The first thing Elena felt was the softness beneath her — silk sheets, cool and smooth against her skin. For a fleeting second, she thought she had dreamed it all: the mansion, the deal, the man with the eyes of darkness. But when she opened her eyes, reality hit like a knife.
This wasn't her room.
The ceiling was high, carved with gold patterns that shimmered in the morning light. Heavy velvet curtains covered most of the windows, letting in only narrow rays that cut across the marble floor. Everything around her screamed luxury — but not warmth. It felt like a cage built from beauty.
Her pulse quickened. She sat up too fast, the events of last night crashing back into her memory. Her father's trembling face. Luciana's cruel smirk. The cold eyes of him.
Lorenzo De Luca.
Il Diavolo.
The sheets fell from her shoulders as she swung her legs out of bed. She was still wearing the same clothes from last night — wrinkled, damp from the rain, and heavy with shame. Her bare feet touched the cold floor.
"Where am I?" she whispered to herself, scanning the room.
A small tray sat near the door, untouched — breakfast, neatly arranged, untouched. She hadn't heard anyone come in. That thought made her skin crawl.
She rushed to the door and pulled at the handle. Locked.
Her heart skipped. She tried again, harder this time, until her palms ached. Nothing. The walls suddenly felt closer, heavier.
You're not home, Elena. You're property now.
Her breath hitched. She stepped back, pressing her hand to her mouth. The tears she had fought so hard to hold last night began to spill, silent and unstoppable.
Then—
A faint click.
The lock turned.
The door opened slowly, revealing a man in black. Not Lorenzo — someone broader, colder, one of his guards. His expression didn't change when he spoke.
"Mr. De Luca wants to see you."
Elena's stomach twisted. "I'm not going anywhere with you."
His jaw tightened, but his tone remained even. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be."
She hesitated. The fight in her was still there — burning, trembling, terrified. But she wasn't foolish enough to think she could outrun them. So she nodded, wordless, and followed.
They led her through endless halls of marble and shadow. Every door she passed looked the same — dark wood, gold handles, silence behind each one. Until finally, they stopped in front of double doors carved with a serpent.
The guard opened them.
Lorenzo De Luca stood by the window, the light falling across his face like a blade. He wasn't wearing the same suit as last night; now it was black-on-black — shirt, vest, trousers — and his hair was slightly tousled, as if he hadn't slept.
He didn't turn right away. "You're awake."
Elena's fists clenched. "Why am I here?"
He finally looked at her. His gaze, sharp and unreadable, swept over her like a silent command. "Because your father owed me. And now, his debt is paid."
"That's not an answer!" she snapped, her voice breaking. "You can't just— just take me!"
Something flickered in his eyes — not guilt, but curiosity. "You'd rather I let them sell you to someone else?"
She froze. "What?"
He walked closer, slow and deliberate. "You think your father made that deal only with me? No, piccola. There were others. Men worse than me. You should be grateful."
"I'll never be grateful for this."
He stopped in front of her, close enough for her to feel his breath. "Then hate me. It's easier that way."
Her heart pounded so hard it hurt. "You're a monster."
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "So I've been told."
Silence stretched between them, thick with everything unspoken — fear, defiance, danger.
Then Lorenzo turned away. "You'll stay here. You'll eat, sleep, breathe under my roof. Try to run, and I'll find you. Do you understand?"
Elena's voice was a whisper. "And if I refuse?"
He looked over his shoulder, his eyes dark and unflinching.
"Then I'll remind you who owns your freedom."
She flinched at his words — but behind the fear, something else stirred. A spark. Not submission, not yet. But defiance burning brighter than before.
When the door closed behind him, Elena finally let herself collapse onto the floor. Her tears hit the marble soundlessly.
But in her chest, her mother's voice echoed again — Run, my little star.
Elena wiped her eyes, looking toward the locked door. "I will," she whispered. "I'll find a way out of this hell."
Outside the room, Lorenzo paused. He had heard her.
And for the first time in years… something inside Il Diavolo shifted.