Sold To The Devil
1202 Words
Natasha’s POV
I got sold to the devil himself.
No pun intended.
The morning I was told I’d be marrying a stranger. I thought it was a joke.
A late April Fool's. My parents’ final act of foolery when it came to me.
But here I was—about to march down the aisle with a noose on my neck, just a few inches from being pushed off a stool.
The chandeliers above me were oppressively bright. Crystal teardrops of light bounced off their edges, fracturing into a million sharp pieces across the marble floor. It looked like heaven threw up in hell.
The room was silent, almost reverent, except for the sickening thud of my heartbeat.
And the men—the ones seated like kings, cloaked in power, masked in civility. Mafia blood ran thicker than family ties in here.
I wondered what would happen if one of those chandeliers came crashing down on me. Would I die instantly? Would I finally be free?
But I wasn’t lucky enough for something like that to happen.
I’ve never been lucky.
The only thing I got was bad luck, so there was no way I’d actually get what I wanted for the first time in my life.
My eyes swept the room, tracing the outlines of men who controlled empires with a single phone call. Expensive suits, cold stares, cruel mouths. Their faces blurred together, stitched from the same cloth of sin.
They weren’t here for me.
They were here for him.
I felt them all watching the second the cathedral doors opened. Beady, calculating eyes tracked my steps like they didn’t already know I was being auctioned off.
Like they didn’t know the real price of this alliance.
But this was the mafia, and in the mafia, everything goes, blood is currency, and daughters are collateral.
My heart pounded, fingers clutched tight around the lace of my dress, but I didn’t stop walking.
I moved like I wasn’t falling apart. Like my legs weren’t trembling under the weight of what was coming.
Step after step, down an aisle that felt more like a death march.
Each step was another inch off the stool.
I recognized faces in the crowd.
Some I used to play with as a kid. Some I used to hate.
All of them now strangers behind silk and secrets.
Why the hell were they here?
It was obvious. Publicity. Power posturing.
None of them gave a damn about me.
They were here to see if the Ravanna girl would obey.
And I did.
But not in the way they expected.
I didn’t kneel.
I didn’t cry.
And I didn’t break.
Then I saw him.
Lucian DeValenci.
The man I would be marrying. The reason my father had that sickening glint of triumph in his eyes.
Lucian stood at the end like a warning, like a silent calm before a building explodes.
Tall. Cold. Dressed in black like he was going to a funeral.
Maybe mine.
His hair was slicked back with precision, not a strand out of place.
His eyes were the color of storm clouds—dark, brooding, dangerous.
And they didn’t soften when he looked at me.
They sharpened.
Like he was waiting for me to twitch—for him to slice.
He didn’t want this marriage either.
But he needed it.
And behind the quiet, calculated calm, I could feel something coiled beneath—something colder. Sharper. Like I was the final move in a long game—one he was about to win.
Was it revenge? Or was it something else entirely?
I didn’t look at my father sitting near the front.
I didn’t need to.
I already knew the look on his face—pride, control, a twisted sense of victory.
I was never a daughter to him.
Just a chess piece. A pawn in the Ravanna empire’s next big move.
When he threw this wedding in my face a few weeks ago, I broke.
I cried for three days straight.
Then I stopped.
Because crying doesn’t change the rules.
And now, all I felt was this aching, hollow numbness sitting in my chest like a caged bird with clipped wings.
My mother didn’t bother to show up.
Claimed she was sick.
Maybe she was—sick of looking at me.
Didn’t care anymore.
Solana sat beside my father. My sister. The golden girl.
She looked at me for one second. Just one.
And then turned away.
Coward.
It was supposed to be her.
Everyone knew that. She was the request. The offer on the table.
But I got handed over instead.
Because I was expendable. Disposable.
They called me selfish when I didn’t jump at the chance to fix the family's problems.
They called me ungrateful for not wanting to save her.
But no one asked what I wanted.
The priest started talking, but it all blurred.
Words droned on like static.
Noise behind the scream clawing at my throat.
And then I heard Lucian’s voice.
“I do.”
Two words.
Cold. Sharp. Precise.
A knife that didn’t cut skin—it cut soul.
It had snapped me out of whatever trance I was in.
The room shifted.
This was real. This was happening.
The priest looked at me now, repeating the exact words he had asked Lucian.
“To love and to cherish, until death do you part.”
The words hung heavy in the air like smoke.
Love? Cherish?
Lucian DeValenci didn’t know what love was.
And if he cherished anything, it was silence, control, and the art of making people squirm.
I didn’t answer right away.
A thick silence spread like oil on water.
I stared straight at Lucian. On purpose.
Let them all wonder.
A cough came from behind me—sharp, purposeful.
My father.
Of course.
With one deep breath, I let the lie roll out smoothly.
“I do,” I said.
Not because I meant it.
But because I would not let them see me as weak.
They could force me into a cage, but they would never get my tears.
The ring bearer came forward, Lucian taking the ring without hesitation and slipping it on my finger with the same effort he’d use to load a gun.
Mechanical. Cold. Efficient.
My fingers shook as I reached for his hand.
I hesitated for a second—just one—but it felt like eternity.
Then I slid the ring on.
Letting go of his hand was like letting go of the last thread of safety I had left.
“Now you may kiss the bride.”
Lucian stepped forward.
Eyes hard. Mouth unsmiling.
His hands found the back of my neck—not rough, not gentle. Just enough.
Enough to remind me I was his now.
Enough to make my skin crawl.
He kissed me. Cold. Quick. A show for the vultures.
But then, he leaned in, his voice a venomous whisper against my ear.
“I hope you love cages, wife.”
My chest tightened.
But I didn’t pull away.
I didn’t flinch.
I smiled.
Just a little.
Because what he didn’t know was—
I may be caged.
But I still have claws.
- Writer
