Sold to the devil

--

It rained the night her life was traded. Not that it mattered to the man who signed her away.

Amira Monroe sat stiffly in the corner of the dark room, the cold of the storm leaking through the cracked window behind her. Her long curls clung to her skin, soaked from the short walk to the building. Her father hadn't even offered her an umbrella.

She wasn't surprised. He never cared about her. Never shielded her from the bruises of life. Never gave her love, only orders. And tonight, he was giving her away.

The contract sat on the mahogany table between two men. Her father, Charles Monroe, an aging gambler in debt, and Leonardo Vercetti, the man they called the Devil in a designer suit.

Leonardo didn't speak much. He didn't need to. Power sat on him like a crown. Tall, broad, young-only twenty-four-but the deadliest man alive. His wealth was beyond comprehension. His cruelty, legendary.

He tapped a gold pen against the table, looking bored.

"She'll do," Leonardo said after one glance at Amira. "Sign it."

Her father didn't hesitate. Didn't flinch. He signed his name with a cold smirk and pushed the document forward like he was closing a real estate deal.

"That's it?" Amira asked, her voice low, hoarse.

Charles turned to her, dry-eyed and unapologetic. "Be grateful I picked you and not your sister."

Her stomach twisted.

She stood up, fists clenched. "You're selling me to a monster."

"He's rich. You'll live better than you ever have here."

"And if I say no?"

"I'll marry off your sister instead," he said flatly. "He agreed to take either of you."

Amira froze.

He wouldn't.

But the look in his eyes told her everything. He would. And he'd sleep like a baby afterward.

Her little sister, Aria-sweet, soft, only sixteen-wouldn't survive a man like Leonardo. Not even a day.

Amira's heart dropped into her stomach. The air thickened with the weight of her silence. She swallowed hard.

"I'll go," she said quietly. "Leave Aria out of this."

Leonardo stood, adjusting the cuffs of his black shirt. "Good girl. Be ready in the morning."

---

The mansion was a fortress.

Massive iron gates. Armed guards. Security cameras at every corner. White stone walls and endless glass windows, shining like ice. It didn't feel like a home. It felt like a castle built by a man who wanted to be untouchable.

Leonardo didn't welcome her when she arrived. He simply walked away.

She was escorted to a large, cold bedroom by a silent maid. The bed was king-sized. The sheets were black silk. There were no pictures, no flowers, no warmth. Just space. Sterile. Owned.

Dinner came, untouched. She wasn't hungry.

The silence in the room roared around her. Her body was tense, her mind louder. She sat at the edge of the bed, hands in her lap, staring into nothing.

The door opened at midnight.

Leonardo stepped in without a word, his presence enough to darken the room.

He didn't ask. He didn't wait.

"Take off your clothes," he said.

She looked up, heart skipping.

"Now," he added.

Amira stood slowly, her fingers trembling as she reached for the straps of her dress. She felt humiliated. Powerless. But she moved. Obedience was survival here.

He watched her with icy detachment, like she was a thing to be inspected. When she stood bare before him, his eyes moved down her body, slow and sharp.

"You're beautiful," he muttered, stepping closer.

His hands were rough. Possessive. He touched her like she was already his. She didn't cry. She didn't beg. She lay there, still, silent, her mind somewhere far away.

His weight pinned her. His breath was hot against her neck. There was no gentleness in his touch, no emotion in his voice. Only command. Only dominance.

When it was over, he didn't say a word.

He stood, dressed, and walked out like she didn't matter. Like she wasn't real.

Amira lay there, cold and aching, staring at the ceiling. She had no idea how much time passed.

But one thing was clear.

She was married to a man with no heart.

And the life ahead of her had just become a living, breathing hell.

The walls of this mansion are too quiet.

Even the wind outside doesn't dare howl.

I spent most of the day staring out the tall, glass window in the bedroom he assigned me-if I can call it that. It doesn't feel like a place that belongs to me. Nothing does.

The maids walk on eggshells. None of them speak to me. They barely look at me. It's like they already know I'm just another piece of meat in this house. A temporary toy for their master.

No one told me what to do. No one asked if I'd eaten. But then again, no one needed to. Because Leonardo Vercetti makes it very clear-he doesn't care.

The day dragged on painfully slow. I didn't step out of the room, didn't dare. I knew he'd come.

And he did.

Right when the clock hit midnight again, the door opened.

He didn't knock. He never would.

He stepped in like a shadow, black shirt unbuttoned just enough to expose his sculpted chest. His eyes met mine across the room. Cold. Empty. Not a hint of warmth in them.

"Stand up," he said.

My throat dried. My body tensed. But I moved.

He didn't wait for me to come to him. He crossed the room and yanked my wrist roughly, pulling me into him like he owned my breath.

"I didn't come here to play house," he growled. "Open your mouth."

I blinked. My heart thudded violently. I wanted to scream, to hit him, to run-but I did what he said.

Because I had no choice.

He kissed me-if I can even call it that. His lips were punishing. His tongue aggressive. It wasn't affection. It was control. Every part of him screamed domination.

He shoved me onto the bed like I weighed nothing. My robe slid open, baring me to him. I hated the way my body reacted to him. My skin prickled. My chest rose and fell rapidly, but I didn't fight.

He unbuckled his pants with slow, infuriating confidence.

When he climbed over me, his weight pressing me into the mattress, I wanted to disappear. But instead, I stared at the ceiling, willing myself not to cry-not yet.

He spread my thighs and entered me without warning, without a word, without care.

"Fuck..." he groaned against my neck. "So tight."

I bit my bottom lip so hard I tasted blood. My fingers clenched the sheets. The pain stretched through me like fire. He was rough, thrusting hard, his grip bruising my hips.

