The Devil's Wedding Night Novels & Stories

The Devil speaks: - You really have some nerve, coming to my wedding to screw my fiancée! Who do you think you are? - I don't want a fight, man, it's not my fault if your fiancée prefers me to you. The Devil raises his arm, ready to punch this man who doesn't seem afraid. I interrupt them by pulling the Devil aside: - Calm down, man, it's not his fault, you know your fiancée, I think she is the one who needs a good correction. Let him go.

He smiled—a slow, unsettling smile that made my blood run cold. Did I just make a deal with the devil? After signing, we traveled to his home. This time… officially as his wife.

Tessa’s breath hitched. Zayne chuckled, shifting gears. "Hear that, princess? The devil’s waiting." The car sped into the night.

Whether it was the brushes touching my eyes or the fact that I was getting married today. Today was my wedding. The day my family would finally be safe. The day I would finally feel safe. The day my name would change from Natasha Whitmore to Natasha Castillo. The day I would marry the devil himself. He was many things, but a devil? I wasn’t sure. Many believed he killed his parents, which was why he was referred to as the devil. Others said it was because of the people he was connected to. But he didn’t look like someone who’d do those things.

Nothing except her. The auction room was packed with men, their faces hidden in the dim gloom. They clapped and cheered as different girls were brought onto the stage, each one a sacrificial offering to their base desires. The auctioneer's voice echoed through the space, a frightening chant that punctuated the filthy spectacle. The men raised their tags, their laughter mingling with the cries of the girls, creating a roar of misery and greed.

“You know I could make all this go away. I can make the charges disappear, but I’m going to need something from you first.” I knew what it was before he even said it. “Sign the papers,” he leaned down to tuck a strand of hair from my face while maintaining eye contact with me. “And then disappear from my life, forever.” He said it with so much certainty that I felt like he had driven a stake clean through my heart, impaling me with his words. I blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of it all before it finally settled in my head. Curtis Blackwood was the fucking devil.

Lucian murmured with a smirk, earning a glare from Ayra. The days filled with fabric swatches, lists of guests, and endless debates about food. Ayra found herself laughing more than she ever had before, her heart light even in the chaos. --- The wedding day dawned crisp and golden. The small chapel they had chosen glowed with sunlight spilling through stained glass, painting the pews in hues of red, blue, and gold. There were no crowds, no reporters, no political figures—only the people they trusted, the ones who had survived alongside them.

Taking a deep breath, I shut my eyes, and pressed my lips against his. A flush shot through my spine, the scent of musk and lavender blooming in my nostrils. It felt so good, why? I snapped out of it, drawing the water from his mouth and spitting it out. I did it again. And again. Until his chest finally heaved and he coughed up the water. His eyes flew open, breath choppy, as he collapsed back into my lap. My breath whooshed on cue. “Drowning on your wedding night. You'd make such a bad husband, you know?”

“How audacious of you, Dave! You served me divorce papers after betraying me all over again, and yet you have the guts to feel like your opinion of feelings matters to me anymore? How dare you?” Dave stepped closer. “No, how dare you? I forbid it! You can get married to anyone but him! Do you even know who you’re getting married to? Aren’t you aware of his nickname?? He’s nicknamed ‘Devil’ for a reason. He's the Devil's own incarnate, so for your own sake, don’t do something stupid and ridiculous.” He paused for a moment. “If you still respect me a little, you’ll listen to me.”

he barked behind me. I chuckled inwardly. In a few more hours. Just a few. I expected him to complain again since I didn’t significantly increase my pace. He didn’t. The scene I was met with when the elevator doors opened wasn’t so surprising. The devil, whose name I had somehow forgotten, was walking ahead of us with a lady. I concluded that she was the Flora that caused last night’s little altercation. Okay, maybe not little, since it involved shooting threats. With his hands in both pockets of his pants, the lady seemed to have no option but to touch his shoulder casually as they talked. Even the blind could see that was trying so hard to clinch to his stone-cold self. Of course, he sees