Devoted Novel Novels & Stories

The noises Ruth and Ivan made pierced my ears. I wanted to cover them so I wouldn't have to listen to them, but the noise penetrated my soul. I clamped my ears as hard as possible, but it didn't help. I couldn't escape, either. It was as if I'd been placed under a spell that bound my soul to Ruth. I couldn't get away from her. I could only watch as my fiancée, the woman I loved more than life itself, slept with my murderer. I was so disgusted that I wanted to puke.

He turned back to the room, the journal still clutched to his chest, and allowed himself one final whisper into the darkness: “This world may have taken you, Rafe, but I will carry you with me, always. Every heartbeat. Every breath. Every sin. Every devotion.” Nicholas Rhodes sat alone in the empire he now ruled with absolute control, colder than ever to the outside world, yet warmer in the memory of the man who had held him, who had loved him, and who had died for him. And though the nights would be long, the silence unbearable, the ghosts of their love lingered—painful, beautiful, eternal.

Behind me, Stella cried out in despair: "Matteo, didn't you love me for ten years? Do you have to be this cruel?" I didn't break stride, and her voice cracked. "I'm sorry, Matteo! I'm so sorry!" My fingers curled at her apology, but I didn't look back. Outside, the sunlight hit me, warm and golden. A decade was wasted on misplaced devotion, but I believed the future held happiness for me. After all, I'd found the girl who'd waited ten years for me.

Now, his pulse beat steadily against my wrist, a rhythm I knew better than my own. I shaved his jaw, his neck, the tricky spot under his nose. Our eyes met in the mirror. The fever had burned away some of the arrogance in his gray eyes, leaving something harder, cleaner underneath. "Why are you doing this, Vivian?" he asked quietly. "You could take the Ledger to the FBI. You could disappear. Why walk back into the fire with me?" I rinsed the razor. I dried his face with a paper towel. "Because I sold my soul to the Devil," I whispered, leaning down until our foreheads touched. "And I don't break my contracts."

Isla – POV It was just another boring class. Well, boring until the door opened and in walked Dean Foster with him. Grayson Voss. My heart stopped. Literally stopped. The room went so quiet you could hear a pin drop. The Dean beamed like he’d just won the lottery. “Class, we’re honored today. Mr. Voss has been incredibly generous, making a major donation toward our library’s expansion. Please, a round of applause.” Nobody clapped right away.

No women. “A devil with no weakness,” she murmured, the words barely louder than the crunch of the apple. Then a memory surfaced: the way he had devoured her the entire night, slow and relentless, as if her body were the only sin worth savoring. Her fingers tightened subconsciously around the book on devils she had just finished reading. Its pages had spoken of their insatiable hunger for untouched souls, pure, unchanging, untouchable. The moment a soul was altered in any way, it slipped forever from their grasp.

What can you say about this? ‘I am just honored that my first novel got this much recognition. To answer that, this novel is purely a product of my imagination coupled with how I see the world. It is very relevant because the book mirrors some situations which happen in reality. The characters in the story do not pertain to specific individuals. Thank you all for your support. I am very overwhelmed and grateful.’ ‘I see. One last question before we go. We were informed that you are Architect before you became a writer, can you share how the decision came to shift from a well-paying career to writing with passion?’

THIS BOOK IS A DARK MAFIA ROMANCE INTENDED FOR MATURE READERS AGED 18 AND ABOVE. IT CONTAINS EXPLICIT CONTENT INCLUDING, BUT NOT LIMITED TO: Graphic sexual scenes Violence and torture Strong language Drug use Psychological manipulation Mafia-related kinks and themes Depictions of abuse (not inflicted by the male lead)

I sat quietly at the long mahogany table, staring at the stack of documents in front of me, my name neatly printed alongside Marco’s. "Mr. Marco Luciano married Miss Francesca Colman", I read under my breath. It sounded so unreal. Auntie Emilia fussed with her scarf beside me, a bundle of nervous energy as she dabbed at her forehead. Marco sat at the other end of the table, impossibly composed, his blue eyes watching me with a calm intensity that made my heart flutter and my stomach churn.

I smiled when his hand went to my stomach, caressing it with pride and admiration that there was life growing. “I promised I would destroy the world for you. And I am. Anything to keep my fire.” Damiano whispered, still looking at my stomach, feeling enchanted by it before he looked at me with a beautiful smile on his lips. He did promise me, and not once had he failed to keep his promise. After all, Damiano was a man of his word. He was my villain, and… “My Devil.” I whispered with a soft smile, and a mischievous look appeared on his face.