MY SINFUL LUST

I walked through the main entrance of Varn State High School, my boots clicking against the polished floor.

My two bodyguards followed without a word, dressed in black suits that made them stick out like shadows behind me.

The hallway quieted down fast. Conversations stopped, laughter faded, and all I could feel were stares stabbing into my back.

I hated this part. The stares. The sneers. The fear written on their faces. If looks could kill, I would have dropped dead before even reaching the classroom. I kept my head down, not wanting to meet those disgusted glares.

No one needed to remind me why they hated me. I knew. Everyone knew. I was the daughter of Thane Donatello. The Devil's Daughter.

Thane Donatello, known as the Immortal One, ruled Bount like a nightmare come alive. Every time someone gathered the courage to talk to me, they asked the same question, "How does it feel to be the daughter of the most dangerous man alive?"

I never answered. I never wanted to admit how ashamed I was. It was times like this that I miss my mother.

My father controlled Bount like a tyrant. No freedom. No rights. Anyone who spoke against him vanished without a trace. He ruled with the same cruelty that old warlords from history books were known for. Elections were jokes, news channels only praised him, and prisons overflowed with anyone who dared to rebel.

I understood why they despised me. I had more than enough reasons to hate myself too. My family lived in gold while others barely survived. People lost their jobs, families, and dignity because of him-because of us. No one wanted me around. No one dared to befriend me.

But knowing it didn't make it easier.

I walked into class and headed straight for the back corner where a cushioned seat always waited for me. A few students rolled their eyes, some muttered under their breath, but no one spoke directly to me. They never did.

"Jéi unvréi secistaś," Mrs Kolai greeted in her sharp, commanding voice.

"Unvréi, Mrs Kolai," the class replied half-heartedly.

Great. Another hour and a half with her. She hated me. Everyone knew it. She never hit me or cursed me outright, but her words always carried hidden jabs, and her lessons often turned into lectures about everything wrong with my father. If my father ever heard half of it, she would vanish overnight. But I didn't care to report her. I didn't even care about her.

Her fashion sense alone made me question her life decisions. That ridiculous mole on her chin wasn't helping either.

"Today, secistaś," she said, switching on the projector, "we will discuss Bount's political history... especially the first democratically elected president."

Her beady eyes landed on me. I felt my teeth clench.

"Miss Donatello," she said, her lips curling, "do you remember who the first elected president of Bount was?"

I gave her a polite smile. "Viesí madame."

She smirked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Correct. A man of honor and respect. Not everyone's father can say the same." She turned back to the projector.

And just like that, my morning got worse.

I stayed seated, arms folded, pretending to care. Students paired up fast. Friends clumped together, couples giggled side by side. I stayed alone, like always.

Mrs Kolai didn't even look at me again. She probably enjoyed watching me sit by myself.

Home-schooling would have been easier, but I hated that house even more. At least here I could breathe, even if I had no one to talk to.

Mrs Kolai paced around the classroom like a starving vulture, her cold eyes flicking from student to student. She wanted a victim-someone to dump on me. Her lips curled in satisfaction when she spotted him. Nick Raul sat tucked away in the far corner, nose buried deep inside a thick textbook. He didn't notice the trap closing in on him.

"Mr Raul," Mrs Kolai's sharp voice cut through the air. Every head turned in his direction. "Where is your partner?"

Nick blinked, startled, then cleared his throat. "I... I don't have one, Mrs Kolai."

That was all it took. The hyena pack disguised as classmates leaned in, eager for the show. I knew exactly what was coming. She turned her glare to me. I kept my head down, my eyes glued to the wooden desk, pretending it held the secrets of the universe.

"Well, Miss Rector doesn't have one either," she said, her voice smug. "Why don't you pair up with her?"

There was no room for debate. No questions. Just orders.

My fingers itched to slam the desk in frustration. Not at Nick, but at the teacher who enjoyed humiliating me in any way she could. I flicked a glance toward Nick so he wouldn't think I planned to curse him into a toad or bite his head off. Unfortunately, the room remained charged with judgment. People whispered about me being a demon, the spawn of the Devil himself, Thane Rector.

Nick stood slowly, his chair scraping against the floor. He walked towards me with slow steps, dragging his feet as if heading to a noose. He seemed calm until Thyme Sorasis-annoyance in human form-decided to make it worse.

"Rest in peace, Nick," Thyme sang loudly. "Hope you said your goodbyes."

Laughter erupted. Loud and ugly. I clenched my fists under the desk. Thyme had hated me ever since I embarrassed him in front of the whole school years ago. I used to be reckless and spiteful. I outgrew it. Thyme didn't.

