MARRIED TO THE DEVIL HIMSELF

CHAPTER ONE-THE DEVIL HIMSELF

I swear the night I got married felt like the universe was trying to warn me.

Not subtly, either.

The universe practically screamed.

The storm outside was violent. Lightning cracked across the black sky like invisible hands were tearing it apart. Thunder followed, shaking the windows of the courthouse, while rain attacked the glass in relentless sheets.

The streetlights outside blurred beneath the downpour, their golden glow distorted by the water.

Every few seconds, lightning illuminated the empty courthouse grounds, making the trees and parking lot look like something from a nightmare.

If this had been a movie, I would've taken the hint.

I would've turned around.

I would've lifted the ridiculous hem of my dress, run through the rain, climbed into the first car I saw, and disappeared.

But real life doesn't pause for dramatic music.

There is no narrator whispering, Don't do it.

Sometimes, life simply keeps moving.

Especially when your future husband owns half the state.

And the other half is terrified of him.

His name?

Damien Cross.

A name people didn't say unless they had to.

A name whispered in boardrooms, expensive restaurants, private clubs, and quiet corridors.

I'd heard it long before I'd ever seen him.

Everyone had.

There were stories everywhere.

Some said he'd built his empire from nothing. Others claimed he'd inherited enough money to live comfortably for ten lifetimes and somehow turned it into something even larger.

There were rumors about businesses that disappeared after refusing to work with him.

People who challenged him and suddenly lost everything that mattered.

People who crossed him and somehow found themselves without influence, connections, or power.

Nobody knew which stories were true.

That was the frightening part.

Damien never corrected them.

He never defended himself.

He simply let people talk.

And somehow, that made him even more terrifying.

"He doesn't lose."

"He doesn't forget."

"He doesn't forgive."

"He doesn't let go."

Some called him a monster.

Some called him a genius.

Some called him ruthless.

Some called him a king.

But everyone agreed on one thing.

You don't cross Damien Cross.

And somehow, I was about to become his wife.

Not because I loved him.

Not because I'd dreamed about him.

Not because I'd ever imagined walking down an aisle toward him.

I was marrying him because powerful families didn't always ask what you wanted.

Sometimes, they decided.

And everyone else obeyed.

I stared at the courthouse as the driver pulled away.

For a moment, I didn't move.

Cold wind slipped beneath my coat, and rain soaked the edges of my shoes.

There were no flowers.

No guests.

No music.

No friends waiting to celebrate.

No family smiling proudly.

Just a dark courthouse in the middle of a storm.

Three guards stood near the entrance, dressed in black.

All three were watching me.

One stepped forward.

"Miss?"

I nodded.

He opened the door.

The moment I stepped inside, the storm became distant.

Not gone.

Just muffled.

The courthouse was almost completely empty.

Too empty.

The lights overhead hummed softly as my footsteps echoed against the marble floor.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Every step seemed to announce exactly what I was doing.

Walking toward my marriage.

Walking toward him.

The three guards followed behind me.

I glanced over my shoulder.

They weren't watching the judge.

They weren't watching each other.

They were watching me.

Why?

I immediately looked away.

Maybe they were simply doing their jobs.

Maybe.

Then I saw him.

Damien.

He sat several feet away in a black leather chair.

Alone.

He looked completely out of place in the courthouse—not because he wasn't dressed properly, but because he seemed too powerful for the room.

He wore a black coat fitted perfectly across his shoulders, a dark shirt underneath, and a loosened tie.

His dark hair was slightly messy, but somehow still perfect.

He wasn't checking his phone.

He wasn't speaking to anyone.

He was simply sitting there.

Waiting.

And somehow, that was more intimidating than pacing ever could've been.

I stopped walking.

My heart seemed to forget its rhythm.

This was the man.

The man I'd been warned about.

The man whose name had lived inside whispered conversations for years.

The man I was supposed to call my husband before the night ended.

Damien didn't look up.

Not immediately.

Then I realized something.

Of course he'd noticed me.

He probably knew the exact second I entered the building.

He simply hadn't cared enough to acknowledge me.

I forced myself to keep walking.

When I was close enough, he finally lifted his eyes.

And suddenly, every rumor I'd ever heard felt believable.

His eyes were cold.

Not empty.

Cold.

There was a difference.

Empty eyes made you think there was nothing behind them.

Damien's made you think there was far too much.

His gaze moved over me, taking in my dress, my rain-dampened hair, my nervous hands.

Then his eyes returned to mine.

For several seconds, neither of us spoke.

Then—

"You're late."

His voice was low and calm.

His American accent made the simple words sound like an accusation.

I swallowed.

I'd promised myself I wouldn't let him intimidate me.

So I lifted my chin.

"It's not like this was on my wishlist."

Silence.

One second.

Two.

Then one corner of his mouth twitched.