My body shook beneath him.

He didn't stop.

He didn't slow.

He used me like I was a doll made just for his pleasure.

Every sound that escaped his lips was laced with raw lust, but not once did he call my name. To him, I was just warm flesh. A hole to bury himself in.

I cried. I didn't want to-but I did. Silent tears slid down the sides of my face, wetting the silk pillow beneath my head.

He didn't see.

He wouldn't have cared even if he did.

When he was done, he came hard, cursing under his breath, his body tensing as he released deep inside me.

Then... silence.

He pulled out, stood, and grabbed his shirt from the floor like nothing had happened.

And just like the night before, he didn't say a single word as he walked out and closed the door behind him.

I lay there, legs open, used, shaking.

The tears didn't stop this time.

I curled into myself, holding my knees to my chest, and sobbed until my throat burned.

Why is he like this?

So heartless. So cruel. So cold.

He's twenty-four. At his age, boys are usually chasing girls with flowers, falling in love, getting drunk with their friends over broken hearts. But Leonardo Vercetti? He fucks like a demon and walks away like a machine.

It doesn't make sense.

Unless you know where he came from.

The staff whisper things when they think I can't hear. About his father. About how he ran the empire with a fist full of fire and a soul soaked in blood. Leonardo was raised by that monster.

And he took over not long after the devil himself died.

It all makes sense now.

He's a mirror of the man who raised him.

Born into money, power, and cruelty. Groomed to kill feelings. Trained to break instead of build.

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree... and Leonardo never even tried to roll away.

But still, as I lay in the cold sheets, the ache between my legs sharp and raw, I can't help but wonder...

Is there any part of him left that knows how to feel?

The night was still.

But I wasn't.

My skin burned, every inch of me aching from the roughness of his touch, from his cruel hands that claimed my body without a second thought. Leonardo Vercetti had come again, taken me like he always did-harsh, demanding, as though I were nothing but an object for his pleasure.

But tonight felt different. The pain in my body seemed to reach deeper than just the physical. It felt like something inside me was breaking, shattering. And I realized it wasn't my spirit-no, that hadn't broken yet.

What shattered was my hope.

Hope for what? That he'd see me as something other than a tool, a possession, a pawn? That he'd care? That he'd stop using me and leave me alone in peace?

I wiped the tears that fell silently, burning my cheeks with the salt of my frustration. My heart ached for my sister, Aria. All I could think about now was how much I needed to get out of here. To escape from this man. To save her from a fate even worse than mine.

But how?

How was I supposed to fight this monster? I was weak. So weak. He was powerful, untouchable. He controlled everything-the house, the money, the empire.

But something inside me sparked.

I wasn't weak. Not anymore.

Tears continued to slip from my eyes as I lay there in the cold, the aftertaste of his touch lingering. I didn't care about the pain anymore. I didn't care about the humiliation. What I cared about now was my sister.

I had to do this for her. For Aria. The last promise I made to my mother before she died was that I'd protect her. I would give her a better life. A life that wasn't this. A life that didn't involve men like Leonardo, with power over everything. She deserved so much more than this.

I didn't know how, but I promised myself that somehow, I would take it all from him. I would take his empire, his fortune, his life, and I would make sure that no man, no person, would ever hurt Aria again.

I could feel the weight of the decision in my bones. It felt heavy. But it was the only thing that kept me going now.

I turned my eyes toward the door, watching the shadows play across the dark room. The emptiness in the house matched the emptiness inside me. I needed to understand this place. I needed to know the layout, the secrets, the weaknesses.

How would I get close enough to him? How could I get him to trust me, to let my guard down?

The plan was forming, slowly, painfully.

I would watch him. Watch every move he made. I'd find the cracks in his carefully constructed empire. I'd learn the vulnerabilities. And then, when the time was right, I would strike. But for now, I was biding my time.

The door creaked open, and I braced myself.

Leonardo stepped inside, his tall frame blocking the light from the hallway. His presence filled the room like an ominous storm cloud, dark and oppressive. He didn't even look at me. He just glanced at the bed and then back at me with a sneer on his face.

"You're still here?" he said, his voice flat and dismissive.

I didn't respond. I couldn't. He didn't deserve an answer.

He walked toward me, stepping closer to the bed, his eyes scanning my body in a way that made me feel small. He didn't care about me. He never would. I was nothing more than a possession to him, just another thing he could control.

He gripped my wrist, pulling me up from the bed like I was a ragdoll.

"Get up," he ordered, his tone harsh.

His words were a command, and I had no choice but to obey.

I stood before him, trembling slightly, but not from fear anymore. It was something else. It was determination. It was anger. And it was hate.

I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to shout that I would make him pay for what he had done. But I didn't. I couldn't. Not yet.

Instead, I just stood there, silently, looking him in the eye for the first time, not letting him break me.

He gave me a quick once-over before his eyes narrowed. "You should eat," he said dismissively, like he was doing me a favor. "All I'm touching is bones."

His words hit me like a slap. My body ached, my skin stretched tight over my ribs, and I couldn't help the way my stomach churned in hunger. But I wasn't going to let him see my weakness. I wasn't going to let him win.

His words weren't a concern to me anymore. His cruel comment barely registered.

"I'll eat when I'm ready," I finally said, my voice colder than I expected.

He looked at me for a moment, his gaze cold, calculating, and then he just shook his head in disgust.

"Don't make me remind you again," he muttered, then turned and walked out, leaving me alone in the silence.

I exhaled deeply, my heart pounding in my chest. He was right. I was weak. But only for now.

I would get stronger.