They weren't kidding when they said the Devil wore a suit.
I'd always imagined Lucifer — or Satan, or whatever name he preferred — in fire, horns and sulfur. But no. My so-called "new owner" sat across from me in the back of a sleek, black limousine, dressed like every woman's worst mistake.
Immaculate three-piece suit, perfectly polished shoes, cufflinks that probably cost more than my soul and a face sculpted with the kind of cruelty marble would envy.
And he was staring at me. Not the casual kind of stare, but the sort that made you wonder if he was already picking out the best knife to carve your skin with.
The leather seat burned against my thighs, though the air inside the car was crisp, icy almost. Maybe it wasn't the leather. Maybe it was the man staring at me.
Luciano De Rossi.
The Devil.
Yes, Devil. With a capital D. Because only hell could've crafted a man like him.
I pressed myself as far into the door as possible, silently willing the glass window to magically dissolve so I could throw myself into the night and run. My uncle's smug face flashed in my mind. His greedy hand squeezing mine when he'd shoved me forward at the auction. His words still rang in my skull, "Behave, Serena. You're worth more alive than dead."
And then came him.
Lucifer himself, raising his glass of wine in the middle of that suffocating, smoke-choked room and saying one word that had sealed my fate.
"Mine."
Now here I was, his prize. A purchase. A possession.
My jaw clenched. No. He could buy my body, sure, but my spirit? My mouth? My refusal to grovel? He'd choke on it before he got submission from me.
His cologne was maddening. Rich, expensive and sinful. The kind of scent that could trick an idiot into forgetting he was a monster.
I cleared my throat, more to stop myself from choking on nerves than to speak, but words slipped out anyway.
"So," I said, crossing my arms and leaning back against the plush leather seat, doing my best impression of someone not seconds away from a nervous breakdown. "When do I get my return policy explained? You know, like: in case of dissatisfaction, can I exchange the Devil for a lesser demon? Maybe one who just makes me scrub floors instead of…"
My voice trailed off, because his eyes. Those impossible, glacial eyes. They flicked to me. A warning, sharp and silent.
The air inside the car went colder.
But I wasn't about to shut up. I had promised myself, the second that auctioneer's gavel slammed down, that I wasn't going to roll over and act like some obedient doll. I'd survived too much already. I wasn't about to let Lucifer — sorry, Luciano — strip me down to nothing without a fight.
"So, Lucifer…"
Three heads whipped toward me instantly. Even his. His eyes which were dark and fathomless slid to mine. He didn't blink.
"Luciano." he corrected calmly. His voice was low, like a knife being unsheathed.
I lifted my chin. "Lucifer sounds more accurate."
For a long, unbearable moment, he just stared. Then, to my utter shock, the corners of his mouth twitched. He almost—almost—smiled.
"You're clever." he murmured, leaning back lazily. "But clever girls burn fastest in hell."
My stomach knotted, but my tongue? My tongue had no survival instincts.
"Guess I'll need SPF 5000 then."
The car went so silent, I swear even the engine held its breath. The guard nearest to me coughed into his fist, like he wasn't sure if laughing would get him killed.
Luciano tilted his head, studying me as though I were some fascinating insect he hadn't decided whether to crush or keep in a jar. "You think this is a joke, Serena?"
I swallowed hard, refusing to let him see the tremor in my hands. "If I don't laugh, I'll scream. And trust me, you don't want me screaming in this pretty car of yours."
One of the guards who was big, bald and scary actually snorted. Luciano's gaze flicked to him. And instantly, the man's smirk vanished as if erased with an eraser.
"Look here, Lucifer," I said, sitting up straighter, chin lifted. "I don't care how much money you threw around in there. Or what creepy satisfaction you get from buying women at human garage sales. I'm not yours. And I will never—"
He raised a hand. Just… lifted it. Slowly. Calmly.
And my whole body froze.
There was no shouting. No threats. Just that movement, deliberate, like he was silencing a room of soldiers instead of one terrified, stubborn girl.
Then, finally, his voice cut through the tension. Smooth. Deep. Terrifyingly controlled.
"It's the Devil," he said.
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
His lips curved. Not a smile, not really. More like the ghost of one. Dangerous. Mocking. "You keep calling me Lucifer. That's not my name." He leaned back into the shadows of the car, eyes never leaving mine. "It's the Devil."
I stared at him. And because my brain loved to betray me in moments of mortal danger, I blurted the first stupid thing that came to mind, "Oh. So what, 'Lucifer' was like… your childhood nickname?"
The two bodyguards in the front seat went so stiff I swear I heard one choke on his own breath. Even the driver's hands jerked on the wheel for half a second.
Luciano — the Devil — tilted his head, studying me the way a cat studies a mouse that just tried to moonwalk out of the trap.
"You are," he murmured, "a very peculiar little thing."
Peculiar. Right. That's one way of saying insane.
I forced a grin, though my hands were already sweating against the hem of my dress. "Well, you know. Just trying to keep the ride interesting, Devil. Otherwise, it's just you, me, and Mister Overcompensating-With-Muscles up there." I jabbed a thumb toward the bodyguard in the front passenger seat.
The bodyguard actually flinched. Like me addressing him directly broke some sort of unspoken code.
Luciano didn't flinch. Didn't move. He just let the silence stretch so far that I started to hear my heartbeat drumming in my ears.