Mrs Kolai raised her bony hand, and silence fell again. "The first pair will present in twenty minutes," she declared. Groans echoed through the room. "Enough! Get to work."

Nick slid into the chair beside me, his back straight and his stare fixed on the whiteboard. He avoided looking at me, and I stayed quiet too. I flipped through the textbook while tapping at my learner's tablet, ignoring everything else.

The silence stretched for several painful minutes until I caught him sneaking a glance my way. I gave him a small smile, something gentle enough to remind him I wasn't some cursed beast.

"I'm not going to bite, you know," I whispered.

A shy smile tugged at his lips. He scratched his thigh nervously and mumbled, "Sorry... I'm Nick. I shouldn't be talking to you, right?"

His honey-colored eyes looked anywhere but my face. They flickered over my hands, my tablet, then back to the desk.

I shrugged. "Don't believe the stories. I'm-"

"I know who you are," he cut in before I could finish. "Thea Esnal Rector."

"Miss Thea, the master wants to see you in his office," Fiona said softly, her head bowed low, before she quickly turned on her heel and left.

Her footsteps echoed down the corridor, leaving me frozen in place, swallowed whole by my own dread.

A sharp sigh left my lips as I forced myself to sit up, limbs heavy, chest already tightening with that familiar choking feeling.

My heartbeat stumbled, thumping against my ribs like a warning drum. Being alone in that room with him never brought comfort-only a gnawing unease that settled deep in my bones.

My father -Thane Rector.

I muttered a curse under my breath and pushed myself off the bed, bare feet sinking into the plush carpet that covered every inch of my room. My fingers tugged at the creases of my silk nightdress, smoothing it down even though I knew it wouldn't matter to him. It never did.

Stepping out of my room, I made my way through the suffocating halls. The mansion stood tall and imposing, flaunting its wealth shamelessly. Gilded doors, diamond chandeliers sparkling like artificial stars, golden trimmings that caught every light, expensive paintings that probably cost more than most people's homes... the walls reeked of power and luxury. It was everything anyone on the outside would envy.

But not me.

To me, it all looked hollow, lifeless-like a lavish cage built to keep me in chains. These corridors did not carry warmth, only shadows. The towering ceilings and long hallways didn't offer freedom; they pressed down on me like the weight of chains wrapped around my neck.

Every step I took reminded me of the years spent walking these same polished floors. I had memorized every marble tile, every carved pillar, every ornate door. The luxury didn't impress me anymore. It disgusted me. It whispered reminders of how my life had been bought and shaped, how my choices had been stolen from me the second my mother married Thane Rector.

This wasn't a home.

It was a palace built on blood money, held together by fear, and I was nothing more than a bird trapped inside, doomed to call it my sanctuary.

I grew up inside these marble walls after my mother married Thane when I was seven. Back then, I had no real opinion about him, just a quiet dislike I couldn't understand.

My mother wanted power, she got it. Now he was more than just powerful-he was feared, hated, and unstoppable.

The Rector fortune could fill oceans, enough to drown entire nations in gold and diamonds, but not a single drop of it ever fell into my hands freely.

Every thread of silk on my body, every bite of food on my plate came with conditions-silent chains attached to my wrists, keeping me bound to the master of this grand house.

I was never treated like a daughter. Daughters were supposed to be loved, protected, cherished. I was none of those things.

I became nothing more than a dressed-up servant, paraded in designer clothes while fulfilling tasks that reminded me every single day of my real place in this household.

My duties were clear, never spoken but always expected. I prepared his meals, always exactly the way he liked them.

I scrubbed his office, polished the desk he ran his bloody empire from. I ironed his tailored suits until they were crisp and perfect, arranged his cufflinks, stocked his cologne, and knew every brand of product that touched his skin.

I memorized his preferences like holy scripture. I knew how long his ties should fall, how sharp the pleats of his trousers needed to be, what cut of steak he preferred, and exactly how much ice to put in his whiskey. I knew his exact shirt size, his shoe size, and the fit of the tight boxer briefs he insisted on wearing.

No one else in this mansion could serve him. No other hand could lay out his wardrobe or prepare his meals. It had to be me. Always me.

And for reasons I could never understand, he kept me close. Not in a loving, fatherly way. But like a predator keeping his prey within reach, observing every move with that cold, silent intensity that made my skin crawl. His stare followed me everywhere, sharp like a blade pressed against my throat, waiting for me to slip.

Over time, I perfected the art of shrinking myself. Of keeping my head low, my steps quiet, my words soft. Every day felt like walking on glass, careful not to trigger whatever storm brewed behind those calculating eyes.

