All Chapters of Sinfully His: Craving The Devil's Son: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

74 Chapters

Smile For The Cameras

POV: Clara"Gentleman... Meet my beautiful wife Clara." Victor said, placing his hands on my lower back.I just smiled politely at the men whose eyes never came up to my face. Their gazes were fixed on the low cut of my dress, through which my cleavage was visible.I rolled my eyes and did my job beside my so-called husband, listening to him as he droned on and on about political bullshit and some other stuff with his company.Suddenly, I felt a gaze on me and I turned to see Nikolai standing at the corner of the room, one hand in his pocket and the other holding a glass of champagne.He caught my gaze but his eyes never shifted as he downed the drink in one go and dropped the empty glass on the tray of a waiter who was passing by.Feeling extremely uncomfortable—from the hand of the father on my waist and the gaze of the son—I excused myself from their midst and walked away.I had barely taken two steps before a woman blocked my path. There was a tag on her shirt that read *reporter*

The Version My Father Told

POV: NikolaiThe mansion looked worse in daylight.I stood in the doorway of the breakfast room with my coffee, watching the staff move through the ground floor like a cleanup crew after a natural disaster. Someone was on their hands and knees picking sequins out of the carpet. Another was collecting champagne flutes from the windowsills and the mantelpiece and one particularly concerning location behind the grandfather clock.Victor sat at the head of the breakfast table, still in last night's shirt, snapping at the housekeeper about the flower arrangements being moved without his permission."They were wilting," she said carefully. "I thought—""You're not paid to think about flowers. You're paid to move them when I tell you to move them." He pressed two fingers against his temple and reached for his water glass.I took the seat across from him and poured myself more coffee from the carafe. I looked around the table. "Where's Clara?""Migraine." Victor didn't look up. "She's restin

His Son’s Bed

POV: Clara The Draven beach house looked like something that was built to intimidate people rather than welcome them.It had floor-to-ceiling glass walls which reflected the setting sun. Apparently Victor loved it here, so of course I hated it on sight.He parked with a satisfied sigh and turned to Mr. Quinn in the backseat. “Wait till you see the infinity pool. It looks like it drops straight into the ocean.”Mr. Quinn chuckled. “You always did have taste, Victor.”I got out first, my sandals sinking into the white gravel. The salt wind whipped my hair across my face as I heard the waves crashing below the cliff, loud and endless. The sound pressed against my chest, reminding me how isolated we were. We had no neighbors or roads close enough. It was just water stretching forever in every direction.I busied myself with the caterers while Victor gave the tour. Trays of shrimp, chilled oysters, tiny crab cakes—everything expensive and perfect already arranged out. I pointed at wher

The Kindness He Called Ruin

POV: Nikolai The beach at six in the morning was grey and flat, the tide pulling back from the sand in long, slow sheets.Victor walked ahead, hands behind his back, talking. Quinn kept pace beside him, nodding at the right intervals. I walked a half step behind them both, which was where Victor preferred me during these conversations—close enough to hear, far enough not to contribute unless invited."The Wilson portfolio is nearly sorted," Victor said. "A few remaining assets. The lake property, some personal holdings they'd been sitting on for years. Sentimental attachments to things that stopped being worth anything a long time ago."Quinn made a sound of agreement. "Old families have that problem.""They do." Victor stepped over a line of seaweed the tide had left behind. "It's almost a kindness, helping them let go. They wouldn't know how to do it themselves."I kept my eyes on the waterline.Kindness. That was the word he used. I'd watched him use it before—with the Hendersons,

The Cage Gets Smaller

POV: ClaraVictor was already at the table when I came down for breakfast.That was unusual. He was a late riser at home, always taking his coffee in the study before appearing for anything social. But this morning he was seated at the head of the table with his jacket already on, a half-eaten plate of eggs in front of him, and the particular energy of a man who had already won something and was enjoying the feeling."There she is," he said, when I came in.Mr. Quinn and his wife were at the table too, along with Camille, who was picking at a bowl of fruit. Nikolai wasn't there yet.I sat down and poured coffee and told myself it was going to be a straightforward morning."The Quinn partnership is finalized," Victor said, as though he was making a toast without a glass. "Everything signed, everything settled. I thought we'd celebrate properly when we're back home. A dinner, nothing too large. A hundred guests perhaps."Mr. Quinn looked pleased. His wife looked like she'd heard this ki

