Arianna's heart pounded so loudly it drowned out the crackling flames in the fireplace.
This couldn't be real. It had to be some sick, elaborate nightmare.
Yet the blood-red contract hovered before her, the glowing symbols pulsing like a living thing, whispering something ancient and eerie in a language she didn't understand. And at the bottom—her name. Written in blood.
Her breath came in short, panicked gasps. "This—this is a trick," she whispered. "A hallucination. You drugged me."
Damien's lips curled into a smirk, his silver eyes flashing with amusement. "Believe what you want, little wife, but the contract doesn't lie."
Little wife.
The words sent a sharp chill down her spine. She took a shaky step back, but Damien followed, his presence overwhelming. He didn't touch her—he didn't need to. His mere existence was enough to suffocate the air around her.
"I don't belong to you," she said, forcing steel into her voice. "I never agreed to this."
He exhaled, as if her resistance was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. "You didn't have to." He gestured toward the contract. "Your bloodline did centuries ago. The debt has come due."
Arianna clenched her fists. "Then let me go. Whatever my ancestors did—it's not my problem."
Damien chuckled. "Oh, but it is. You see, you are the last of your bloodline. There is no one else left to fulfill the contract."
Her stomach twisted. "And if I refuse?"
His expression darkened, the smirk vanishing. "You can't."
A wave of cold dread washed over her.
Damien stepped closer, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "The contract is bound to your soul, Arianna. Denying it is denying fate itself. And fate is never kind to those who fight it."
A flash of anger cut through her fear. "Then what? I'm just supposed to be your obedient little wife? A prisoner?"
Something flickered in his gaze—something dangerous. "You are not a prisoner."
She let out a bitter laugh. "Oh really? Because this sure as hell feels like a kidnapping."
He regarded her for a moment, his silver eyes unreadable. Then, before she could react, he raised a hand—and snapped his fingers.
The room shifted.
The air around them warped, and suddenly, the bedroom vanished. The walls, the fireplace, the massive bed—everything dissolved into a blur of darkness. Arianna gasped as the ground beneath her feet became unsteady, like she was floating in the void.
Then, just as quickly, reality snapped back into place.
She was no longer in the grand chamber.
She was standing in the middle of a cemetery.
Arianna staggered, her boots sinking slightly into damp earth. The scent of rain and freshly turned soil filled her lungs. Thick fog curled around the gravestones, swallowing the edges of the world.
Her heart slammed against her ribs. "What the—"
Damien stood beside her, unfazed. "If you truly believe you have a choice, then walk away." He gestured toward the darkened pathway leading out of the cemetery. "Go on. You're free."
Arianna's instincts screamed at her to run. This was her chance—her only chance.
She took off.
The cold air burned her lungs as she sprinted between the gravestones, her legs pumping as fast as they could carry her. Her pulse roared in her ears. Just get out. Find help. Wake up from this nightmare.
The cemetery gates loomed ahead, tall and rusted. Beyond them, the city lights flickered like distant stars. Almost there. Almost—
Her body slammed into something invisible.
Arianna cried out as she was thrown backward, landing hard against the cold ground. Pain shot through her palms as she scraped them against jagged gravel.
Dazed, she looked up.
The air before her shimmered, like an invisible wall of force blocked the exit.
"No," she whispered. She scrambled to her feet and reached out—only for an unseen force to hurl her back again.
Damien's voice came from behind her. Calm. Unforgiving. "I told you, Arianna. You cannot escape."
Her vision blurred with rage and desperation. She turned to face him, her hands clenched into fists. "You bastard—"
Before she could finish, Damien raised his hand.
The air shifted again.
The cemetery vanished in an instant, dissolving into black mist.
And just like that, they were back in the bedroom.
Arianna stumbled, her head spinning from the sudden change. Her breath came in ragged gasps. What the hell is he?
Damien stood before her, watching with a calm, knowing gaze. "Now do you understand?"
Her knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the edge of the bed. Her whole body was trembling.
"You… you're not human," she whispered.
His smirk returned. "No."
Arianna swallowed hard, gripping the silk sheets beneath her. "Then what are you?"
He leaned in, his silver eyes gleaming with something ancient, something inhuman.
"I am the son of the Devil."
Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.
Arianna could barely process it. The unnatural strength, the way he bent reality itself—this was beyond anything she had ever believed possible.
And now she was married to him?
A cold shiver ran down her spine.
Damien reached for her wrist, his fingers ghosting over the bruised skin where her attacker had grabbed her. A flicker of something unreadable passed through his expression.
"I saved your life tonight," he murmured.
Arianna's breath caught.
"You think I should be grateful?" she spat.
His smirk widened slightly. "No. But you should understand something." His voice dropped lower, filled with quiet, lethal promise. "You are mine, Arianna. And nothing—not Heaven, not Hell, not even you—will change that."
Her blood ran cold.
Because for the first time, she realized something terrifying.
Damien Lucien didn't just own her body.
He owned her soul.