Vows to the Devil

The Devil's House

Rafael's house wasn't a house at all.

It was a fortress made of black stone and bulletproof glass, sitting on top of a hill like it was watching over the entire city. High walls surrounded the property, topped with razor wire that caught the moonlight. Guard towers stood at each corner.

As we drove through the iron gates, I counted at least six armed men. They nodded respectfully as Rafael's car passed, but their eyes followed me through the tinted windows.

"Welcome home, Mrs. De Luca," Rafael said as we pulled up to the front entrance.

The words made my stomach turn. This would never be my home.

A man in a black suit opened my door before I could reach for the handle. He was tall and broad, with scars on his hands that told me he'd done more than just open doors in his lifetime.

"This is Marcus, head of security," Rafael said as he came around to my side of the car. "He'll be looking after your safety."

Looking after my safety. Right. More like making sure I couldn't escape.

"Ma'am," Marcus nodded to me. His voice was deep and rough.

Rafael placed his hand on my lower back as we walked inside, guiding me.

The inside of the house was just as intimidating as the outside.

"Your room is upstairs," Rafael said, leading me toward a grand staircase. "I had it prepared for you."

My room, Not our room. I wasn't sure if that was a relief or just another way to mess with my head.

We climbed the stairs in silence. The second floor hallway was long and lined with closed doors. Rafael stopped at the end and opened the last door on the right.

The room was beautiful, I had to admit. A four-poster bed sat in the center, covered in deep red silk sheets. French doors opened onto a balcony. There was even a sitting area with a fireplace.

"Do you like it?" Rafael asked, watching my face carefully.

"It's lovely," I lied. "Very... secure."

He smiled like he knew exactly what I meant. "Your things have been moved from your mother's house. You'll find everything in the closet and bathroom."

I walked over to the closet and opened it. My clothes hung next to new ones I'd never seen before.

"The bathroom is through there," Rafael pointed to another door. "And if you need anything, just press the button by the bed. Someone will come immediately."

"What if I want to leave?"

"You don't."

"But if I did?"

Rafael walked over to me slowly. He was tall enough that I had to look up to meet his eyes, and close enough that I could smell his cologne.

"You're my wife now, Maliya. This is where you belong." His hand touched my cheek, gentle but somehow threatening. "Everything you need is here. Everything you want will be provided."

"And if what I want is my freedom?"

"Then you'll learn to want something else."

A chill ran down my spine, but I forced myself not to step back. "How romantic."

"Romance is for people who have choices. We don't." His thumb brushed across my bottom lip, the same gesture from the church. "But that doesn't mean we can't enjoy what we have."

"And what do we have?"

"Each other. Until death do us part." His smile was sharp. "Remember?"

Before I could respond, there was a knock on the door. Rafael stepped back, and I could breathe again.

"Come in," he called.

A woman entered carrying a silver tray. She was older, maybe sixty, with gray hair pulled back in a neat bun.

"This is Mrs. Santos," Rafael said. "She manages the household staff. She'll help you settle in."

"Good evening, Mrs. De Luca," the woman said with a slight accent I couldn't place. "I've brought you some tea and something to eat. I thought you might be hungry after the long day."

I realized I was starving. I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, too nervous about the wedding to think about food.

"Thank you," I said, meaning it.

Mrs. Santos set the tray on the small table by the fireplace. The smell of soup made my mouth water.

"I'll leave you to rest," Rafael said. "Tomorrow we'll discuss the rules."

"Rules?"

"Every household has rules, princess. Even this one." He walked to the door, then paused. "Oh, and Maliya? I'd suggest you eat the soup Mrs. Santos brought. You're going to need your strength."

He left, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

Mrs. Santos and I stared at each other for a moment. Then she walked over to the tray and lifted the silver covers.

"Chicken soup," she said quietly. "And fresh bread. Nothing fancy, but it's filling."

I sat down at the table, suddenly exhausted.

"Mrs. Santos?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"How long have you worked here?"

She was quiet for a moment, arranging the silverware that was already perfectly arranged.

"Five years," she said finally. "Since Mr. Rafael returned."

"What was it like before he came back?"

Another pause. "Quieter."

I took a spoonful of the soup. It was perfect - warm and rich and exactly what I needed.

"Can I ask you something else?"

She nodded, but her face was careful.

"The other women who lived here. What happened to them?"

Mrs. Santos froze with a dinner roll halfway to the bread basket. "Other women?"

"Rafael's... girlfriends. Wives. Whatever he called them."

"There were no other women, Mrs. De Luca." Her voice was very quiet. "Not here. Not ever."

That surprised me. A man like Rafael, with his money and power and dangerous charm? I'd expected to hear about a string of broken hearts and discarded lovers.

"Never?"

"Never. You're the first woman he's brought to this house." She looked at me directly for the first time. "The first woman he's ever married."

Something about the way she said it made my skin prickle. Like I was special in a way that wasn't good.

I finished the soup in silence while Mrs. Santos moved around the room, turning down the bed and laying out a silk nightgown I'd never seen before.

"Mrs. Santos? One more question."

She turned to face me.

"The bars on the windows. Are they to keep people out, or to keep me in?"

For just a second, her careful mask slipped. I saw pity in her eyes before she looked away.

"Both, I think," she said softly. "Good night, Mrs. De Luca."

After she left, I sat alone in my beautiful prison. I walked to the French doors and tested the handles.

I changed out of the wedding dress and into the silk nightgown.

In the bathroom, I found my makeup and toiletries arranged perfectly on the marble counter.

I brushed my teeth and washed my face, trying to process everything that had happened. This morning I'd been Maliya Cruize. Tonight I was Mrs. Rafael De Luca, trapped with a man who'd killed my father and claimed to own me.

I was about to climb into bed when I heard footsteps in the hallway. They stopped outside my door.

A soft knock.

"Maliya? It's me."

Rafael's voice through the door made my heart race. I'd been expecting this, Waiting for it.

"Come in," I called, my voice steadier than I felt.

He opened the door slowly. He'd changed out of his wedding suit into dark jeans and a black shirt that showed off the muscles in his chest and arms. His hair was still damp, like he'd just gotten out of the shower.

"I wanted to say good night," he said, staying by the door.

"Good night."

He smiled at my tone. "Are you afraid I'm going to attack you on our wedding night?"

"Are you?"

"No. When I take you to bed, Maliya, you'll come willingly." His eyes moved over my body in the silk nightgown, slow and possessive. "And you'll beg me for more."

Heat shot through me at his words, and I hated myself for it. "That will never happen."

"We'll see."