THE DEVIL'S BRIDE

CHAPTER 3

AURORA DUARTE

The new apartment smells like money.

I slowly spin in the center of the room, taking in every detail: the high ceilings, modern furniture, the panoramic view of the city beyond the glass windows. Marble floors, golden light fixtures, white couches I barely dare to touch.

I walk into the kitchen just to open the fridge — full, of course. Fruits, imported cheeses, expensive champagne. The pantry looks like something out of a soap opera.

I lean against the counter, still in an old T-shirt and sweatpants, and let out a short laugh.

"This is what selling your soul gets you, huh?"

The doorbell rings. I jump, my heart racing, but then I see Lorenzo walk in with the ease of someone who owns everything — including the air I breathe.

"Hope you like it," he says, with a small smile.

"This is yours now."

I cross my arms, still in disbelief.

"Generous of you... or just part of the performance?"

"Both." He walks to a side door and opens it with a nod of his head.

"Come see this."

I follow him. Almost lose my breath.

A full walk-in closet. And not just any. Long gowns, short ones, silk, satin, sequins. Shoes lined up on lit shelves. Designer handbags. Jewelry organized in glass drawers like art pieces.

"Lorenzo..." my voice comes out almost as a whisper.

"Wow..."

"You’ll need the image. The look. Tonight, there’s an event for my company. You’re coming with me. We’ll show the world just how... in love we are."

I turn to face him, eyes narrowing.

"And you think I’ll dress up like a trophy and smile beside you like some luxury doll?"

"No, Aurora." He steps closer, voice low and firm.

"I know you’ll do it better than anyone else would. Because you know what’s at stake."

He walks away with the same coldness he came in with.

"I’ll pick you up at seven. Don’t be late."

The door closes. And I’m left standing there, alone. Breathing in the silence of a place that doesn’t feel like mine — yet.

Hours later, I sink into the massive bathtub in the suite. The scented hot water covers my body, bubbles dancing over my skin.

I close my eyes, letting the feeling wash over me. For the first time in a long time, I feel the weight of comfort. The taste of what I lost. And what I have again, even if it’s all fake.

In the late afternoon, I choose a black velvet dress with a deep back cut and thin straps. Black heels with a subtle shimmer. A luxurious perfume I can’t quite identify, but it makes me feel... different.

A team arrives — makeup artists, hair stylists, a fashion consultant for final adjustments.

They work in efficient silence, sculpting me like a masterpiece.

I look at myself in the mirror.

The woman staring back is rich. Sophisticated. Untouchable.

At exactly seven, I go downstairs. The lobby is just as luxurious as the rest.

Lorenzo waits outside, next to a black sports car sleek as sin. Dark suit, gold watch, the air of a cursed prince.

I smirk, teasing:

"Hello, Mr. Valente. The fancy car — is that to impress, or overcompensate for something?"

He clenches his jaw. Annoyed. I like provoking him.

"Get in the car, Aurora."

I obey, rolling my eyes. Inside the car, the silence is tense, electric.

He throws glances my way. I pretend not to notice. But I do. And I like it more than I should.

The event is at a luxury convention center, with a red carpet and a glowing facade. His company logo shines on LED panels.

When we step out of the car, photographers swarm us. Cameras, flashes, voices.

Lorenzo grips my waist tightly.

"Remember, darling," he whispers in my ear.

"Tonight, you’re mine."

I lean toward his ear, smiling:

"You don’t have to hold so tight. People might think you’re jealous."

"Let them." He smiles for the cameras.

"I’m crazy about you."

We walk in. Inside, it’s pure luxury. Suited men, women in evening gowns, waiters with champagne flutes. And every eye on us.

"Lorenzo!" a gray-haired executive approaches.

"Can’t believe you finally settled down!"

"She caught me," he replies, pulling me closer.

"I couldn’t resist."

I smile gracefully. On the outside, I’m perfect. On the inside, I want to hit him with my heel.

