Alle Kapitel von Sold To The Devil In Armani: Kapitel 11 – Kapitel 18

Carlos's POV I led her through the estate in silence. The foyer lights were low, the marble floors reflecting only our shadows as we moved. Her hand was small in mine, trembling just enough for me to feel it, but she didn't pull away. She knew better, or maybe she was too stunned to fight anymore. Either way, the obedience, reluctant as it was, sent a dark satisfaction curling through my veins. We climbed the stairs without a word. I didn't look back at her face. I didn't need to. I could feel the storm coming off her in waves, fear, anger, shame, and that stubborn spark of defiance that never quite died no matter how hard I tried to smother it. At the double doors to the master suite I paused only long enough to push them open, then guided her inside and closed them behind us. The lock clicked into place, and I finally released her hand and stepped back, giving her space, not out of kindness, but to watch how she reacted to it. She stood there in that gown, hair slightly mussed

Elena's POV Panic surged through me like ice water in my veins. Was I really going to die here? And to a man like Don Moretti? No, I wasn't going to, and I definitely wasn't going to wait until Carlos to save me. I didn't think, I just acted. I hurled the glass of whiskey that was still clutched in my hand, whiskey and shards exploded across his cheek and nose. He flinched hard, eyes squeezing shut, gun dipping just enough. I didn't hesitate. I lunged forward, knee driving upward into his groin with every ounce of rage I'd swallowed since the auction, since the moment my father handed me over like currency, since Carlos locked that chain around my throat, since Marco whispered freedom in my ear like poison. Moretti let out a choked grunt, doubling over. The gun clattered to the carpet between us. I dove for it. My fingers brushed the grip of cold metal, but his hand shot out faster than I expected. He smacked me across the face with the back of his fist, the blow landing like a

Raquel's POV I slammed the door to my private suite so hard the crystal chandelier above my bed rattled violently, sending tiny shards of light dancing across the walls like broken promises. The sound echoed through the empty room, followed by the sound of my heels flying off my legs. My fingers clenched into fists so tight my nails dug deep crescents into my palms. Blood welled up in tiny beads, but I barely felt the pain. All I could feel was rage, hot, vicious, all-consuming rage. Carlos. He had brought her to the gala. That nobody. That auction whore. Elena Bush. He had probably done that to spite me, to remind me just how obsessed I was with him. He had definitely gotten what he wanted because he'd reminded me quite well. The image wouldn't leave my mind no matter how hard I tried to shove it away. The way she had stood beside him in that gown, wearing his ring like she had any right to it, the thin gold chain around her throat glinting like a brand of ownership. She had loo

Elena's POV I woke to an empty bed. The sheets beside me were cool, the indent where Carlos had lain already smoothed out. The faint scent of soap and his cologne still lingered in the air, sharp and clean, telling me he had been awake for a while. He must have slipped out quietly sometime before dawn, leaving me to sleep off the exhaustion and pain from the night before. I lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, testing my body. My cheek still throbbed, a dull, persistent ache, and when I gingerly touched the swollen skin, I winced. But overall, I felt… better. Stronger than I had any right to after what happened with Don Moretti. The terror had dulled into something manageable, the adrenaline crash replaced by a heavy, bone-deep tiredness that made even sitting up feel like effort. I pushed the covers back and swung my legs over the side of the bed. The oversized black shirt Carlos had dressed me in last night hung loose on my frame, the hem brushing mid-thigh. It smelle