I stood at his office door, fingers curling around the brass handle. My silk nightdress clung to my skin, delicate straps sliding down my shoulders. I yanked them back into place and took a shaky breath before knocking lightly, just enough for him to hear.

"Enter," he called, his voice flat and cold, carrying that usual emptiness that always found a way to squeeze my chest tighter.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside. His stare hooked me instantly-those sharp, silver-blue eyes locked on me, dragging me in like chains around my throat. My steps faltered. My legs refused to move, breath caught in my chest. I stood there, trapped beneath his cold gaze, pinned like prey before the predator.

Then... he smiled.

Not the careless, arrogant grin I had grown used to. This smile moved slower, stretched wider, dripping with something darker... something filthy and possessive. It felt like he already knew every wicked thought swirling in my head. Like he had already decided what to do with me.

The room seemed to shrink around us, thick with tension.

"You called for me, father?" My voice came out tight, trying to stay strong while my body betrayed me, shivering under his gaze. My arms stayed stiff, fists clenched at my sides, nails digging into my palms to keep from showing how much I trembled.

He leaned back in his chair, fingers stroking his trimmed beard, his stare dipping lower, tracing my shape with slow hunger. He drank in every curve, every soft line beneath my dress, lips curling up in quiet amusement as I fidgeted beneath his silent command.

"Pour me a drink, Thea," he said, his deep voice drenched in something too smooth, too thick... like honey laced with poison.

Heat crawled up my neck. I kept my head down, walked to the cabinet with slow steps, and poured his favorite whiskey, feeling his stare burn into my back the whole time. My hands shook just slightly when I placed the glass before him, fingers brushing the edge of the desk, close enough to feel his heat, close enough to smell the heavy musk of leather and dominance clinging to him.

I swallowed hard and stepped back, my body tingling, skin tight with nervous heat.

"Anything else, daddy?" I asked, breathless, biting my lower lip to stop the shiver threatening to escape.

His fingers tapped the desk before pointing lazily to the chair opposite him. His lips curved in a smirk, voice low and rough as it curled around me like a leash.

"Sit that soft, pretty ass down, girl," he purred. "Right where I can watch you squirm."

My knees weakened, thighs pressing together as my body warmed. My skin prickled, nipples tightening under the thin fabric, and every inch of me ached with a dangerous craving.

I obeyed, knowing this was just the start.

I forced my stubborn eyes to lift, even though every part of me screamed to look away.

The Devil stood there, leaning lazily against his desk, watching me like I was his favorite sin. He was... breathtaking. Too beautiful to be real. The heavens had crafted him to be an angel, but he spit in their face. He chose chaos over purity. Destruction over peace.

That all-black suit molded perfectly to his tall, muscular body, hugging every hard line of him like a second skin. The crisp fabric whispered with every small movement, looking soft but sharp enough to cut. His silver-blue eyes stared through me, cold and empty like frozen oceans, dragging me under with no escape.

And yet... something dangerous flickered in those depths. That cruel glint I had seen so many times before... right before punishment... right before pain. It made my throat tighten, made heat flood between my thighs even as fear crawled up my spine. I hated it. I hated how my body responded to him while my mind screamed to run.

His lips-God, his lips-stayed set in a straight, unkind line. Those lips had only kissed with cruelty, only whispered punishments... yet I still wondered how they'd feel pressed against my throat, against my chest, against places I shouldn't even imagine. My cheeks burned, but my thighs pressed tighter.

His dark hair fell to his shoulders in soft, thick waves. Clean and silky, yet heavy with the weight of every sin he committed. Every inch of him screamed power, danger, possession. He stood tall-six foot seven of muscle and lethal grace. The kind of man who made other men shrink into the background. The kind of man who made women forget their common sense.

He didn't need to speak often. His stare told me everything. My skin prickled under it, my nipples hardening beneath my thin dress, my thighs clenching tighter. My body remembered the lessons before... the rough grip of his hands, the heat of his mouth, the burn of his punishment mixed with forbidden pleasure.

His voice finally came, soft and smooth, but it slid over me like silk wrapping around my neck. "I heard you had a little chat today..." he said, swirling his whiskey, his stare never leaving me. "With a boy."

My stomach twisted. I knew the bodyguards betrayed me. I knew Varto would sell me out the second Lucifer gave him a look. My cheeks burned hotter, my head lowering as I whispered, "Yes... daddy..."

His fingers kept circling the rim of his glass, slow and lazy, but I caught the flex in his jaw... the warning.

His eyes sharpened, his voice dropped, dark and heavy. "I heard something else, too." His grin pulled at the corner of his mouth, wicked and hungry. "That you smiled... that you giggled like a needy little girl... like you enjoyed it... like you wanted him. Is that true, princess?"