More greetings. More stares. And he keeps touching me — my arm, my waist, my hair. Talking about love, destiny, sudden passion. And I keep up the act. Light touches. Soft laughs. Eyes locked on his.

The taste of champagne still dances on my tongue when I glance toward the entrance and the world stops for a second.

The crystals of my glass tremble in my fingers, and the warmth of the golden liquid turns to ice when my eyes meet hers.

Elisa.

She walks in like she’s never lost a battle, her two kids beside her, all dressed in arrogance like expensive armor.

Her sharp gaze meets mine like a knife digging slow. I grip Lorenzo’s arm tighter than I should.

"What is it?" he asks, leaning in.

"They’re here," I whisper, unable to hide the shake.

"My stepmother. My brothers."

Lorenzo follows my gaze. His eyes darken instantly.

"Do you want to leave?" he asks, voice low but steady.

"No. They’re not taking this from me." I try to straighten my posture.

"I’m not giving them that satisfaction."

"Then don’t let them hurt you. Not anymore."

I force a smile at a couple walking by. I don’t hear what they say.

I don’t taste the next toast.

All I feel is Elisa’s stare cutting across the room, her mouth curling into a venomous smirk as she whispers to other women.

She points at me.

My stomach churns.

She’s telling them. Talking about the club. About my past. Turning my presence here into a scandal disguised as a party.

Lorenzo goes onstage to give a speech. I try to smile. Pretend nothing’s wrong.

But my throat tightens. My vision blurs.

I can’t take it.

I slip away before the tears fall.

Rush into the marble bathroom, heels echoing like gunshots.

I lean on the sink, staring at myself in the mirror. The flawless makeup. The luxury dress.

The image of a powerful woman.

But inside... I’m still the girl who was kicked out with a suitcase in the rain.

The door bursts open.

Elisa walks in. My sister right behind her.

"Knew I’d find you here," Elisa says, her tone calm as poison.

"Did they close the bathroom to trash?" my sister adds, arms crossed.

"You can wear an expensive dress, Aurora, but you’re still the same little slut from the club," Elisa says, stepping closer.

"Did you really think you could fool a man like Lorenzo forever?"

"He knows who I am."

"Does he? Does he know you used to grind on men’s laps for cash? That you’re the daughter of a prostitute?"

"Shut up." My voice shakes, but it’s firm.

"I’ll tell everyone, sweetheart," my sister steps in closer.

"I’ll tell them you’re a high-class w***e who trapped him into marriage. A man like him would never fall for a woman like you. A whore."

Something snaps inside me.

My hand flies on its own.

The slap rings loud and sharp. She stumbles back, eyes wide.

Elisa screams, raising her hand to hit me, but it never lands.

The door swings open.

Lorenzo.

He storms into the bathroom and grabs Elisa’s wrist hard.

"Touch her again and I’ll destroy you." His voice is ice and fury.

Elisa yanks her arm back, pretending dignity.

My sister whispers something, but Lorenzo is already pulling me out, shielding me with his body.

My eyes are full of tears.

I bury my face in his chest, his scent mixing with adrenaline.

He takes me to a terrace, away from the party, where the air is fresh and the city lights stretch out below us.

I sit on a lounge chair. He kneels beside me, takes my hand.

"You hit hard." He smirks.

I laugh through my tears.

"She deserved it."

He holds my hand, still red.

"No one will hurt you again. I promise. I won’t let anyone touch my wife."

"She’s going to tell everyone. Everyone will know."

"Then I’ll have a very good reason to make them all fall."

I look at him.

His blue eyes study me carefully, and I sigh, blinking toward the dark sky.

For a moment, I think he cares —

But then I remember the contract.

He doesn’t want anyone hurting me because it would spark a media scandal with his name all over it.

"No one’s ever protected me," I whisper.

"Get used to it. You have a husband now."