A House of Glass and Hostages

POV: ClaraThe black iron gates of the mansion opened and my parents’ sedan came up the gravel driveway, looking small and fragile against the backdrop of Victor’s huge fortress.I stood on the front portico, my hands clasped so tightly in front of my silk dress that my knuckles were white. Victor stood beside me, his hand resting possessively on the small of my back. To any onlooker, we were the picture of a successful power couple welcoming kin. To me, his hand felt like a branding iron, one that was constantly in for that matter. "Smile, Clara," Victor murmured. "They’ve traveled a long way."The car stopped. My father climbed out first, looking ten years older than when I’d last seen him. His suit which was once sharp on him now hung slightly loose on his frame. My mother followed, her movements stiff and hesitant. "Welcome!" Victor called out, his voice booming with a smile that never really reached his eyes. He stepped forward, radiating the charisma of a saint. "Arthur, Ele

Muscle Memory

POV: NikolaiI’d been at the heavy bag at the gym for forty minutes straight now with no gloves, just wrapped knuckles which were already splitting open again on the worn leather. Each punch landed with a dull thud that echoed off the mirrored walls. My lungs burned and I welcomed the pain. I wanted the burn.Her face kept flashing behind my eyes—the way her pupils had blown wide when I whispered about her father’s business. The worse part was that I didn't see the shock I expected on her face. It was more like she’d suspected it all along but hearing it out loud made the floor drop out from under her. I hated that look. Hated that I’d put it there. Hated even more that part of me wanted to take it back.The bag swung hard on its chain as I drove my fist into it again and felt the impact rattle up my arm to my shoulder. My shirt was soaked through, clinging to my back like a second skin.The door opened behind me but I didn’t bother turning around. Henry’s voice was calm, almost

The House That Watches Back

POV: ClaraMy mother held the shopping bag like it might explode.She'd been doing it all morning—hovering her fingers at the handles, barely letting herself grip it, like the weight of Victor's money was something that could burn through the paper and straight into her skin. The boutique on Fifth had been a nightmare. The one after it worse. She kept checking price tags and putting things back, and every time I handed something to her and said, "Get it," she looked at me like I was asking her to commit a crime."Clara, this is too much.""It's a two-hundred-dollar scarf.""That's too much for a scarf.""It's not your money, Mom."She flinched when I said that. I didn't mean it harshly, but I didn't take it back either. We'd been at this for four hours and I was tired and it had nothing to do with walking. The engagement party was in nine days. Victor wanted it to look like we were a family that belonged together, which meant my mother needed to look the part. New dress, new shoe

Where He Puts Me

POV: NikolaiI woke up with my head splitting and my mouth tasting like something had died in it.The light coming through the curtains was too bright and too sharp, and for a moment I just lay there staring at the ceiling, letting the hangover announce itself properly. My stomach was unsettled. My body felt like it had been wrung out and set down wrong. I had drunk more than I intended last night, which was not something I did often, and I was already annoyed at myself for it.But more than the physical discomfort, there was something else. A feeling I had learned to pay attention to over the years. Low and persistent, sitting somewhere behind my sternum.Something was off.I showered, dressed, and went straight to the study.The door was open, which was the first thing wrong. Clara's father kept that door closed when he was working, and he was always working by this hour. I stepped inside anyway.Empty.I stood there for a moment and looked around. The chair was pushed back from the

What We Do in the Dark

POV: ClaraThe East Wing corridor smelled of antiseptic, or maybe it was my nose that had the problem with identifying smells. I kept my steps light, shoulders pressed to the wall like I’d seen the maids do when they didn’t want to be noticed. My heart hammered so loud I was sure the new guard at the end of the hall could hear it.He spotted me anyway.He was tall, broad and probably hired him for muscle rather than brains. His uniform was crisp, black with silver trim—Victor’s new color. He straightened when I came into view, mouth curving into a slow, lazy smile that made my skin crawl.“Miss.” His voice was too warm, too familiar. “Fancy seeing you here.”I stopped five feet away, chin up. “I’m just heading to the library. I think I made a wrong turn.”His eyes slid down my body and back up, lingering on the neckline of my dress. “Library’s west. This is east. And the east is off-limits tonight. Boss’s orders.”“Victor’s orders?” I corrected as I asked him, because calling him ‘bos

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