Then, finally, he leaned forward. And smiled. A real one this time.
It was worse than the almost-smile.
"You think this is funny?" he asked softly.
Nope. Not even a little. My stomach was doing Olympic-level gymnastics.
But my mouth — that traitorous idiot — said, "A little."
The temperature in the car dropped another ten degrees.
That's when it hit me. He wasn't just calm. He wasn't just scary. He hated me. I could feel it. Like hate wasn't just an emotion with him. It was a currency, and he had oceans of it to spend on me.
And yet, instead of exploding, he chuckled. A low, quiet sound that should've been illegal to feel that dangerous.
"You're my favorite already." he said.
"Wow. Lucky me."
"No." He leaned closer, his voice dropping into a whisper that scraped against my nerves. "Lucky me. I've never had a possession quite like you."
My skin crawled. My heart hammered. Possession. The word felt heavy, final, like chains clinking shut around my neck.
I forced a laugh that cracked halfway out of my throat. "You might want to check the warranty on this one, Devil. I come with… issues. And probably rabies."
Another chuckle. This one darker.
The car rolled on through the night, and I kept my chin high, even though my insides were shaking so hard I thought I might rattle.
My heart pounded so loudly I could hear it in my ears. But still, I leaned closer, whispering dramatically, "Admit it. Lucifer suits you."
He turned his head fully now, his face so close I could count the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw. My breath hitched. His eyes weren't just dark. They were the abyss.
"It's the Devil," he said softly, deliberately. "Get it right."
This again?
I blinked at him. And then, like the idiot my mouth insisted on making me, I blurted, "The Devil? That's so… unoriginal. What's next? Do you have horns that pop out at midnight? Or do you just scream 'boo' in Latin at people before you shoot them?"
The bodyguard across from me coughed so violently I thought he might choke.
Luciano didn't laugh. He didn't smile. He just leaned back, folding his hands over his knee, and for some reason, that was worse.
"Keep testing me, dolcezza," he murmured. "I'm curious how long before you realize this cage doesn't have bars."
My throat went dry. Dolcezza. Sweetness. His pet name for me sounded less like affection and more like a promise to devour me whole.
I turned toward the window, forcing my lips to curl upward in false bravado. "Don't flatter yourself. You may own the papers, but you don't own me."
"Oh, but that's where you're wrong." His voice was silk wrapped around steel. "You're my favorite possession already."
Favorite. The word rattled me. I wasn't naïve enough to think that meant anything romantic. Favorite just meant the Devil had a new toy.
I hated the shiver that slipped down my spine. I hated him more for noticing.
"Lucifer." I said again, sharper this time.
"The Devil." he corrected.
"You're not even denying you're evil," I muttered.
His lips twitched, and this time the smirk stayed. "Denying it would be a lie. And I don't lie."
I turned back to him, glaring. "Then let's make something clear. You may have bought me, but I'll never kneel. I'll never break."
Something flickered in his eyes then. A flash of heat, or hate, or maybe both. "We'll see."
The tension strangled the car, pressing down on all of us. Even the bodyguards looked like they were holding their breath.
I faced the window again, pretending I wasn't trembling inside. The city lights blurred as we sped past, each mile dragging me closer to a place I wasn't sure I'd survive.
At some point, Luciano turned his attention to his phone, tapping something in silence, as though I wasn't even worth a glance anymore. And that… that almost made it worse.
Because while his eyes weren't on me, I could still feel his hatred. Cold, sharp, suffocating. Like he was plotting something. Like he already knew exactly how he was going to break me.
I shivered.
And that's when one of the bodyguards leaned slightly toward me. Not much, just a tilt of his head, his voice pitched low so only I could hear.
"Don't play around with the Devil,ragazza" he whispered. "He'll destroy you."
The warning made my chest tighten, but my mouth? Oh, my mouth.
I turned slowly toward him, my heart racing. His eyes flicked nervously toward the back, like he was terrified his boss would catch him even speaking to me.
And what did I do? Did I nod solemnly, take the advice, stay quiet?
Of course not.
I tilted my head, plastered on the fakest grin, and whispered back, "Relax. I've watched enough exorcism movies to know how to deal with him. Holy water and a dramatic Latin chant, right?"
The guard stared at me like I'd sprouted three heads. The other two shifted uncomfortably. Even Luciano's shoulders stiffened, though he didn't turn.
Inside, my heart was hammering so violently I thought it would break through my ribs. But outwardly? Outwardly, I gave the guard a little wink.
The man blinked at me. Completely thrown.
The other guard coughed into his fist, badly hiding a laugh.
And Luciano's head turned, just slightly, like he already knew I'd said something stupid.
I bit my tongue, forcing my face into the most innocent expression I could manage. Which probably made me look like a lunatic.
Inside, though, my thoughts were a screaming mess.
He said again, keeping a straight face to let me know he was serious, "I'm not joking. He will destroy you."
"Destroy me? Please. My mother already did that when she gave me this nose."
The guards exchange looks like, what is wrong with me?
None of them knew what to do with me.
Truth was, I didn't know what to do with me either. All I knew was that the deeper this car drove into the shadows, the clearer one terrifying thought became.
What the hell did my uncle just sell me into?
Luciano's voice cut in from the dark, as if he read my thoughts
"Hell, dove. He sold you into hell."
Hold on. Did he just...read my mind?