Chapter 4 A Deal with the Devil

Chapter 4: The Devil's Property

The McDonald's estate was a kingdom carved from marble and blood.

Aria had barely slept. She lay awake in the unfamiliar bed, sheets soft like silk, but reeking of control. She kept staring at the ornate chandelier above her-a frozen explosion of crystals and gold-waiting for it to fall.

But it didn't. Nothing broke. Nothing shattered. Only her.

The sun rose, cold and distant. Not even the warmth dared enter this place.

A knock on her door startled her. Three raps. Sharp. Expected.

She didn't answer.

The door opened anyway.

Miss Lora entered-stone-faced, efficient.

"You are to be dressed and presentable within ten minutes."

"For what?" Aria croaked, voice raw.

"The Don will see you now."

The Don. The title lingered in the air like gun smoke.

Aria didn't respond. She moved slowly, deliberately. Every second was an act of rebellion.

Clothes had been laid out for her: a black satin dress, sleek and suffocating. No zippers. No laces. Nothing you could use to run or fight.

She stared at it.

"You expect me to wear this?"

Miss Lora met her gaze without blinking. "You are no longer in a place where expectations bend to your comfort."

"I'm not your doll."

"No," Lora said, "you're his."

---

She was led down a long hallway-walls of cold gray stone, portraits of dead-eyed men in suits watching her like ghosts. The smell of tobacco, leather, and something darker lingered in the air.

Aria's heart beat louder with every step.

The doors to Dante's office were massive. Black wood. Iron handles. Like a gateway to hell.

Lora knocked once and opened them without waiting.

Inside, the room was drenched in shadows. Tall bookshelves lined the walls. A fireplace crackled quietly, painting flickers of red across the space.

Dante stood by the window, hands behind his back.

He didn't turn when she entered.

"Leave us," he said to Lora.

She bowed and closed the door.

Silence.

Aria stood frozen just inside.

Dante finally turned.

His eyes landed on her. And something in them shifted-approval, hunger, amusement. It was hard to tell. Everything about him was unreadable.

"Sit," he said.

She didn't move.

"I said sit."

"I'd rather stand."

He smiled. "Still so stubborn."

She met his gaze. "Still so arrogant."

"Good," he said. "I was hoping they didn't break you too soon."

He walked to his desk and sat behind it, fingers steepled.

"You're probably wondering why you're here."

"Oh, I'm well aware," she snapped. "I'm your property now. Or so the staff whispered behind their fake smiles."

Dante nodded, unbothered. "Correct. You belong to me."

Her hands balled into fists. "I don't belong to anyone."

"You do now."

"No ring. No vows. No choice. That's not marriage. That's trafficking."

He tilted his head. "Words matter little in this world. What matters is power. And now, you are tethered to mine."

"You mean owned."

"I mean protected."

She laughed bitterly. "You think this is protection? Ripping me from my life, shoving me into a castle of murderers, and locking me in a golden cell?"

He leaned forward slowly. "You lived a lie, Aria. A soft illusion wrapped in poverty. Your parents were drowning in debt. My offer was mercy."

"Your offer was slavery."

He rose from his seat, coming around the desk.

Aria stood her ground, chin high.

"You hate me now," Dante said, voice low. "That's natural. But soon you'll understand something far more frightening-this world has no place for innocence. You're safer as mine than you ever were as theirs."

She glared at him. "You don't get to play savior when you're the monster that dragged me here."

Dante studied her for a long time.

Then, with unnerving calm, he said: "Would you like to see what the world would've done to you without me?"

Aria froze.

"What?"

He walked to a drawer, pulled out a black folder, and tossed it on the table.

"Go ahead. Open it."

She didn't move.

"Curiosity's already eating you alive. Don't fight it. Read."

Her fingers hesitated, then flipped open the folder.

Her stomach turned.

Photos.

Dozens.

Of her. Taken without her knowledge. Walking to school. Sleeping on the couch. In the shower.

She flipped faster. Names. Dossiers. Emails.

Men.

Men who had bid on her.

"You were being watched," Dante said softly. "For over a year. Your father owed money to some very dangerous people. He offered you to several. They planned to sell you to the highest bidder."

Her breath caught in her throat.

"No-he wouldn't-he couldn't-"

"He did."

She stared at the images, her skin crawling. One photo showed her undressing in her bedroom. She remembered that night-thought she'd closed the blinds.

Dante continued, "The night I made my offer, there were already two others willing to pay more."

"Why did you do it?" Her voice broke.

He stepped closer. "Because I couldn't stand the idea of someone else putting their hands on you."

She looked up, eyes glassy with rage and confusion. "So you saved me by claiming me?"

"Yes," he said, unapologetic.

"And what now?" she asked, her voice hollow. "You parade me around like a trophy? Breed me like a pet? What's your endgame?"

His eyes darkened. "You'll learn your role. I'll teach you how to survive this world. And eventually... you'll be thankful."

Aria stepped back, trembling. "You're delusional."

"I'm practical."

She threw the folder across the room, papers scattering like ash.

"I will never love you," she said.

"Love isn't required," Dante replied. "Loyalty is."

"And if I don't give it?"

He took a slow step toward her.

"Then I'll break you until you do."

---

Later That Night

Her room felt colder. Bigger. Like the walls themselves were watching her.

She sat on the bed, the weight of the folder still pressing on her chest.

He had proof. Her father had betrayed her. Sold her like cattle.

And Dante?

He wasn't a savior. He was a collector. A devil who saved her from fire only to put her in a cage.

But a strange truth lingered beneath the hate.

He hadn't lied.

That terrified her more than anything.

A soft knock startled her.

This time, it wasn't Lora.

Dante entered without waiting.

She stood again. Always standing when he entered-like it was the only way to feel equal.

"I said I didn't want company."

"I didn't come for conversation."

"Then what?"

He tossed a small item onto the bed. It clinked softly.

A necklace.

Thin silver. A pendant in the shape of a key.

She didn't touch it.

"What is this?"

"Your collar. But prettier."

She recoiled. "You're sick."

"Keep it. Or don't. I don't care."

He turned to leave.

But paused at the door.

"I meant what I said earlier," he added without looking at her. "They would've destroyed you. And not gently. You're mine now, Aria. But in time, you'll understand... that's the best thing that could've ever happened to you."

And then he was gone.

Leaving her alone with the necklace and a thousand twisted questions.

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