Owned by the Devil

Chapter 1: Arabella “The damn wedding dress itched like chains.” A complaint I wish I could say out loud. I, Arabella Fairchild, soon to be Arabella Moretti, could do nothing but sit still on the edge of the velvet chair, my back straight, hands folded neatly in my lap. From the outside, I looked like the perfect bride—porcelain skin, soft curls pinned up, and my weary eyes downcast like obedience had been stitched into my very soul. Maybe it had. But inside, I was splintering. “Smile, darling,” Elaine, my vain stepmother cooed, adjusting the diamond choker on my throat. I stiffened. I hated when she touched me. I hated…no, despised. I despised her. But not as much as I did my Father. And Ophelia and Colette, my two stepsisters. Honestly? I barely have anyone who I love and loves me back. Ever since the death of my mother, an epitome of a good woman, it's been only me against this wicked world I was so unfortunate to exist in. “You’re about to save us all,” I heard Elaine whisper in my ear, her tone syrupy sweet. Us. What a joke. My fingers dug into the silk of my dress. There was no “us.” There was only her—handing me off like property to a man known in whispers as the devil’s son: Dominic Luca Moretti. Cold. Brilliant. Dangerous. Very dangerous. A man my father made a fatal mistake of stealing from, using me. Using the gift that had cursed me from birth. I hadn’t even understood what I was doing at the time. Just glancing at strings of numbers and codes, memorizing vault sequences and account paths like he told me to. Because when I refused, he starved and imprisoned me longer. And when I cried, my stepmother reminded me how expensive it was to keep me alive. The first time I saw Dominic Moretti was the day everything changed. He stood at the edge of our driveway, cold as steel and handsome like the devil indeed, while his men beat my father into a bloody pulp, right in front of our mansion. All we could do was watch in silence. But while my step-mother and sisters cried, I reveled in the moment. And just after they left, as if it was perfectly timed, Interpol swept in like a storm. My father was arrested that same minute, and less than a week later, he was sentenced to life imprisonment for all his heinous crimes. Just like that. No goodbyes. No apologies. For a moment, I thought I was finally free. Free from the emotional torture, from the bruises that bloomed in secret. But before I could even breathe that relief, my stepmother came to my room with the kind of smile that always meant evil. She told me, almost proudly, that she had coaxed my father into giving me up. As payment to the man who threatened to burn me, what's left of my family and my father's empire to the ground. I stared at her in disbelief, still reeling. I had always thought I meant something to him. He even said it often enough—that I was his greatest asset. But when it came down to choosing between me and his precious wife and her perfect daughters, I meant nothing. I, his biological daughter, was the easiest thing to give away. That was the moment I truly began to despise him. And I cursed the way I was born. “I don’t want to marry him,” I said softly to Elaine. My voice shook, but it carried the truth I could no longer hide. Her smile faltered, thin lips tightening. “You think you have a choice?” I met her gaze. “I’d rather die.” She leaned in, her breath sticky with champagne and venom. “Then make no mistake…Bella. That’s exactly what will happen. Either you go to him in white... or he’ll come for you in red.” Outside the mansion, I could hear the low hum of arriving limousines. One of them carried Dominic Moretti. And he wasn’t coming for a wife. He was coming for a debt. The kind that will not only repay the money that was stolen from him, but will grant him power and access to everything that made my father his rival and enemy. Me. With a marriage ceremony that will legally bind me to him—one with no cake, no decorations, no guests. Just a wedding dress, tuxedos, men in black armed to the teeth and a couple of court papers—Dominic Moretti will gain everything. All my inheritance and father's assets will be his. Just then, I heard the familiar voice I had been waiting for, the only voice that ever brought me solace in the cage my father calls a mansion. “Miss Fairchild,” Saint said formally, stepping into the dressing room, his dark eyes flickering briefly to Elaine before settling on me. But I could hear it. The c***k in his voice. The faint strain beneath the surface. He was hurting, just like I was. I stood immediately, every inch of me aching to throw myself into his arms. But I couldn’t. Not with her here. Not with the walls always listening. “They’ve arrived,” he continued. “The suitors are waiting downstairs.” Elaine glanced at her diamond-studded watch, then at me. “You may go,” she said with a wave of her hand, already distracted by her reflection in the mirror. “But only for ten minutes. Don’t make them wait.” I didn’t need more than that. As soon as we were out of sight, Saint’s hand brushed mine, a fleeting touch, a silent promise. He led me down the hallway, past the portraits of ancestors I never cared for, through a narrow service passage only the staff used. Then another turn. And another. That’s when I knew. He was deviating. “Saint?” I whispered, barely daring to hope. He didn’t answer, not at first. He just kept walking faster, pulling me along until we reached the hidden door at the back of the east wing—one that led to the old garden exit. Beyond it lay the alley. The route we’d mapped a dozen times in whispered conversations beneath moonlight and fear. Yes, I had planned to escape. But actually doing it terrified me and exhilarated me at the same time. “This is it,” he said, turning to face me. And before I could ask what came next, he cupped my face and kissed me. Not a soft nor gentle kiss. It was a desperate, hungry, forever kind of kiss. The kind that stole the air from my lungs and branded my soul. His hands trembled slightly as he pulled away, and I saw it in his eyes—terror, love, and something final. “I love you,” he whispered, voice rough with emotion. “Go. Now. Run down the alley. Don’t turn back. I’ll meet you at the place. You know the one.” “I love you too,” I said, my heart pounding. “So much.” Then I turned and ran. The alley was narrow, shadowed, but I didn’t care. I was laughing softly, breathless gasps of joy. I felt it in my bones: freedom. For the first time, I wasn’t someone’s pawn or payment. I was just Arabella. And I was running. In my wedding dress. But freedom has a cruel way of testing you. I didn’t see the car until it was too late. Tires screeched. Headlights flared. I turned just in time to catch the full force of it. Pain exploded in my head as it slammed against the glass. My body was flung backward like a rag doll, crashing onto the cold, unforgiving pavement. The last thing I saw before darkness swallowed me whole…was the sky. Vast, boundless and painfully blue. Freedom tasted sweet for a second. But now? I feel nothing.