"Maybe I should be scared of you when you threaten people like that," he says, making me laugh.

Going back to the ballroom after what happened in the bathroom feels like stepping into a battlefield again, but Lorenzo is by my side, and — strange as it sounds — that gives me strength.

His fingers brush mine now and then, like he’s making sure I won’t disappear.

The ballroom lights shine like nothing ever happened...

Going back to the ballroom after what happened in the bathroom feels like stepping back onto a battlefield, but Lorenzo is by my side, and as strange as it may sound, that gives me some strength.

His fingers still brush against mine now and then, like he’s making sure I won’t disappear.

The lights in the ballroom shine as if nothing happened, and the murmur of conversations fills the space once again. Smiles, toasts, small fake laughs. I scan the faces, avoiding one in particular — Elisa. She’s still here, somewhere in the shadows, lurking.

"Come on," Lorenzo's deep voice pulls me back.

"Dance with me."

I stare at him for a second, surprised. He rarely asks. He usually commands. But now, the invitation carries a different weight. Like he wants everyone to see. Like dancing with me is his way of making it clear who I belong to… or maybe who he belongs to.

I accept.

He leads me to the center of the room, where couples are already swaying to the soft music. One hand goes to my waist, the other holds mine tightly. My body fits against his with a frightening ease. The heat radiating from him hits me directly, dangerously. My eyes rise to meet his. Dark. Focused.

"You're shaking," he says, almost in a whisper.

"I'm just trying not to look at… certain people."

"Then look at me."

And I do.

The music fills the space between us, but the world seems to fall silent. We dance with an intimacy that isn’t rehearsed. It’s real. Eyes follow us, of course. Elisa’s among them. I feel it, even without looking. But I try to stay focused on him, on Lorenzo, on the slow steps and soft touches. He holds me tight. Guides me like the ballroom belongs to us.

When the music ends, he walks me back to the table, but unlike other times, he doesn’t leave me alone. He stays by my side, still holding my hand. A small group of businessmen approaches, all in expensive suits and rehearsed smiles. One of them comments:

"So, Lorenzo, is there a date set for the big day?"

He gives a slight smile.

"Yes. It’ll be something intimate. Just for the closest ones."

"And the bride? Is she ready?" another one asks, raising his glass toward me.

"‘Ready’ isn’t the word. She was born for this."

I smile politely, swallowing the bitterness rising in my throat. Then, an older man with neatly combed gray hair and deep eyes looks at me with a certain kindness.

"I knew your father, you know? Henrique Duarte. An admirable man. I’m truly sorry for his passing."

My expression falters. It's rare for someone to speak of my father without contempt.

"Thank you. He was... important to me."

"His company was never the same after he passed," the man continues. "Such a shame. The widow and the children have been ruining what he built with so much effort."

Lorenzo straightens up.

"What do you mean?"

The man sighs, taking a sip of his whiskey.

"Poor management. Hidden debts. Stupid decisions. The company’s image is deteriorating fast. Henrique would’ve never allowed that."

My anger ignites like a flame. Elisa. The brothers. They didn’t just push me away—they’re throwing everything away.

The event begins to wind down. People say their goodbyes, empty glasses in hand, steps slowing. I’m about to leave with Lorenzo when a man approaches. Tall, slicked-back hair, a filthy smile.

"Venus?"

I freeze. The world spins slowly.

"I knew I recognized you." He takes a step forward, voice dragging. "Those eyes… you don’t forget a dancer like you easily."

"You’re mistaking me for someone else," I say coldly, trying to step away.

But he reaches out, as if he’s trying to touch me.

"No, I’m not. I saw you dance more than once. I liked it when you smiled at me..."

I can taste the humiliation burning in my mouth. My hand clenches into a fist.

"Step away from me," I say through gritted teeth, firm.

He laughs. A disgusting laugh.

"Don’t be silly. I’d recognize that pretty face and that hot body anywhere, sweetheart."