Her back hit the wall before she even realised she'd moved. Sebastian crossed the room toward her. She pressed herself flat against the wall like she could disappear into it, her breath coming in sharp, stuttering pulls. "Please—" The word barely made it out. "Please don't—" He didn't stop. He took her wrist in a rough grip and walked her to the bed like her resistance was invisible to him. She stumbled, she pulled back, her free hand shoved against his chest with everything she had, and he didn't move an inch. "Stop — please — please I'm begging you—" Her voice was completely gone, just broken air and shaking syllables, tears already spilling down her face before she even hit the mattress. He leaned over her. She pushed at him, both palms flat against his chest, arms trembling violently. And then he felt it — one single tear, rolling from her face onto his cheek, warm and quiet and devastating in its smallness. He stilled instantly. Pulled back just enough to look at her — really look — and what he saw knocked something loose in his chest that had no business being there. Sera lay beneath him, m completely undone, lips trembling, eyes squeezed shut and streaming, her whole body shaking in the silent, terrible way of someone who has stopped expecting to be saved. Every trace of anger in him — every cold, ruthless, unforgiving inch of it — evaporated. Just like that. Gone, as it had never existed at all. ⚠️ DISCLAIMER & CONTENT WARNING ⚠️ 🌸 Bound to the Devil is a work of dark romance fiction intended for mature readers aged 18 and above. This story contains themes and scenes that may be uncomfortable, triggering, or disturbing for some readers. Please read the following warnings carefully before proceeding.

"He made me laugh," Ava said quietly. "That's all it was."Edward didn't look up. "How lovely for you.""You're being unfair—""I am being nothing." His voice was flat, final, the kind of quiet that was worse than shouting. "You are a debt I collected, not a person whose social calendar concerns me."She flinched. Just slightly. He saw it."Then why does it bother you?" she whispered. "Who I laugh with. Who speaks to me. Why does any of it matter if I'm just a debt?"He stood slowly, and the room got smaller. "Because everything in this palace is mine." His eyes met hers — cold, direct, unbothered. "Including you.""That's not—" her voice cracked. "You can't own a person."He picked up his documents and walked to the door. "Get out of my study, girl. And don't let me see you near Dorian again or you will not be able to walk for days..."🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸She didn't come to the palace by choice.She came as a debt.Her father owed the crown. She was the payment. No explanation, no goodbye — just men in black carriages and a palace so beautiful it made her feel like a sparrow standing inside a cathedral.She expected to be ignored.She was not ignored.---**Edward Quest** is the Crown Prince of the Questian Empire — brilliant, cold, and entirely closed. He has built walls where other men have hearts, and he has very good reasons for every single one of them. He does not do warmth. He does not do softness. He does not notice frightened girls who apologize to statues and feed street children through palace windows.Except that he does.He notices everything.---She is eighteen. Timid, gentle, carrying wounds she has never shown anyone. She does not rage against her situation — she endures it, quietly and stubbornly, the way only someone who has survived worse things can.He is twenty-eight. Possessive, ruthless, incapable of saying what he means — but warm food appears at her door with no note, and his hand finds her back in crowded rooms before his mind catches up to what he is doing.---The court is watching.The villains are moving.The past — hers and his — is walking back through the door.---*This is not a fairytale.**It is something harder, more real, and far more theirs.*🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