It wasn't a smile.

Not really.

"You'll learn fast," he said, "that your wishes aren't really the point anymore."

A chill ran down my spine.

He hadn't raised his voice.

He didn't need to.

He spoke like someone who already knew exactly how this story would end.

I looked away first because I needed to breathe.

My hands were trembling, so I hid them in the folds of my dress.

I wasn't afraid of ghosts.

I wasn't afraid of myths.

But Damien?

There was something different about him.

Maybe it was the way the guards straightened whenever he moved.

Maybe it was the silence that seemed to follow him.

Or maybe it was the judge.

The judge looked terrified.

He shuffled papers with nervous hands, barely looking at Damien.

That made my stomach tighten.

"Is everything okay?" I asked quietly.

The judge froze.

He looked at me.

Then Damien.

Then his papers.

"Everything is perfectly fine."

His voice cracked.

I didn't believe him.

Damien simply stood.

Slowly.

The guards immediately stepped aside.

He looked at me and extended his hand.

"Let's get this over with."

I stared at his hand.

It should've felt like a simple gesture from my future husband.

Instead, it felt like a warning.

Like a doorway I couldn't walk back through.

I hesitated.

"Are you planning to stand there all night?"

"You could try being nicer."

"I could."

He paused.

"I won't."

I almost rolled my eyes.

At least he was honest.

I placed my hand in his.

Lightning flashed outside.

Thunder exploded overhead.

I flinched.

Damien didn't.

His hand was warm and steady.

Mine was trembling.

He closed his fingers around mine, firm but not painful.

Then we walked toward the judge.

The ceremony passed in a blur.

There were no flowers.

No laughter.

No celebration.

Only legal words, questions, and promises that felt strangely meaningless.

Then came the signature.

I picked up the pen.

My hand shook.

I stared at the paper.

My name was there.

Beside it was his.

Damien Cross.

One signature.

That was all it took.

One signature to turn a stranger into my husband.

One signature to connect two lives.

One signature to close a door.

I signed.

Damien took the pen.

His hand didn't shake.

Of course it didn't.

He signed with the same certainty he'd carried since I'd walked through the door.

The judge collected the papers.

Then looked at us.

"Congratulations."

The word sounded almost absurd.

Congratulations.

I'd just married a man I barely knew.

A man people feared.

A man whose reputation made powerful people nervous.

And now he was my husband.

I looked toward the windows.

Lightning flashed again.

This time, I didn't flinch.

Behind me, Damien spoke.

"We're done."

I turned.

"What happens now?"

His gaze held mine.

"You come with me."

"Where?"

"My house."

The words should've sounded ordinary.

They didn't.

I'd seen photographs of the Cross estate.

Enormous.

Private.

Heavily guarded.

Surrounded by gates, cameras, and security.

The kind of place where getting in without permission seemed impossible.

And suddenly, I wondered whether getting out would be just as difficult.

"Tonight?"

His eyebrow lifted.

"You're my wife."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"It does."

I stared at him.

He stepped closer.

"You'll understand soon."

"Understand what?"

His eyes shifted toward the courthouse doors.

Then back to me.

"Why this marriage happened."

My heart skipped.

"What does that mean?"

"Not here."

"Damien—"

He walked away.

"Wait."

He stopped.

But didn't turn.

"What if I don't want to go?"

Silence.

The guards went still.

The judge suddenly became very interested in his papers.

Damien slowly turned his head.

His expression was unreadable.

Then he said quietly,

"You will."

The air seemed to change.

I stared at him.

For one brief moment, I considered running.

Then I looked through the glass doors.

A black vehicle waited outside.

Its headlights were on.

Another vehicle sat behind it.

Then another.

Three cars.

Three guards.

Too much security for a simple wedding.

"Damien."

He looked at me.

"Why are there so many cars?"

For the first time that night, something shifted in his expression.

Barely.

His jaw tightened.

Then relaxed.

"Because you're coming with me."

"That's not an answer."

"It is tonight."

The doors opened.

Cold air rushed inside.

Rain sprayed across the entrance.

Damien stepped outside.

One of the guards moved beside him.

Then he looked back at me.

Waiting.

And suddenly, I understood something.

Maybe the danger wasn't Damien.

Maybe it was everything surrounding him.

And somehow, that frightened me more.

I took one step forward.

Then another.

I followed Damien Cross through the courthouse doors.

Into the storm.

Into the darkness.

Into a life I didn't understand.

As the doors closed behind me, I looked back at the courthouse one last time.

It looked smaller now.

Darker.

Almost like a warning I'd chosen to ignore.

Maybe I should've listened.

Maybe I should've run.

But I didn't.

I followed Damien Cross into the night.

And as the car disappeared into the storm, one thought hit me harder than the thunder outside.

I wasn't marrying a man.

I was marrying the devil himself.