat,” I mutter, flopping back on the bed. “They heard ‘billionaire’ and grabbed an oar.”She ignores me, scrolling. “Listen to this. *‘Sources suggest the label’s breakout talent has been quietly financed by a single ultra‑wealthy backer, leading some to speculate she might be less self‑made than her image suggests.’*”“Cute,” I say. “What else?”She swipes to another tab. “This one’s worse. *‘Whispers in the industry hint that the siren of heartbreak might be the kept woman of a European magnate, her career curated and bankrolled in exchange for…private performances.’*”My stomach tur

Chapter 10 – The Rival’s Shadow

The minute the door shuts behind Dante, my brain goes into overdrive.He’s going to meet the man who tried to buy me.Without me.“Absolutely not,” I say, pushing up out of my chair so fast it screeches against the floor.Mia startles. “Please tell me you’re not about to do the thing I think you’re about to do.”“I’m not staying here,” I say. “He doesn’t get to go discuss my fate with my almost‑owner like I’m a defective toaster they’re negotiating a refund for.”“You heard him,” she says. “He doesn’t want D’Angelo anywhere near you.”“Wow, what a gentleman,” I bite out. “He wants to argue over my ownership papers in peace.”“Luna,” she says softly. “He is an asshole. A controlling, manipulative, smug asshole. But that folder was real. The contract was real. If this D’Angelo guy wants you that badly *without* seeing you, imagine what happens if you’re right in front of him.”The thought makes bile rise in my throat.Still.“I’m not a child to be hidden in the attic while the men talk

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