I gripped my dress tighter, trying to ground myself. I couldn't lie. Lying only made it worse... and sometimes, he liked it when I confessed my sins. My chest rose fast, my voice coming out shaky, soft. "Yes... daddy... it's true."

Silence fell like a heavy blanket.

Then... the soft scrape of his chair. My spine straightened on instinct, heart slamming in my chest. My nipples ached, my thighs shook, heat pooled dangerously low in my belly. His footsteps circled me, slow and purposeful, like a lion circling his prey.

"Liloco knows..." his whisper brushed my ear, sending a shiver down my back, "she's not allowed to play with boys."

I gasped when his fingers traced my bare shoulder, dragging softly down my arm before dipping beneath the thin strap of my dress. His breath brushed my neck, hot, thick, making goosebumps rise on my skin while my core throbbed with aching need.

"She knows what happens when she breaks daddy's rules," he murmured, his tone dark, full of promise.

I whimpered. My legs pressed together, desperate to hide the wetness slicking my thighs. My breath quickened, my body burning under his touch.

"I... I'm sorry... please," my voice trembled as my back arched helplessly toward him. "I... I didn't mean to upset you... I swear... I won't do it again... please, daddy... don't be mad."

His hand wrapped around my throat, squeezing just enough to make me gasp. His lips brushed my ear, his voice thick with heat.

"Oh, baby girl," he purred, "I'm not mad... I'm hungry."

My voice sounded weak and pathetic. My heart dropped lower as I waited for his next action.

He let go of me "Did you enjoy his company?" His voice stayed low and calm, each word smooth and steady like a blade against my skin. His tone betrayed nothing, but I could feel the storm hidden beneath his perfect mask. My heart pounded, sharp and painful, making it hard to breathe. This was a test-a dangerous trap I could not afford to fail.

I swallowed hard, forcing my voice to obey. "No..." I whispered, my throat tight.

It was a lie.

I did like Jon. I liked him more than I should have. But it didn't matter. I had no right to like anyone else.

I belonged to someone else. I belonged to him.

Lucifer owned me.

"Good girl," he breathed against my ear, his words sending a shiver racing down my spine. His thick fingers slipped through my hair, slow and lazy, massaging my scalp like I was nothing more than a pet beneath him. "Because I'll crush anyone foolish enough to take what belongs to me," his voice rumbled, deeper now, laced with heat and warning. "Next time... I won't be so forgiving, understood, little angel?"

"Yes... yes, daddy... I understand," I gasped, my voice trembling as I gave him what he wanted.

For a brief second, I felt relief when he leaned back in his seat, his grip loosening in my hair. But it didn't last.

His cold eyes sharpened, pinning me in place, and his palm tapped his thick thigh. My stomach dropped.

"Come here, princess," he ordered, rolling up his sleeves, his tone smooth but carrying the sharp edge of danger. "Bend over daddy's lap for your punishment."

My whole body tensed, but I stood, swallowing my fear. I walked straight to him, each step making my legs weaker. Like a lamb walking into the lion's jaws.

His eyes devoured every part of me. I dropped to my knees, bowing my head, letting my hair fall forward to hide the heat rushing to my cheeks. His large hands circled my waist and dragged me over his lap like I weighed nothing. My chest pressed into his firm thigh, the heat of his body making my skin burn with anticipation.

I knew what was coming.

So did he.

His hand slid up my bare thighs, strong fingers parting them slightly as he dragged my nightdress up higher, bunching it around my hips. My breath caught as the cool air kissed my now exposed flesh. My core clenched, body betraying me, pulsing with need. I felt too bare, too vulnerable, but the heat pooling between my legs only worsened.

I glanced up, locking eyes with him. His stare was sharp and hungry, like a predator about to devour his prey. I whimpered when his hand left me for a second, only to hear the drawer beside him open.

A soft gasp escaped my lips when I saw it... the black paddle. Thick, smooth, heavy in his grasp.

I thought it was gone.

I turned my head, pressing my cheek against his thigh, gripping his leg tightly as my pulse raced. My thighs quivered, my core throbbing with a dangerous mix of fear and forbidden excitement.

"This is your only warning," his voice dropped, thick with promise and punishment. His palm rested on the curve of my ass, squeezing softly before sliding lower, teasing the sensitive skin between my thighs. "Next time... I'll make it ten times worse."

His fingers dipped between my legs, finding my slickness with ease. His chuckle rumbled through his chest, dark and pleased.

"Naughty little angel... already so wet for daddy's punishment."