The Devil's Plaything

The Devil's Rules

Chapter 3: The Devil's Rules

The sun crept in through the glass walls of Lucian's penthouse, casting golden streaks across the white silk sheets tangled around my body. For a fleeting moment, waking in his bed almost felt normal, until I shifted and the soreness between my thighs brought reality crashing back. My body ached in places I hadn’t known could ache, the intensity of the night before still echoing in my bones.

I rolled over and found the bed empty. Cold.

Then I saw it: a black envelope on the pillow beside me, bearing a crisp silver stamp embossed with the letter D.

I slowly sat up, the sheet slipping down my bare chest as I reached for the envelope with cautious fingers. I opened it.

Rules. Twenty-seven of them.

Each one handwritten in Lucian’s clean, precise script. Each one absurd, possessive, and laced with danger.

1. You will speak only when spoken to in my presence unless instructed otherwise.

2. You will not leave the penthouse without my permission.

3. You will sleep in my bed every night. Naked.

4. You will not defy me in public. Ever.

5. You will wear what I provide, and only that.

They went on.

13. You will answer to "Mrs. Devlin" at all times, without hesitation.

14. You will not lie to me. Even about the small things. Especially the small things.

15. If you disobey, you will be punished. And punishment will always leave a mark.

I read the last rule twice. My throat tightened.

A knock on the door startled me.

"Get dressed," Lucian's deep voice called from the hallway. "You have twenty minutes. I have a conference this morning and you will be by my side. Mrs. Devlin makes her debut."

My spine snapped straight. I grabbed the sheet and stormed toward the door, flinging it open.

"That wasn’t in the contract," I snapped.

Lucian didn’t flinch. He stood in a tailored navy suit, every inch of him radiating authority and cool indifference. "The contract was thorough. Perhaps you should have read it."

I glared at him. "You said one night. One night. Not a damn charade."

He stepped aside, and behind him, the housekeeper appeared, a woman dressed in black, with sleek hair and unreadable eyes. She held out a thick folder.

Lucian gestured. "Show her."

The housekeeper opened the folder to a section I hadn’t remembered seeing. There it was, in black and white:

Clause 8B: For the duration of the thirty days, the Participant will assume the public identity of Mrs. Devlin, wife of Lucian Devlin, and act accordingly in all social, professional, and domestic capacities.

My stomach flipped. "I didn’t sign up for this." I wasn't supposed to be in the room”

"But you were," Lucian said simply. "You just didn’t read carefully. That’s not my fault."

I turned to walk away, fury making my vision blur, but in seconds, Lucian had closed the distance. He caught my wrist and walked me backward into the bathroom.

"Lucian no. I’m sore. I’m not"

He locked the door behind us.

"You disobeyed."

"I didn’t!"

"You questioned me. You argued. That’s disobedience, Mrs. Devlin."

The door slammed behind me, the sharp echo still vibrating through the marble when Lucian’s hand wrapped around my throat not tight, just enough to make me still.

“You think you can disobey me and walk away untouched?” he growled, backing me against the cold sink. His body pressed into mine, hard and unyielding. “Say it, Serena. Say you knew exactly what you were doing.”

I swallowed, my voice caught somewhere between defiance and desire. “I knew.”

His eyes darkened. That was all it took.

He spun me around, bending me over the counter. My hands splayed against the cool surface, my breath fogging the mirror. I heard the sound of his belt unfastening, quick, practiced, and then his hand yanked my panties down with a single sharp tug. No tenderness. Just pure heat and control.

“You want to test me?” he said, dragging the head of his c**k between my folds, teasing, punishing. “Here’s your lesson.”

He drove into me in one brutal thrust. I cried out, not from pain God, not from pain, but from the shock of how good it felt to be taken like that. Like I was his to use, to ruin.

Each thrust was relentless, rough, his hand fisted in my hair to keep me in place as he slammed into me again and again. My body jolted with every movement, but I didn’t want him to stop. I didn’t care about the marks he’d leave. I wanted them. I wanted to remember this every time I looked in the mirror.

“Mine,” he growled, grinding deep, holding there. “You don’t get to defy me and walk away unclaimed.”

I shattered around him, my moan raw, shameless, echoing in the bathroom. He wasn’t far behind. His grip tightened, his breath rough against my shoulder, and then he spilled into me with a low groan, his body trembling against mine.

For a moment, there was silence. Just the sound of water dripping and our ragged breathing.

Then Lucian leaned in, his lips brushing my ear.

“Next time you disobey,” he murmured, “I won’t be so gentle.”

Afterward, he left me there, still trembling, on the cold tile.

I sank to the floor and let the tears come. The cold marble soothed the heat on my skin, but did nothing to cool the ache.

My life hadn’t prepared me for this. For him.

I remembered the eviction notice slapped on the apartment door. My mother's cancer deteriorating. The call from the hospital about new bills we couldn’t pay. My little siblings sobs when they were thrown out of school again. I had been juggling three jobs. One night of serving the masquerade ball for $100,000 had seemed like salvation.

Now it felt like damnation.

I wiped my face and stared up at the ceiling.

What kind of man was Lucian Devlin? What kind of woman would I have to become to survive him?

When I finally stood, the rules still lay on the bathroom counter. I picked them up, read number twenty-seven again, and felt something dark and unfamiliar stir inside me.

If he wanted a game, I'd play.

But I wouldn’t break.

Not yet.

Not ever.